Preface#
A collection of essays "Reading, Family Affection, Anti-Epidemic"
Reading#
The Ink Fragrance Lingers#
On a rainy night, the fragrance of tea wafts, the ancient pendulum lightly taps the wooden clock wall, the crisp metallic sound strikes the moments of time, a thousand-year traveler gathers the cold moon, weaves fragrant silk, to brighten your hazy eyes, to discover the ancient masterpieces sealed between heaven and earth. The fingertips gently glide over each elegant and free-flowing character, as the pen rises and falls, the ups and downs of the past are engraved into the soft rice paper, strolling through the poetic forest, lightly sniffing the eternal ink fragrance within the Tang and Song dynasties, searching for that indelible touch of splendor.
In those either delicate or bold poems, lies the rebellious soul of the poet, or their lingering sentiments. In the annals of history, recalling a dynasty, savoring a period of time. "The mighty Yangtze River flows eastward, washing away the heroes," the serene atmosphere is gentle, that is the historical sediment of the Three Kingdoms; "Picking chrysanthemums under the eastern fence, leisurely seeing the southern mountains," the chrysanthemum is noble, that is Tao Yuanming's tranquil release; "The Red Army is not afraid of the difficulties of the expedition, thousands of rivers and mountains are just casual," the earthy scent is thick, that is Mao Zedong pointing out the rivers and mountains, the Red Army overcoming difficulties... The room is filled with the fragrance of books, a restless heart cleanses the superficiality, in the quiet night, all the trivial matters are deeply hidden in that poetic charm, in a soft melody.
In the night rain of Bashan, the red candle in the west window, the melodious music like a deep sleep, stirs up the endless melancholy, reaching out to touch those beautiful yet sorrowful verses, a cool sound of water drowns my thoughts. The autumn rain lingers, deep in the distant mountains, in a lonely inn, the poet leans by the window, where is his beloved? The only answer is the vast darkness before him. The rain falls incessantly, longing like the cold night's raindrops, stretching longer and longer. "When will we cut the candle at the west window together, and talk about the night rain in Bashan?" How I wish to be closely dependent on my beloved by the window, to share our innermost feelings, to cut off the candlelight at the west window, and smile at each other... Now, however, I am alone a thousand miles away, opening up the endless and sorrowful longing... The autumn rain is like the tears of a parting person, melancholic yet lingering, the fervor and sincerity of earlier years have long dissipated in the vastness of the rainy night outside the window, all expectations are a silent ending.
“Holding an oil-paper umbrella, wandering alone in the long, long and lonely rain alley, I hope to meet a girl like lilac, entangled with sorrow,” upon first reading this poem, I was touched by the delicate brushwork of the poet Dai Wangshu. The poet holds an oil-paper umbrella, wandering alone in the lonely rain alley, the misty rain, heavy wooden clogs stepping in the rainy season of Jiangnan, he did not meet that lilac-like girl entangled with sorrow. The rain alley is empty, long. Breaking a tender leaf, yet pulling up a tree full of vicissitudes. The poet's lonely figure lights up whose eyes, and blurs whose scenery? The oil-paper umbrella lightly spins in the wind, the mottled bluestone floats and sinks, engraved with the frost of history, wanting to view a clear spring, rippling into a heart's melody, transforming raindrops into poetry, and a song of solitude.
Walking and stopping, searching and seeking, the poetic words of dreams echo in my ears, “At four in the morning, the begonia flowers are still awake.” The endless night has not yet completely disappeared, on the edge of darkness and dawn, I seem to traverse mountains and rivers, crossing time and space, seeing the poet in a single garment, lowering his eyes, lightly sniffing the fragrance of flowers, who else is not awake, but that one begonia?
As the night fades, the morning light breaks, closing my eyes in contemplation, discovering with my heart, allowing myself a trace of the geese passing without a trace, a kind of great love leaving fragrance, gently opening my lips, softly singing the rhythm, you will feel that even in unintentional moments, you can remember that indelible splendor. The beautiful figure of the poet hesitating and lingering, at the end of the pen's edge, silently gazes at me, gazing with a shallow smile, strolling in the poetic forest filled with faint fragrance, a slight bow, a slight lowering of the head, everything in sight is wonderful, the fragrance of tea has gradually faded, but the ink fragrance still lingers.
Walking with You#
Willows condense green, blue waters sink into smoke, sitting leisurely by the window, brewing a pot of clear tea, soaking in the old dreams of years. Time is silent, the years are peaceful, books, ah, only because of you, my life has added a splash of color. Walking with you, gliding through the misty mornings and evenings, looking back, it is the youth with gradually growing wings.
On the desk, the gentle breeze flips the pages, unable to discern which era's ink marks are. That year’s plum blossoms, I do not know who they fell under; that phoenix hairpin, I do not know who it is slanted in their black hair; that prophecy, I do not know who it is engraved in their fate; that dancer, I do not know who it lingers in their eyes...
Closing my eyes, savoring carefully, bursts of book fragrance reflect in my mind. Walking with you, strolling through the literary garden, reading the ink's dimness, reading the tranquility of the dusted heart, reading the leisurely indifference, reading the past among the flowers, and more reading a trace of pure charm reflected in the book.
I like the pure and romantic San Mao, for the pursuit of the "olive tree" in her heart, she has traveled through thousands of waters and mountains; I like to read the intellectual and lively Nalan words, feeling the etherealness of "I am a melancholy guest in the world, recalling my life in the voice of heartbreak"; I like to read the deeply affectionate and magnanimous Yu Qiuyu, marveling at his unique insights into historical culture. Wandering in the sea of books, I feel the education of love with An Li Ke, appreciating "The Flight of Birds" with Tagore, watching "Starry Night" with Bing Xin, reading "Spring Water".
Opening the poetic heart fence, grinding a pool of ink fragrance, using shallow words to paint the clear wind and bright moon into the life scroll. Books, walking with you, the fragrance of the soul permeates the past, letting the worldly disturbances fade, the heart is pure, the wind and moon are bright. Softly chanting and singing, walking and being at peace.
The chirping of bluebirds, lush years. Books, ah, no matter when, you are always by my side. I traveled with Du Gongbu from Xiangyang to Luoyang, hearing the joy of spring rain at night, the sword passing through Jibei, lamenting that the thatched cottage is broken by the autumn wind, and sorrowfully that the red gate's wine stinks while there are dead bones on the road; watching the beauty with Jiaxuan at the lantern's dimness, drunkenly picking the lonely lamp to watch the sword, dreaming back to the war drums and horns, lamenting that white hair has already grown; asking Li Qingzhao whether the begonia is still there, listening to the rain hitting the banana leaves, watching the seagulls and herons compete for the crossing, lamenting that deep sleep cannot dispel the remaining wine.
“My heart is like the autumn moon, the blue pond is clear and bright.” Words have flavor, they are lively. As long as one feels natural and carefree, it is already intoxicating. Books, ah, walking with you, I always feel a flutter in my heart. “The grass is setting its seeds, the wind is shaking its leaves, we are quietly, not speaking.”
The years are extremely beautiful, beautiful in the twists and turns, spring has new branches, summer has lush greens, autumn has harvests, winter has reserves, and we can write poetry with the sunlight. The fragrance of books, walking with you, in such days, if there is a study in the heart, one can seek the sun and moon in the books. At this moment, there is only one person, one heart, and a pure world.
Take a Book on a Journey#
Books are the spiritual companions of people; books accompany you to the distance, while "Su Dongpo" has always been with me on my journey.
By West Lake#
The gentle spring sun hangs over West Lake, a light breeze brushes by, creating ripples on the water's surface. The breeze caresses all things on the earth, brushing against my face...
I sit on a boat on West Lake, with that book spread across my lap. The sunlight shines on the water's surface, reflecting golden rays, and in the hazy light, it seems I see him, Su Dongpo. A thousand years ago, he also sat on a boat, drinking and laughing, admiring the beauty of West Lake, writing the timeless line, "I want to compare West Lake to Xi Shi, light makeup and heavy makeup are both suitable." He drank the last cup of wine, and in the golden light, he disappeared.
The "Biography of Su Dongpo" accompanies me on West Lake, taking this book to West Lake, I can find the real Su Dongpo.
In Chengtian Temple#
A round moon hangs in the sky, casting clear moonlight on the vermilion walls, on the flying eaves, and on the ancient Buddha statues.
Strolling in the courtyard of Chengtian Temple, sitting on a long bench, I opened that book, and the moonlight poured into the courtyard, as clear as a spring. In this clear moonlight, I saw him again, Su Dongpo. A thousand years ago, he also strolled in this courtyard with Zhang Huaimin, filled with emotions, looking at the moonlight, writing the timeless line, "The courtyard is like accumulated water, empty and bright, the water's algae and reeds intertwine..." With a long sigh, he disappeared in the moonlight.
The "Biography of Su Dongpo" accompanies me in Chengtian Temple, taking this book allows me to truly understand his sorrow.
On Lushan Mountain#
The setting sun hangs at the edge of the sky, casting rays of light, shining on the lush trees of Lushan Mountain, and on the pools of water in Lushan.
I stand in front of the waterfall on Lushan Mountain. Water gushes down from the cliff, leaping and competing, rushing down, splashing on the dark surface of the deep pool, creating waves of mist. Under the backdrop of the setting sun, in the haze of the mist, I see him again, Su Dongpo. He carries a backpack, walking and wandering in the mountains, looking at the towering Lushan, reciting the timeless line, "I do not know the true face of Lushan, only because I am in this mountain." With a long sigh, he dissipated in the mist.
The "Biography of Su Dongpo" accompanies me under the setting sun of Lushan, allowing me to understand his confusion.
All the way, in the spring days of West Lake, in the moonlight of Chengtian Temple, in the sunset of Lushan, the "Biography of Su Dongpo" accompanies me, taking a book on a journey is truly wonderful!
Reading Makes My Life More Wonderful#
Time has sung its song in memories, gently lifting light thoughts like a dream, I weave through her long river, accompanied by books, dancing with dreams. Reading makes my life more wonderful, just like clouds embellishing the blue sky, just like grass decorating the earth.
In the March when "the shallow grass can barely hide the horse's hooves," we walk hand in hand.
The happiness and innocence of childhood were all spent with one comic book after another. Whenever I saw Snow White and the prince living happily together, I would be so happy that my eyes sparkled; when I saw the wicked queen poisoning the princess, I felt both angry and helpless, hating myself for not being able to jump in and help the princess; when I saw the little mermaid transforming into a splendid bubble for love, I was touched and a bit sad. Reading made my childhood both dreamy and real.
In the June when "the young lotus has just revealed its pointed tip," we made an appointment.
Time flows like sand, and before I knew it, I had stepped into the hall of middle school. Having been used to the rosy sea and the maple-like words in my childhood, we were suddenly to walk from the colorful May to the glaring July. It was only then that we realized that reality is cruel. The pitiful scores time and again, like a lightning flashing with a ferocious light, struck me "crispy on the outside and tender on the inside"; in the mornings accompanied by stars going to school and returning home under the moonlight, I was so busy that I lost my direction...
At this time, I picked up a book again, it led me to see Paul, to see how he faced life and the future with strength, allowing me to understand the profound meaning of "How the Steel Was Tempered"; it also took me into Lao She's "Rickshaw Boy," allowing me to see the tragic life of Xiangzi from kindness and simplicity to self-indulgence, making me start to deeply reflect on myself—I cannot fall, I must face the present bravely and optimistically. I continuously absorb nourishment from books, constantly pulling myself back from the deviated track amidst contradictions.
Yes, reading makes my ordinary days shine brightly, making me feel different, I have become more confident.
I believe that as long as I work hard, there will definitely be some form of reward, I believe that sincerity can reap sincerity; I will smile when my mood is gloomy, I will strive to run towards a certain goal... Even if I fail, I will not retreat, because a rainbow with the fragrance of books has risen in my heart.
The wind chimes of time have blown away the light, shaking off the seasons, in the future, I only wish for peaceful years, and time to remain young. I want to embrace books and live a wonderful life.
Family Affection#
Time is too thin, fingers too wide. The fleeting years pass quickly, like my mother's hair color, now from black to white.
At this moment, my mother's love bursts out like sunlight breaking through the clouds, pouring into my heart. My mother's hair color, in my heart, is forever fixed in a determined chestnut color, never to fade.
The soybean milk boiled by grandma is refreshing, exuding the simple and rich rural atmosphere.
The hazy night color permeates the blue window frame, as if I see the bright candle flame gently swaying with a soft hue. My gaze is fixed here, looking up, your face has entwined how many years of water and wood, truly vivid.
Time leaves no trace, some things have unknowingly disappeared. But there will always be a memory that leaves a mark in life, whenever I think of it, my heart is filled with emotion, that is touching.
Mother#
Taste#
Mom seems to have always been busy, always rushing around. She has never eaten KFC, does not understand pop songs, and even turning the computer on and off has to be taught by me hand in hand. I say she does not understand the taste of life, does not understand the flavor of life.
Our family has a history of stomach problems, and Dad's stomach is not good. Many years ago, Mom got a folk remedy, drinking a bowl of egg soup made with boiling water every morning can cure this stomach problem. For many years, Mom has to get up 20 minutes early every morning, quietly go to the kitchen, carefully make a bowl of egg soup, and then bring it to Dad's bedside, shaking him awake to drink.
In the morning, making a bowl of egg soup and drinking a bowl of egg soup has become the habit of Mom and Dad, already a part of life.
Since I can remember, I have always heard the sound of Mom boiling water in the morning. I have seen Mom make egg water, the egg white and yolk instantly blend together, never to separate again, just like Dad and Mom's lives merging together. The egg soup is beautiful, like a lily blooming in the bowl. I scramble to take the first sip, alas, that taste is actually fishy and astringent.
However, Dad's smile seems to always verify that the bowl of egg soup tastes very good. I can't understand how a bowl of egg soup can make Dad show a satisfied smile? I don't like that fishy and astringent taste.
During the May Day holiday, I woke up in the morning and heard Mom's boiling water sound in the kitchen again. I was startled; it was Mom making egg soup. I went to the living room and saw that bowl of egg soup still blooming like a flower on the coffee table. I quietly took a sip, and couldn't help but be startled—the taste changed! Mom smiled and said, "I added honey."
Mom held the soup, squatting by the bed, gazing at Dad as he finished the egg soup with satisfaction. In an instant, I seemed to understand, that egg, whether fishy or sweet, is a taste of happiness for Dad. Twenty years of persistence, twenty years of thoughtfulness, twenty years of gazing, a bowl of egg soup contains how rich a taste of love they have!
At that moment, I finally understood that Mom did not not understand the taste of life. The happiness she pursues is all in her dedication to her family, the flavor of life she savors is like that bowl of honeyed egg soup—lingering fragrance.
Mother's Hair Color#
It seems that from childhood to adulthood, I have always been most afraid to write about Mom. It's not that I don't want to, but that I'm afraid. The role of Mom cannot be painted in heavy ink, nor can it be lightly sketched; too much seems pretentious, too little seems indifferent. In a moment of inspiration, wanting to write about my beloved mom, I suddenly don't know where to start. The two words "Mom" linger on my lips, carrying an unspeakable profound meaning.
In my fourteen years of life, occupying most of my memories, without a doubt, is Mom. Although I have nearly ten years of boarding school life, my feelings for Mom have not diminished in the slightest because of this. And on that day, when I accidentally saw a photo placed on the piano, I suddenly realized that I had never truly cared for Mom.
That was a photo of me at four or five years old with Mom. At that time, Mom was not yet forty, with a head of flowing long hair, her black hair casually draped behind her head, looking very youthful and beautiful. She held little me, smiling gently, her smile filled with affection and happiness.
I suddenly felt a tremor in my heart. How many years has it been since I last saw Mom with long hair? I found that I could not remember clearly.
At lunch, I pretended to be absent-minded and asked Mom why she cut her hair short. Mom looked at me as if it were obvious: "Long hair is hard to dye!" I suddenly remembered that a few years ago, Mom had started dyeing her hair. Now the beautiful chestnut hair I see on Mom is actually dyed, and the real color... is glaring white.
I couldn't help but have the thought of dyeing Mom's hair once, just as Mom had mentioned wanting to dye her hair a few days ago, so I volunteered, "Mom, isn't it time to dye your hair again? This time I'll do it."
Wearing thin plastic gloves, holding a comb that has already been dyed to the point of being unrecognizable, I carefully "worked" on Mom's hair. Looking at the silver hair on Mom's head, I couldn't help but feel a bit sour in my nose, hurriedly pretending to turn my head, pretending to want to sneeze.
“What’s wrong?” Unexpectedly, Mom became nervous, “Is the smell of the dye too strong for you? This stuff is just too pungent, here, let me do it, you go out and get some fresh air.” I bit my lower lip, Mom, you who consider your daughter first in everything, how could you understand my heartache?
“It’s fine.” I forced a smile, “Maybe someone is missing me.” The humorous words warmed the entire room a lot. I carefully combed Mom's hair, finally realizing that the most spirited golden years of Mom's life have quietly slipped away.
It truly confirms that saying: Time is too thin, fingers too wide. The fleeting years pass quickly, just like Mom's hair color, now from black to white.
“Mom, if time could stop at this moment, and you would no longer grow old, would that be good?” I thought to myself, unconsciously letting it slip from my throat.
“What a joke!” Mom smiled, “Not to mention how absurd this is. Even if time really stopped, I wouldn’t grow old, but you wouldn’t change either! How would you grow up? Mom is still waiting to see you grow up.”
Hearing this joking remark, my eyes turned slightly red.
It turns out that Mom has never planned for herself at all, just like she does not care about her hair color, does not care about her gradual aging, but is wholeheartedly focused on my growth and my future.
Because, in her heart, it is filled with her proud daughter.
At this moment, my mother's love bursts out like sunlight breaking through the clouds, pouring into my heart. My mother's hair color, in my heart, is forever fixed in a determined chestnut color, never to fade.
Grandma#
What I Most Want to Do#
Memories are like quick-cut movie clips, that rich bean fragrance lingers in my heart.
What I most want to do is to see Grandma make soybean milk once more.
Grandma's house is nestled in a small elegant and warm tile-roofed house at the village head. When the weather is cold, those tourists who come for the scenery will crowd into this ordinary village with the sound of the bus horn, rushing to admire the enchanting scenery of the snow town. Whenever there is a holiday, Grandma will personally boil some fresh soybean milk in a big pot. At that time, Grandma would call us siblings: "Let's go sell soybean milk." In just a little while, that fragrant soybean milk would be snatched up by the tourists.
The soybean milk Grandma makes is delicious, and people rush to buy it, which is the result of Grandma's careful preparation.
When buying beans, Grandma always picks them carefully, as if they contain gems. If someone tries to interfere, she will quickly stop them. That serious look is truly speechless, and her focused demeanor makes me admire her even more. Whenever Grandma finishes picking the beans and stands up, she would feel dizzy. I advise Grandma not to be so serious, but she has never changed.
After carefully selecting the beans, they need to be soaked in water, and she must personally grind them with a stone mill. Grandma spins around the mill all day long, sometimes getting so tired that she can't lift her arms. I suggest to Grandma that it would be easier to use an electric grinder, but Grandma says that would lose the rich bean fragrance.
Grandma's soybean milk is not expensive; when people drink a hot bowl of soybean milk in the cold weather, they feel warm all over, and their red hands and faces gradually return to their original color. At this time, Grandma's soybean milk earns the satisfied laughter of the customers.
Perhaps Grandma knows that doing business requires kindness to generate wealth, so she always sells the carefully made soybean milk at a low price, seemingly not caring about how much income she earns. Grandma is kind, and that is the joy of her life.
The soybean milk boiled by Grandma is refreshing, exuding the simple and rich rural atmosphere.
Many years later, what I most want to do is to hope to take a rural tourist bus, come to Grandma's side, and help Grandma pick beans and grind soybean milk, allowing the simplicity and kindness of the countryside to become an inexhaustible strength in my growth.
Many years later, you may see such a scene: an old lady busy in front of the stone mill, with bowls of fragrant soybean milk placed in front of her. I hope that will be me decades later, enjoying the sweetness and joy of soybean milk.
Father and Son#
Look Up and See, There Will Be Different Scenery#
The hazy night color permeates the blue window frame, as if I see the bright candle flame gently swaying with a soft hue. My gaze is fixed here, looking up, your face has entwined how many years of water and wood, truly vivid.
As the sun sets, the sky blushes with streaks of red, bringing in a heart full of trivial worries, crashing in, only the sound of slamming books can slightly comfort my soul. Physics homework, where are the conditions to complete it? Angrily rushing into the room, the lock tongue biting the lock hole, making a clicking sound, I remain indifferent.
The door gently opened, a familiar face, it is Dad. He smiles, holding a light tube in his hand, "Come, Dad will help you."
Walking into the dimly lit living room, that not-so-tall figure squats down, silently cooperating with me. A beam of gentle candlelight cuts through the pitch-black night, I carefully poke a needle hole in the paper tube, put on the film, and open my eyes wide to observe, oh, the candlelight moved.
The inverted candle flame changes distance with Dad's movements, sometimes large, sometimes small, sometimes bright, sometimes blurry, the jumping flame lights up my heart. The principle of pinhole imaging is now so intuitively presented before me, the joy of success is like the blooming of candle flowers, bursting forth, as if wanting to break free from the darkness of the night, lighting up smiles.
Looking up, Dad's deep eyes are focused on me, gazing at that candlelight. That straight candle flame shines beautifully, reflecting his weathered cheeks, reflecting his newly grown stubble, creating such a beautiful scenery, uniquely moving. That light, jumping like fire, is like a wild chrysanthemum blooming in the darkness, in the boundless tranquility, allowing a heart that cares for his son to burn fiercely, is it a small bodhi quietly sprouting in the fertile soil of the night? A leaf of light is a gospel book forged in gold, sending your protection to me, it is you who have dug a bright river for me, in the ripples of love, has already infused your deep expectations.
The invisible scenery evokes the gradual and clear memories deep within: on the ice rink, you are inseparable, closely following; at the school gate, you stand for a long time, looking forward; during piano lessons, you pick me up and drop me off, rushing until late, the threads of memories become chaotic curves in your palm, counting the countless mornings and nights accompanied by you, carving my heart.
The gentle breeze blows, a candlelight sweeps through the small hole, leaving a different beautiful scenery in the naive heart of a young boy. That glance left by looking up, in every dawn and dusk of youth, lingers and is etched...
Touching#
Time leaves no trace, some things have unknowingly disappeared. But there will always be a memory that leaves a mark in life, whenever I think of it, my heart is filled with emotion, that is touching.
That morning, I woke up as usual, but saw the wind and snow outside, the big trees swaying in the strong wind, branches like whips dancing wildly in the air, seemingly foreshadowing the trouble of car restrictions. After I hurriedly finished washing up, Dad grabbed my hand and rushed downstairs to wait for a taxi. The biting cold wind, the snowflakes dancing wildly in the wind, hitting my face, rushing into my eyes. In the gloom, Dad tightly held my hand, feeling broad and strong.
We lingered at the intersection, but never saw the shadow of a taxi. In anxiety and disappointment, Dad pushed his bicycle in front of me, gently wiping the mud off the back seat with a tissue, his fingers touching the small ice particles, his body heat instantly melting them. These warm hands, with the passage of time, have more and more wrinkles, and have also become rough.
The bicycle slowly moved forward, the north wind blew Dad's cold-proof jacket's hat off, I then realized that I don't know when Dad's black hair had added a few strands of white, time has left traces, a few wrinkles silently climbed up Dad's originally round cheeks, the once bright eyes have become dim after experiencing the wind and frost... The scenes of childhood are still vivid, in an instant, the bitterness surged from my heart to my nose...
“Cold?”
“It's okay.”
“Did you wear gloves?”
“No…”
The bicycle suddenly stopped by the roadside, Dad took off his gloves and put them on me, then wrapped a scarf around my face, leaving only my eyes exposed. Through the only exposed eyes, I saw Dad's face, not knowing whether it was snow or sweat, all wet, before I could speak, the bike continued to move. Sitting on the back seat, I vaguely heard Dad's panting, the trees by the roadside were retreating slower and slower, I knew Dad was tired.
Watching Dad's back, my heart was filled with guilt, the original anxiety was gradually replaced by waves of heartache and emotion.
“Dad, take a break.”
“No need, we will be at school soon. Are you cold?”
At this moment, I could no longer control myself, tears slid down my nose, flowing into my mouth, salty.
“Not cold.”
At this moment, the surrounding scenery has become blurry, only Dad's tall figure remains clear.
Touching, echoing in my heart...
Anti-Epidemic#
Walking Together on the Epidemic Road, Protecting the Heart#
When the bustling streets seem to have been pressed the pause button, when the gloomy epidemic shrouds the spring of the city, when we, dressed in school uniforms, linger in a corner of the study, how should we resolve our predicament? Pushkin said: “The sister of disaster, hope will always awaken courage and joy.” Yes, the way to get through the cold winter is to endure it, experience it, absorb it; the spring breeze will surely kiss my face uncovered by a mask, through hardships, we will succeed!
Just a week after school started, the sudden epidemic broke everything, and we were forced to switch to online classes, the originally lively campus suddenly became desolate and empty.
Online classes are lively and interesting, although it is online teaching, but compared to self-study at home, the effect is obviously much better. The online class started, the familiar voice of the teacher, and the familiar faces of classmates displayed on the computer screen made me feel very close. The teacher's passionate teaching and the students' active participation made me feel as if I were in the classroom of my former class.
Occasionally, I would also encounter the frustration of being unable to go out. When I was bored, I would lean by the window, watching the “big whites” organizing community residents to line up, scan codes, and undergo nucleic acid testing outside the temporary disaster relief tents; or holding a box of cold takeout, eating it with snowflakes, swallowing it with difficulty; or carrying a heavy disinfectant bucket, spraying it step by step... In the cold wind and snow, they fight with faith; in the rebirth of the epidemic, they bear it with flesh and blood. In contrast, we who are stuck at home seem to be able to do nothing, no, the heroes going against the current are precious, and those going with the current are equally commendable! People jokingly say, “Finally, it’s time to lie at home and contribute to the country.” Indeed, we stay at home honestly, calm down to study and live, striving to protect ourselves and our families from being infected by the virus is a contribution to the country. Besides, we must also work hard to study, continuously improve ourselves, and wait for growth; one day, with a long rope in hand, why worry about binding the azure dragon?!
In the face of the epidemic, everyone seems so pale, powerless, fragile, and small, but we are not afraid! We firmly believe—“Difficulties awaken the holy, adversity strengthens the country!” This epidemic, although not easy to contain, reflects the cohesion of our great motherland. Various places are donating materials to Jilin, Jilin is China's Jilin! Watching news reports of doctors and experts from various places rushing to Jilin with supplies, seeing people cheering for Jilin online, seeing classmates' donation screenshots in the circle of friends... all of this moves us; this is our motherland, this is our warmest family, motherland will not give up on any child.
In the movie "The King of Comedy," there is a dialogue: “Look, it’s pitch black ahead, you can’t see anything.” “Not really, it will be beautiful when the sun rises.” Spring has arrived, this light has become even more dazzling, it gently tells us—dawn is coming. Under this light that radiates warmth of humanity, the hard ice can be melted, and the epidemic will eventually dissipate. When the gentle breeze blows, let us bloom with tears in the spring light.
The "Textbook" in the Ice and Snow#
The spring breeze has not yet softened the black land of Jilin, and our city has encountered the "late spring chill" of the COVID-19 epidemic. The cunning Omicron variant has prevented my steps from entering the campus, and has also shown me the "textbook" standing in the ice and snow.
Due to the strong infectivity, rapid transmission, and high concealment of the Omicron variant that triggered this epidemic, the number of infected people in Jilin Province is continuously increasing. In order to cut off the chain of virus transmission as soon as possible, we began to conduct nucleic acid testing for everyone.
“Residents of Building 3, please come downstairs for nucleic acid testing!” With a shout, the residents of our building responded. As soon as I pushed open the building door, the cold wind mixed with snowflakes rushed into my collar, and I hurriedly walked a few steps, hoping to shorten my exposure to the wind and snow.
As soon as I stood in line for testing, a familiar voice swept past my ear with the cold wind: “Please maintain a distance of two meters and show your health code on your phone.” “Hey, doesn’t that voice sound like our Chinese teacher? She was still giving us online classes in the morning, and in the afternoon she transformed into a ‘big white’?” I followed the line, moving forward little by little with questions. When I reached this “big white,” I saw my Chinese teacher's blurred face through the foggy protective mask. She quickly scanned my health code with her phone, saw my name, paused for a moment, and then said while walking away, “Hurry back home after the test!” I turned back to look at her bulky figure, suddenly recalling the famous saying she explained to us in Chinese class: “Since ancient times, there have been hardworking people in China, there have been people who work hard, there have been people who plead for the people, and there have been people who seek the law at the cost of their lives... They are the backbone of China.”
Back at home, I stood behind the window, trying to find my Chinese teacher's figure, but the “big whites” outside moved too quickly. They would run to the entrance of another building to shout, then run to the nucleic acid testing line to scan codes, and then huddle together to spray alcohol for disinfection... I really couldn't tell which one was her. My sister saw me standing by the window for a long time and curiously asked what I was doing. I pointed outside and told her, “Brother is studying seriously!” She shouted “You’re lying” and ran away laughing. Alas! She is still too young; she doesn’t understand that I’m speaking from the heart.
The wind outside is still howling, the snow is still falling, and my Chinese teacher is still “fighting” on the front lines of the anti-epidemic. She doesn’t know that in the ice and snow, she has turned herself into the most vivid patriotic lesson, “standing” as the most persuasive textbook!
Chorus#
Spring, the season that brings vitality to people, should be beautiful. But this year’s spring, a sudden COVID-19 virus, has made this spring somewhat dim.
The once lively streets and alleys have become desolate. From cities to villages, it seems that the pause button has been pressed overnight, instantly making people feel desolate. The night is deep, and a slight chill hits my face. I don’t know why, but tonight, I can’t sleep. Tossing and turning, I can’t fall asleep, and I unconsciously stand up, standing by the window, gazing at the starry sky. The chilly spring breeze messes up my hair, looking at the empty street, my heart feels even emptier.
Suddenly, a familiar melody wafts to my ears with the gentle breeze. The pleasant melody makes me hum along involuntarily. Soon, lights begin to light up one by one, the windows of the community are illuminated, brightening the night. “Singing the Motherland”—this is the most passionate voice of the Chinese people, the most sacred poem, the most majestic shout, now resounding in the community! Neighbors wave their phone lights, swaying gently with the rhythm of the song, “The five-star red flag flutters in the wind, the victory song is so loud...” The singing echoes throughout the community. From a single person's soft humming to residents standing at their windows singing in chorus, upstairs and downstairs, people encourage each other, “Jilin will win, Baicheng will win” echoes endlessly. Facing this scene, I couldn’t help but tear up. In this quiet earth, in the vast night, the indomitable song resonates in the community, and also in my heart.
“The collective balcony chorus, this idea is good.” “Let’s set a time, let’s light up our phone lights.” “Let’s rehearse tonight to see the effect, officially starting tomorrow at 7 PM!” “My little truck can be transformed into a mobile stage”... It turns out that a “voice of anti-epidemic” chorus plan has long been buzzing in the community owners' WeChat group.
“It is necessary to care for neighbors; it is necessary to protect neighbors; we must support each other and live well together” is the cultural group of our community. The next day, the “concert” was held as scheduled, the residents of the community opened their balcony lights, lit their phone lights, and began to wave their hands and sing along with the music, turning into a grand feast for residents to sing about the great motherland. On social media, many residents live-streamed this touching scene while spontaneously singing along, and moving comments flooded the screen. “The demeanor of Baicheng, warmth is not lost in special times, I love my hometown.” “Spreading positive energy, we share the difficulties!” “Salute to the people, anti-epidemic, keep going!” People who do not know each other in the community cheer for each other from afar, a phrase “Everything will be fine” instantly breaks through the defenses...
In the midst of the epidemic, there are countless long nights. Sometimes the night can be so thick that it feels impossible to escape, as if waiting for the dawn, but it is precisely in these gloomy days that a ray of light breaks through the silence, that is our chorus, our “concert.” We, these swallows fighting against the storm of the epidemic, will never cease our singing voices, nor rest our wings, using this morning star-like song to dispel the spreading darkness.
In these days of home quarantine during the epidemic, such nights and such songs are enough to support me to walk towards the light. “Softly chanting the epic, singing the national anthem with passion. When one side is in trouble, help comes from all sides, emotions move mountains and rivers, and the epidemic haze is dispelled.”
You Are Better Than the Spring Breeze#
In March, spring is three parts warm and seven parts cold, yet you in the spring breeze stand so tall.
——Title
In March, Baicheng.
The epidemic has quietly shrouded the land of China, and everything seems to have been pressed the pause button, confused and helpless. Everything happened so suddenly, as if it were a big dream, waking up to home quarantine, online learning, and universal nucleic acid testing...
In my eyes, Baicheng seems to be covered with a veil, on one side is the peaceful years, on the other side is the sky held up by epidemic prevention personnel; on one side is calm, on the other side is the busy figures of medical staff... The once lively atmosphere has returned to dust without knowing when.
Behind the home online learning, are the busy figures of teachers. After receiving the notice of class suspension, teachers hurriedly helped us organize our books, placing them at the door one by one; for a 45-minute efficient online class, they stayed up all night preparing lessons and recording, becoming the sacred “broadcasters” in the minds of students and parents. The white-clad angels going against the current, the enthusiastic volunteers, the busy delivery workers... they are dedicating their light and heat in their respective fields of work, there is a kind of beauty called perseverance, there is a kind of quality called willing to endure. Scenes unfold, moments captured, blending into a fragrant branch.
The aunt across from my house is a volunteer in the epidemic prevention work group. In the early morning, when I was still half asleep, I vaguely heard hurried footsteps. On the day of nucleic acid testing, I hurried downstairs wearing a mask to line up, a simple tent set up a space of love, the aunt across from me and several doctors, all dressed in heavy protective clothing, sat in the open air. The spring chill is biting, the trees on both sides of the street sway in the wind, a piercing cold rushes to my heart, and I can’t help but shiver.
When it was my turn for nucleic acid testing, the medical staff constantly rubbed their hands, kindly saying, “Open your mouth, ah!” Her hand lightly brushed against my palm, so cold! And the aunt across from me helped fill out the forms and take temperatures, busy for several hours before preparing to go home. She slowly took off her protective clothing and half-jokingly said to me, “I didn’t expect this outfit to be quite cool to wear, but it’s so difficult to take off.”
On the way home, I looked at her hands that were slightly purple from the cold, feeling distressed, I said, “Auntie, why do you have to be a volunteer? It’s so cold, and you sacrifice your own time.” The aunt gently breathed into her hands, giving a firm smile: “For great doctors to treat patients, they must be selfless and compassionate. We are all Chinese, helping each other is what we should do; we also need to contribute our part to the anti-epidemic.” I suddenly realized that behind that persistence and seriousness is sacrifice, is putting the small self aside for the greater good.
“A single spark can start a prairie fire.” Compared to them, our learning in the greenhouse is already the luckiest of luck. The chilly spring breeze cannot bend the upright waist; the flying snow plays an extraordinary melody. Because countless ordinary people like the aunt across the street all have a passionate heart, a selfless heart, a heart of perseverance! They are the guardians of our city.
Looking up at the sky, the stars are beautiful. I think, your eyes have long hidden the stars and the sea of light. Salute to the countless respectable, lovely, ordinary yet great “you” on the road of fighting the epidemic. The warmth of anti-epidemic contributions warms March, you are better than the spring breeze!
Spring's Confession#
There is no winter that cannot be crossed, and no spring that will not come.
——Title
The spring rain is dense like whispers, quietly, spring has arrived, but it encounters empty streets, with no one to listen to spring's confession.
The afternoon sun is as usual, still bright and warm. But just one word “epidemic” seems to have paused our lives, stealing our time.
Day after day, nucleic acid testing constantly urges us, the scenery on the journey has not yet been appreciated, but is pushed to the next stop. Just after lining up for nucleic acid testing, I hurriedly walked home. The wind brushed past my clothes, looking at the hurried figures, I couldn’t help but feel lost. Where should I go to find the spring light of the past? I couldn’t help but ask myself.
On the way home, I looked at the tightly locked doors of every household, looking at the unfortunate numbers in my phone, I closed my eyes. Can I really no longer embrace spring freely? I wondered.
The gentle breeze rises, as if a light bell has awakened me from my haze. I looked up, the setting sun shattered the clouds, dyeing them with bright colors, like a confident stroke from a painter, depicting the freedom and ease of breaking free from bondage. The little flowers blooming on the branches are tokens of spring's love, painstakingly drifting towards our books, their unique fragrance turning into ink, writing a love letter made for us. Fallen leaves lay down a ground of romance, looking forward to leading us towards a shining future. The flower sea that was once submerged by people on the street has finally caught your attention, the radiant smiles can melt the cold of the epidemic.
The daisies symbolizing spring slightly bow their heads, gentlemanly kissing the back of my hand. You are clumsy yet sincere, always slowly approaching us, carefully hiding the burning love in the places we have not noticed.
No matter how strong the epidemic is, it cannot stop the transmission of love. We may be confused, we may be lonely or disappointed, but we must carefully listen to spring's confession, and see that warm spring light. The mountains and rivers are safe in my chest, may you return like the spring breeze, the mountains and rivers are safe, it is a promise of love.
I hope that we can all listen to spring's confession together in a world free from the epidemic.
The Temperature of the City#
In the movie "The Pianist on the Ocean," there is a segment that goes: when a pianist who has never set foot on land is at the crossroads between the sea and land, he sees a city like a mechanical beast, full of wounds, with black smoke everywhere, leading him into a den of evil with an unmistakable sinister smile... The city seems like an endless abyss.
At the beginning of the new spring, Xi'an—this city of steel, is shrouded in the shadow of the “COVID-19 epidemic,” is it as cold as it looks in the film?
In the early morning, snowflakes have begun to fall outside the window, the invisible wind manipulates the snow to rush and gather, although it cannot break through the glass to invade the room, it can still bring in the cold air. I see the family across the building, opening the window to enjoy the snow, but suddenly seem to think of something, retracting the hand that was originally reaching out to catch the snow. I think, since there is the courage to reach out into the cold, retracting must be because of the current epidemic, fearing that the snow drifting past the building might carry the virus. Going to test for nucleic acid, the loudspeaker calls for everyone to maintain a distance of one meter, but everyone unconsciously takes two steps back; if someone gets too close, the person in front will turn around and signal you to stay away. People press their masks tightly, walking cautiously, especially those with children, who are even more careful, keeping their children close, not allowing them to run around. When returning to the building, everyone politely gives way in the elevator, at most four or five people per trip, if only one family can ride at a time, it feels fortunate. If the elevator goes down, they also hope no one will join.
In the city, the blood of the human body seems to be as cold as the environment, almost reaching zero degrees.
However, the “truth” of the matter is not like this—
The closed doors lock out the outside world, but bring the rare opportunity for family members to spend time together, finally being able to see parents at first glance when getting up, having three meals a day with parents, the sounds in the ears are no longer monotonous, under the soft light are the shadows of three people, I can also eat the meals cooked by Dad, and see the whole day of Mom's hard work. I believe that in every corner of the city, there is more warmth of home.
The community is under control, the doors tightly closed, but the self-service printer outside the community can still work, printing out my documents, thanks to the kind-hearted shopkeeper, who selflessly runs back and forth, leaving behind the fragrance of “roses” after giving to others! In the days when everyone is fearful day and night, there are still people who can take care of our needs. Among the vegetables distributed by the government for free, the green leaves carry the diligent sweat, the radish roots are spotless, a piece of high-quality ginger is “hot,” and the cabbage leaves are layered, wrapped with greetings and encouragement.
As day and night alternate, they shine on me, shine on families, strangers, shine on the city and the people within it. In every city, there are viruses lurking, bringing pain to countless people worldwide, but you can also see that the virus “locks” humanity, but also brings humanity closer. The warmth of national rescue is like the light and heat between me and my family, between strangers, and between everyone and the government, reaching every corner of every city. The most primal emotions between people are the temperature of the city.
Pianist on the ocean, can you hear now, beneath the cold exterior of the city, is boiling blood. This city, this huge “piano,” you or I alone cannot play, because this piano was born to be played together.
In the city, as long as a little light gathers, its temperature can illuminate all darkness.
Salute to Ordinary Heroes#
This year, March in Jilin Province is somewhat different from the past: Nanhu Park is no longer bustling with people, the Pseudo-Manchukuo Palace has lost its usual clamor, the Lingjiangmen Bridge has fewer cars, Songjiang Middle Road is not as lively as usual... The returning COVID-19 epidemic has pressed the pause button on our city, allowing me to see the true colors of those ordinary heroes.
Heroes who bear the weight for love
In the early morning, the campus of Jilin University is quiet, 62-year-old Aunt Liu Shuxian is busy in the empty corridor. She first carefully mops the disinfected floor, then takes a large woven bag that can hold three of herself and rushes to the sixth floor, where there are still many used lunch boxes waiting for her to move to the first floor for disposal. Sixth floor, fifth floor, fourth floor... Her small figure bends over, carrying her right hand, pulling a garbage bag weighing over a hundred pounds, step by step down, her heart only has one simple belief: I want to take good care of the children under lockdown.
Heroes Who Drink Wind and Swallow Snow#
In the afternoon, in front of the tent next to Changchun Jianmin Market, two rows of people waiting for nucleic acid testing stand, a prevention worker looks around while holding a lunch box. He thinks to himself: “There are still many people waiting for nucleic acid testing, I need to find a place to eat nearby.” Looking at the car parked not far away, he smiles: “That’s our dining table!” He places the lunch box on the car's trunk, carefully holding the box with his frozen red left hand, while using his right hand to shakily bring the food to his mouth. Passersby see the cold wind swirling snowflakes directly into his mouth and say with concern: “Find a place where it’s not snowing to eat!” He smiles calmly: “It’s fine, just need to eat a bite.”
Heroes Who Wear Stars and Moon#
In the deep night, the entrance of Panshi Chaoyang Mountain Expressway looks a bit empty, a traffic police officer stands tall in the ice and snow wearing a “green vest.” Whenever a car drives into the entrance, he quickly walks up, stands at attention, salutes, and then loudly says: “Please show your driver's license, and everyone cooperate with temperature measurement and registration, and show nucleic acid testing proof.” He repeats these actions tirelessly every day, saying these words earnestly every day, he uses his unique “night glow mode” to ensure that no car is missed, no person is overlooked, giving his all just to guard the western gate of Panshi against the epidemic.
In the long journey of life, everything has its turn. When we feel bitter, please believe that everything will eventually turn sweet. From the first light of dawn to the dimming of night, from the universities full of talent to the busy expressway entrances, from the sixty-year-old with snow-white hair to the strong young man, the people of Jilin use their concrete actions to tell the world: With a little heat, give a little light! Jilin has us, and we will surely win against the epidemic!
A Wind Blows By#
A gust of wind blows, lifting the pages on the table; a ray of sunlight shines down, illuminating the busy people.
——Title
“Residents of Building 16, Unit 1! Come down to get your meals!” She sent the meal collection information in the community WeChat group again—this is already the tenth day of our community's quarantine. I went downstairs as usual, and once again saw her figure without surprise. Her petite body in the oversized protective suit fits perfectly, she organizes us to line up, distributing lunch boxes one by one. Registering, bending down, registering, bending down... repeating like this, a trace of fatigue flashed in her eyes, but it could not cover her enthusiasm. In one building, there are probably a hundred people coming down to collect meals. This means she has to repeat this action two hundred times every day. While we chat and enjoy our meals, she is still busy; when we finish eating, she only sits on a chair, gently rubbing her waist... The gentle breeze brings a refreshing and peaceful feeling, and she is busy guiding the elderly, telling everyone not to be anxious, to trust the government, and to cooperate with the work. No matter when, as long as I look out the window, I can see their busy figures. At this moment, my heart is at ease...
The azaleas in the community have bloomed, red and dazzling, white and pure, swaying in the spring breeze. Once again, I stood in front of the medical staff for nucleic acid testing. The short action, yet they have done it thousands of times, skillfully and fluidly. Through the protective mask, I inadvertently saw the bloodshot eyes and fatigue in his eyes. My heart tightened, and I felt a few more respects for him. Even though there is a mask in between, I can clearly feel his smile. I couldn’t help but say, “Thank you for your hard work!” He looked up and gently asked, “Little friend, which grade are you in?” “Seventh grade!” I replied with a smile. He nodded at me and then hurried to do the nucleic acid test for the next person. The thick protective suit cannot hide his kindness and enthusiasm for people. With such people around, the epidemic will surely improve soon, right?
In this special moment, people communicate through masks, seemingly feeling more distant, yet also feeling closer. Neighbors have become more enthusiastic; if someone has difficulties, everyone thinks of ways together. The smiles on their faces seem to have increased, and they are more sincere. The thoughts in spirit seem to have unified, and the future they long for seems to be consistent. This family’s child needs to attend class, that family’s elder goes to rest, and people quietly settle down. The Wang family needs to print materials, the Li family immediately comes to help; the Zhang family did not receive supplies, the Zhou family immediately sends them over...
The wind gently blows, tender and delicate. People encourage and support each other. It seems that everyone has a little flame in their hearts, warm and passionate. Who dares to say that this epidemic has closed people's hearts?
The wind gently blows by. I think, it won’t be long before I can return to campus, right?
Glimmer#
With a little heat, give a little light, just like fireflies, they can also emit a little light in the dark, without waiting for a torch.
——Lu Xun
The sudden rebound of the epidemic has pressed the pause button on the city where I live—Ganzhou...
The night is deep, and I finally fell asleep with great difficulty, but was awakened again, saying that I need to go for nucleic acid testing. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and followed my mom. Although it was late at night, the line for nucleic acid testing still formed a long queue. When it was our turn, I quickly walked towards the medical staff, who skillfully took out a cotton swab, inserted it into my mouth, and then stuffed it into a red tube. They don’t know how many times they have repeated this action... Through the thick mask, I saw the medical staff's eyes were slightly tired, but their gaze was filled with determination, which greatly encouraged me.
After going back to catch up on sleep, I felt refreshed. Looking out from the balcony, the square downstairs is silent and empty, only a few “little white flowers” embellishing it. I saw the medical staff either curled up on the community benches, lying on the ground, or leaning against each other... They have endured another night. But as long as someone comes to do nucleic acid testing, they will have to muster their spirits to continue working. I have had enough sleep, but they do not have a solid bed to sleep on, nor can they have a peaceful sleep. They have a little light, so they emit a little heat, insisting on using their glimmer to illuminate this city.
Besides the lovely “big whites,” there are also some equally “eye-catching” figures walking in the community—volunteers. The volunteers are responsible for disinfection, spraying, and delivering meals. What moved me was that an elderly man with limited mobility in the community also signed up to participate. Watching him hobble yet seriously spray disinfectant, I couldn’t help but be touched. Time and again, they tirelessly spray disinfectant; time and again, their voices are filled with strength; time and again, they deliver meals, passing on love and energy. They use their glimmer to warm our city.
During this special period, my community has been locked down. To ensure our learning progress, teachers have transformed into “broadcasters,” teaching through live streaming on DingTalk. The teachers also specially opened a WeChat group for us, named “Classes Suspended but Learning Continues, We Are Together with You,” when I saw this name, a warm current quietly surged in my heart, constantly reminding myself: You are not fighting alone! The teachers’ silent dedication, with their little glimmers, illuminates and warms my heart!
Glimmers, though small, can illuminate the darkest night and warm the coldest winter when they gather together. I think I also want to become a point of light in the glimmer, to shine, to emit heat, to illuminate and warm this world!
The Most Beautiful People During the Epidemic#
Under the influence of the “epidemic,” the city seems to have pressed the “pause” button. Once bustling with traffic, now it is deserted. The streetlights still accompany the city at night; the magnolia flowers are still waiting to bloom in the wind; the red lanterns hanging high stubbornly remind us that it is still the most important Spring Festival of the year.
In my mind, the terrifying appearance of the virus keeps surfacing. The world seems to have changed overnight, people dare not get close, and I can no longer walk freely on the streets as before. The constantly rising numbers in the news remind everyone not to go out at any time.
At night, when my mom sees me often standing by the window looking into the distance, she finally says: “Fang Chengrui, how about I ride the electric bike to take you out for a spin, wear your mask, and don’t touch anything.” For the first time, I was overjoyed to be able to go out.
Sitting on the back seat of my mom's electric bike, I was surprised to find that at the entrance of every community in the city, there are “mushroom houses” appearing. They are called “mushroom houses,” but they are actually simple tents. Everyone in the tents wears red vests and ordinary masks.
My mom told me they are volunteers. They guard the entrances of various communities, advising everyone to avoid going out as much as possible, and keeping track of the entries and exits of the community.
The streets are quiet at night. The simple tents cannot withstand the early spring cold. Many tents have no lights, relying only on the weak light of street lamps, yet the volunteers still meticulously fill out passes and keep track of the personnel entering and exiting the community. I silently thought, “The virus is so terrifying, aren’t they in danger?”
A cup of water and a bucket of instant noodles have become standard for every tent. I suddenly realized that restaurants cannot open at the moment, and the volunteers can only rely on these to fill their stomachs.
Originally, my mom and I planned to go for a walk in Nanhu, but she suddenly changed her mind, “Let’s go home, we can’t cause trouble for the country.”
Back home, it started to rain lightly. I couldn’t wait to go to the window. Across the street, there is also a tent guarded by a volunteer. The tent has weak lighting, and there are almost no pedestrians on the street, yet the volunteers are still holding their ground. It is already past 8 PM, and it is too cold; I can only see them constantly stamping their feet and walking back and forth...
My mom’s phone rang, and without saying, it must be my dad’s. A photo stands out, wearing a red vest, with a mask, Dad is also guarding the entrance of a community in Quzhou. It was just after 9 PM, and he had just finished work.
In my mind, a picture emerges: each volunteer in the tent is like a little sun, warming the streets and alleys of the city. You are the most beautiful people in the fight against the epidemic, letting us believe that where there is love, there is power, where there is love, there is hope! (Author: Fang Chengrui)
The Most Beautiful People During the Epidemic#
“Hello, please show your health code.” A grandpa in his sixties stood up from the newly built shed at the entrance of the community, smiling. He is our community's “property manager.”
He is a retired teacher, with beautiful handwriting on the blackboard, and every blackboard report he makes can be described as “stunning.” Every day before dawn, he drags the garbage bin out of the community, and after returning, he starts cleaning. He has always been diligent and responsible.
When this epidemic came, the number of volunteers in the community was insufficient, and he stepped forward without hesitation. Everyone said he was already working hard enough, and now he had to double as a volunteer, not to wear himself out. He, however, dismissively said: “What’s the big deal? My workload has decreased during the epidemic, and besides, being a volunteer is nothing. In times of national crisis, we must think of contributing something!”
“What’s the matter?” The car owner poked his sharp face out, looking disdainful. “Health code.” Grandpa said, he seemed to have sensed that “the visitor is not kind,” his tone remained gentle, but with a bit more command and seriousness. “Hmph,” the car owner glanced at the shed with a dry look, “Isn’t this too serious? I see your temperature has been measured, it’s not abnormal, right? I’m just delivering a package of masks to my brother, just a meal and I’ll leave, can’t you be lenient?” The car owner shrank back his long, thin neck like a turtle, half flattering and half negotiating. “Sorry, without a health code, you cannot enter the community.” Grandpa said sternly. “Hey, why are you like this?” The car owner frowned, looking like a crumpled newspaper. Seeing that Grandpa was not yielding, the car owner had to flatter again: “Oh, I didn’t apply for it because I was afraid of trouble, my brother lives in Building 3, Unit 2...” “What’s wrong, Teacher Liu?” (Grandpa's surname is Liu) An uncle who was supposed to come to duty earlier rushed over, buttoning his red vest. “Nothing, this brother hasn’t applied for a health code and wants to enter the community!” Grandpa put down the newspaper and the reading glasses he was about to wear, smiling gently, the corners of his eyes rippling like water, creating wrinkles. The car owner looked up and down at the uncle, seeming to feel that with more people, he couldn’t argue, finding an excuse for himself: “If you don’t let me in, how can I deliver this?” “It’s not completely impossible, as long as you leave his phone number and name...” Grandpa still smiled, speaking word by word, and was about to find paper and a pen. “Oh, oh, I don’t trust you...” The car owner shrank back like a turtle again, and before he finished speaking, he turned the car around and left.
This grandpa is the most beautiful person in the fight against the epidemic; he enforces the law impartially, never “showing favoritism,” willingly contributing to this war without gunpowder. He is the most beautiful person in the fight against the epidemic! (Author: Fang Yiran)
The Most Beautiful People During the Epidemic#
At 7:25 AM, my mom sent me to the school gate early. As soon as I got out of the car, I saw those wearing red vests, holding yielding signs, escorting little friends across the road in the chilly wind...
Hey, that parent volunteer, slightly hunched over—could that be Grandpa? But didn’t he just have a polyp surgery and is resting at home? I was extremely puzzled and tried to call out: “Grandpa!” The red figure turned around, revealing the smile that belongs to Grandpa, the one I am most familiar with! “Dabao, you’re here!” Grandpa smiled and walked towards me, holding my hand, “You came very early!” “Grandpa, you came even earlier!” I happily held Grandpa's hand, walking and asking, “Grandpa, why are you doing parent volunteer work? You have to stand for a long time, won’t it be cold?” “Grandpa isn’t cold, holding your little hands to cross the road is very warm!” Yes, Grandpa's big hand, though covered with rough calluses, is extremely warm!
“But Grandpa, didn’t you just have surgery and need to rest?” I couldn’t help but ask my doubts. Grandpa squeezed my hand: “It’s just a small surgery, no problem... The ‘parent guard team’ is short-handed, and I have free time, so I came!” “Thank you, Grandpa!”
After sending me into the school gate, Grandpa turned around and went to escort other little friends. Looking at Grandpa's gradually receding red figure, he is less than 1.65 meters tall, weaving through the crowd, looking so inconspicuous, but that splash of red appears increasingly bright in my eyes...
It is this small yet tall red figure, busy shuttling between various volunteer service points in the community during this sudden COVID-19 battle: registering personnel entering and exiting, measuring temperatures, delivering supplies to those in home isolation... It is this small yet tall red figure that leads our whole family to become part of the “red”—Dad working late at night at the rural community checkpoint, Mom mobilizing her friends to donate to the Hubei Youth Development Foundation, my brother and I writing poems, recording videos, and drawing pictures, using our little strength to promote anti-epidemic charity...
It is this splash of red that paints the most beautiful scenery during the epidemic!
It is this splash of red that guards our shared home!
Thank you, the most beautiful red!