My father is my grandfather’s youngest child. There are two sisters in front of my father. When my father was born, my grandfather was already forty years old. My father is the continuation of my grandfather's life, the heir to the family's incense. He wants a nose but dare not g

Zhou Haifeng

#December Financial New Power#

My father is a farmer, but he is different from ordinary farmers. He has his own interests and hobbies, and his persistent pursuit and yearning. In the long course of his life, he used his own survival skills to fight against the environment.

’s father’s story begins with Three Stones of Wheat. My father is my grandfather’s youngest child. There are two sisters in front of my father. When my father was born, my grandfather was already forty years old. My father is the continuation of my grandfather's life, the heir to the family's incense. He wants a nose but dare not give him eyes, and wants arms but dare not give him thighs. When he was ten years old, a wealthy child in the village went to the county town to study. His father was greedy and clamored to go. Grandpa was very cruel, and the whole family became less jealous and less salty. They bought wheat millet and saved three shi of wheat money, so they asked their father to go to school. My father did not pay the tuition to the school, but entered the theater named Xiaozhong Society. My father was handsome, with a clear and delicate voice, suitable for singing roles. The teacher taught him according to his aptitude and taught him how to use his skills in Xiaozhong Society. Half a year later, when my grandfather learned that his father had not entered the school, but had entered the theater to sing the role of Kun, he almost lost his temper and died. It is a custom in Guanzhong that men who sing Kunjiao are not allowed to enter the graves of their ancestors after they die. Grandpa rushed to the county seat, grabbed his father's ears, and forced him back home. But my father still ran to the county theater in vain. Grandpa was cruel and whipped his father, causing a row in the theater, which completely cut off his father's path to learning opera. Although his father no longer goes to the theater, he still sings operas during village festivals, and he will remember them in his mind after listening to the arias of famous people in Qinqiang opera a few times. Singing a song in the wilderness when no one is around is no less impressive than a professional actor. When my father was twelve years old, my grandfather, who had worked hard all his life, became weak. He got a piece of cowhide, called his father to him and said that the eldest son of twelve would win his father's ambition. I didn't have much property, only three acres of thin land and my stinky skills of making cowhide drums and cutting cow ropes. The poor land can fill the stomach, and the dirty craftsmanship can make money and spend it. Only when people have food and flowers can they have fun. Which one is lighter and which one is heavier? You weigh it. Grandpa's words hit my father's heart. At this moment, my father suddenly shed tears. He said to grandpa, Dad, don't worry, I will learn crafts and grow crops from you!

My father was very clever and in addition to farming, he quickly learned his grandfather’s craft. The first drum my father made was for the Iron Buddha Temple, a temple fifty miles away from the village. It was a large drum half as tall as a man. Grandpa guided my father to make a drum, remove the fat on the cowhide, use white gray leather, put on the drum head, tighten the rope, listen to the sound of the drum, there are many procedures, each with its own secrets. My father learned to make drums and then to cut cattle ropes. Cutting the cow rope is a hard job. In summer, the smell of cowhide is so strong that people with weak lungs will vomit when they smell the fishy smell. When my father smelled the stench for the first time, he put a mask on himself, but his grandfather pulled it off. Grandpa pressed his father's head on the cowhide, letting the stench penetrate his nostrils and penetrate into his lungs. Three times in a row, my father's sense of smell gradually became dull. Grandpa asked his father if cowhide smelled bad. My father said, it doesn’t stink. Grandpa said that if there is no smell, there is no fragrance. You should slowly appreciate it in the days to come! My grandfather passed away after teaching his craft to his father, and his father burst into tears.

The father began to cut the cow rope. In the summer, he found a shaded place, used a curved rope knife to cut long leek-leaf-shaped ropes on the cowhide, and wrapped them between trees to dry. In winter, cowhide is fished out from the pond and is covered with ice slag, which is so hard that it hurts like hell if you touch it with your hands. My father set up a pile of firewood, softened the cowhide, and took the opportunity to work. It was already in the 1950s when my father became a cow rope cutter. Once, his father finished cutting the cow rope and had a meal with a cadre named Wu Liang. Although his father washed his hands and face, the smell of his body still made Wu Liang cover his nose. Wu Liang asked his father what he did in a contemptuous tone. My father said he was an ox rope maker. Wu Liang snorted and said, "A cow rope maker is just a cobbler, isn't he? Is this also a craftsman?" Wu Liang's words deeply hurt his father's heart. My father said, seventy-two lines, castrating pigs and geldings, forging iron and growing grain, what can be missing? If you look down on me, a craftsman, you will look down on workers and farmers. When my children grow up, they will become cadres for you to see. When I said this, my father was already married and had my younger brother and me.

In the early 1950s, farmers were working on their own crops, and the government mobilized farmers to join cooperatives. Each household brought their livestock to the village for registration and evaluation. The braying of mules, horses, cows, and donkeys was heard in unison. The lively scene attracted the whole village, men, women, and children, and everyone flocked to the streets like it was a festival.

Seeing that all the livestock in the village had been brought to the scene, my cattle were still tied alone in our mud house. My brother and I were anxious. We searched all over the world for my father to ask him why he didn't bring his cattle. I shouted at the top of my lungs and searched the streets, but my father was nowhere to be seen. So, my brother and I took off the reins of the old scalper and pulled it towards the village. The old ox was fat and strong. As soon as he entered the herd, he was immediately praised by the villagers. Mr. Fourth, who lives across the street from me, is known as Kuaizuier. He improvised a jingle to the old scalper: The eyes are like cups, the mouth is like a zither, the legs are like pillars, and the hair is like satin. After the cattle were taken away, they were collectively fed in a spacious feeding room and never brought back again.

At night, my father came home from somewhere. As soon as my father walked in, the cadre named Wu Liang followed behind. Wu Liang said to his father, here is a form for joining the club, please fill it out! My father said, isn’t it advertised that joining the company is voluntary? I don't join the club. Wu Liang said, if you don't join the society, why are you dragging the cows? The father said, who pulled the cow? Wu Liang said, go to your cowshed to see if the cow is there. My father went to see the cowshed. The cowshed was empty. Someone had taken the cow away. When my father was questioning the family, my brother and I talked about pulling the cow. After hearing this, my father stomped his foot "Oh...". Many years later, when the collective was in dire straits, my father sighed and said, I didn’t join the collective at first, but my two boys took the cow away.

My father has many hobbies. In addition to farming, raising cattle, pigs, and cutting cattle ropes, in his spare time, he uses leftover cowhide materials to make a small drum for the children to play with. My father also raised dogs, pigeons, and bees. My father’s dog is named Heizi. Heizi is a male dog, not big in stature, but smart and obedient. When his father went to the ground, Heizi followed him. Sometimes when a rabbit is found, the sunspots fly out like arrows until the rabbit is caught and brought back. One time, my father got up from the rooster's crow and was plowing the fields alone in Nanling. A wolf followed my father at some point. The old scalper probably felt it, "Huchi - Huchi -" and stopped. The father was about to raise his whip to drive away, but suddenly there were two sounds of "woof——" and "howl——" behind him. My father turned around and saw two shadows, one deep and one shallow, fighting in the moonlight. The father yelled "Wolf——" and held a short whip to show his strength. The light-colored shadow jumped away, and the dark-colored shadow followed closely. The father shouted urgently, "Heizi, come back——". After a while, Heizi returned to his father. It was getting light at this time, and my father saw that Heizi's mouth was covered with yellow hairs, and there was a wound on his front leg with blood dripping from it. The father took out the wolf hair from Heizi's mouth, burned it to ashes, and covered his wound. After that accident, my father loved Heizi even more. Whenever he came home from cutting the cow rope, he always carried a piece of beef in his arms. He divided the beef into three parts, one for each of me and my brother, and one for Heizi. Heizi was loyal, clever and very understanding of humanity. Sometimes his father would forget to bring his cigarette pouch when he went to the ground, so he would say to Heizi who was following him, "Heizi, go home and get the cigarette pouch." Heizi ran back to execute the order as fast as he could. There was a nest of field mice in the field, which ate a lot of corn cobs. My father started to dig the vole's nest with his hammer. The nest was too deep and he couldn't dig it to the bottom after digging for a long time. When his father was digging the vole nest, Heizi was beside him, whining. The father said, Heizi, are you not convinced? If not, take out the field mouse. After his father finished speaking, Ge Cui was smoking a cigarette. Heizi leaned down, dug his front paws into the vole's nest, pointed his mouth at the mouth of the nest, and blew air. After blowing for a while, the field mouse came out from the back door. His father was guarding the back door. Before the field mouse could escape, he was knocked to death by his father's smoke pot. Heizi noticed it and threw the dead rat high with his paws. My father happily sang Qinqiang Luantan:

Youweiwang meditated on the ground in Chang'an ,

hoping for the peace of the country and the peace of the people.

Unexpectedly, An Lushan raised troops to cause trouble,

Guo Ziyi led the army to eliminate the trouble for the king.

After his father joined the cooperative, he worked with the whole village to do crops. At first, everyone worked together, talked and laughed, and worked hard. Later, when food could no longer be divided, everyone became less active in working. When work started in the morning, the captain rang the iron bell, and the members lazily walked to the fields carrying their tools. Despite the captain's shouts and shouts, everyone was still lack of energy. The team leader scolded everyone for being idle workers, saying that if they continued like this, they would be fooled by the landowners. My father knows that when people coax the land, the land coaxes the belly. He felt extremely shabby and uncomfortable, so he told the captain that I was going out to cut the cattle rope. The captain said, if you don’t work on the team, who will do the work? My father said, I pay for the team to hire people to do the work. The captain said, isn’t this an exploiter? My father said that working as a foreigner on the team would make everyone poor, so it would be better for me to go out and earn some money for the team. The captain felt that what his father said made sense, so he asked the secretary of the brigade for instructions, and asked his father to go out and cut the cattle rope, and pay twenty yuan to the brigade every month.

Father went out carrying a half-moon-shaped shovel for shoveling cowhide, a crescent-shaped rope knife for cutting cow rope, and a slider for closing cow rope. Heizi wanted to let him go, but his father said, "You can watch the door for us at home!" He only carried a homing pigeon in his arms.

Speaking of homing pigeons, I mentioned my father’s hobby of raising pigeons. My father built a row of pigeon nests under the eaves. There are dozens of pigeons. In terms of species, there are bald doves, rock pigeons, and homing pigeons. In terms of color, there are white, black, and gray. My father made a lot of pigeon whistles and tied them to the pigeons. When the pigeons soared in the sky, the loud whistle sounded throughout the village, making people feel that life was so harmonious and comfortable. My father was particularly fond of the homing pigeon with its crested head, golden eyes, watercress beak, snow feathers, silver wings, and red agate claws. He would take it with him when he went on long journeys, and when he landed, he would write a note for the homing pigeon to bring back. My mother found someone to read it to her, and she felt relieved.

My father cut cattle rope for several years and accumulated a large bundle of cowhide residue. During the Spring Festival of that year, my father soaked the dried cowhide residue in several large vats, cleaned it, and set up an extra-large iron pot in the yard to boil leather glue . While my father was boiling glue, the north wind carried scattered snowflakes. Villagers poured into the yard in twos and threes, some wearing tattered felt hats, some wearing tattered cotton-padded jackets, some with straw ropes tied around their waists...all of them gathered around the big iron pot with sallow faces and thin muscles. Mother invited everyone to come inside and sit on the kang, but everyone did not move and just smiled dryly. Some leaned over to fill the furnace with firewood, while others looked eagerly at the bubbles in the big iron pot and greedily sniffed the usually disgusting smell. My father couldn't help but feel sad when he looked at everyone's sallow faces and embarrassing actions. This was a difficult period of three years. There was a famine. People peeled off the bark of elm trees and ate them. Rapeseed roots, bran, sweet potato vines, and cottonseed residue were also mixed with corn husks and corn cobs . Hunger makes people look sallow and skinny, and they forget about shame and ugliness. The corn cobs grow in the ground and are not yet ripe, and the hungry people eat them like rats. The mother told the father to steal some sticks at night to save the child. My father said that my ancestors only taught me how to do crops, make drums, and cut cattle ropes, but they did not teach me how to be a thief. The mother was speechless and in tears. When the whole family was dying of hunger, Heizi, who was driven out of the house by hunger, helped. Under the cover of darkness, Heizi picked up corn cobs in the field and entered the house through the water channel in the backyard. When my brother and I were eating the corn cobs that Heizi took back, my mother said, Heizi does not mind the family poverty, he is really the savior’s righteous dog! Later, Heizi was shot to death by the militiamen guarding the corn. My brother and I burst into tears. In the midst of the pain, the village cadres tracked down my family, and my father was criticized and deprived of fifty kilograms of relief food from us. This undoubtedly made matters worse. As my mother and our brothers cried, my father carried the furniture for cutting cattle ropes and entered Nanshan overnight. My father earned a bag of corn, so our family’s lives were not taken away by the hungry devil.

When the cowhide is boiled for a certain period of time, it becomes glue. When the skin is cooked to pieces, more and more people gather around the big iron pot. Mr. Si, known as the director of foreign labor, asked his father if cowhide could be eaten. Father understood Mr. Fourth’s intentions. In years of famine, people rarely had food, let alone meat.So he said, pig skin is meat, cowhide is also meat, pig skin meat can be eaten, and cowhide can also be eaten. After his father told him, Mr. Si picked up a piece of cowhide from the pot, poured it from his left hand into his right hand, and from his right hand into his left hand. It was so hot that he blew it with his mouth. Everyone stared at Mr. Fourth with lustful eyes. Mr. Fourth used his hands to cool down the temperature slightly, then put the cowhide into his mouth and chewed it with his incomplete teeth. Everyone asked Mr. Fourth how it tasted. Mr. Four kept talking about the cowhide and hummed vaguely through his nose, "Smells, smells..." Then the hungry people looked at their father with pleading eyes. My father said, since Mr. Fourth said it was delicious, everyone should eat it! "Wow -" Everyone leaned forward and picked up the hot cowhide with their hands. Some fished out the cowhide and put it into their mouths impatiently, making their mouths scald with blisters; some put the cowhide into their arms, as if they had received He's Bi. Seeing the villagers grabbing the cowhide, my mother also squeezed to the pot and fished a few pieces for our brothers. In about a moment, a large pot of cowhide was scooped up by the villagers. Some uninformed villagers came over after hearing the news and sighed looking at the empty iron pot. At this time, my mother gave them some of the cowhide we fished out.

The villagers still shed tears of gratitude for celebrating the New Year with stinky cowhide, and the little bees raised by their father once made the whole village go out and get excited. My home is located at the west end of the village, close to the city wall. In addition to a few low houses, there is also a tall old persimmon tree growing in the large yard. The old persimmon tree has a thick body and tangled branches. The green crown supports a giant umbrella in the yard. In the fifth month of the lunar calendar, star-like persimmon flowers cover the branches, and the faint floral fragrance attracts countless bees. The bees buzz on the trees and play beautiful music.

My father loved bees, so he dug a hole in the city wall and plastered it with mud, leaving a nest door as big as a copper coin. The door was smeared with pot ink and honey to attract bees. In late spring and early summer, bees breed new queen bee larvae, which are fed with royal jelly. After a certain period of time, the prince emerges from the cocoon and fights with the old queen bee to dominate. At this time, the bee swarm divided into two camps to fight. The old queen bee was no match for the new queen bee, so she flew out of the old nest with her followers and settled in the new nest. The new nest is selected in advance. The bee that selects the nest is nimble and cunning. My father calls it a nest bee. One day, a swarm of bees fell on the persimmon tree opposite Mr. Si’s house. Mr. Fourth was overjoyed. He didn't know how to build a honeycomb, so he hurriedly asked his father to build a honeycomb. When my father was helping Mr. Fourth build a honeycomb, a few bees came in and out of the honeycomb on the wall of my house. Mr. Fourth’s house had a honeycomb built, and when he was moving a ladder up the tree to collect the bees, the swarm suddenly flew up, like a yellow cloud, buzzing and rumbling out of the yard, across the street, and flew towards my yard. Mr. Fourth was very confused and came to my house. He saw the bees swarming into the honeycomb on the wall of my house. Amid the cheers of our brothers, Mr. Fourth stamped his feet and cursed in frustration, "People love the rich, dogs bite them to bits, and the bees think I'm poor."

My family unexpectedly received a swarm of bees. This swarm was easy and ordinary, but the second swarm was legendary. It was the hot summer weather, and the hot air was stagnant, making people break out in stinking sweat at every turn. At this time, my six-year-old brother was mowing grass in Nanling with the neighbor's children. The younger brother was wearing a vest and bare buttocks. When he was tired from mowing, he crawled into his backpack to enjoy the cool air. As soon as he climbed into the backpack, he fell asleep. A honey bee flew over. The honey bee flew around the mouth of the basket, and then stopped on his sweaty crotch. After a while, it flew away again. An hour later, a swarm of bees swirled into the backpack where his brother was sleeping and gathered in a pile on his crotch. My younger brother was so asleep that his crotch became a honeycomb and he was unconscious. The child who was mowing the grass with his younger brother found out and was so frightened that he ran back to the village to call for help. When my father learned about it, he rushed to Nanling with the villagers. The younger brother is still sleeping soundly, and the bees are also resting quietly. The villagers were so anxious that they woke up the younger brother by shouting and screaming. As soon as the younger brother moved a little, the bee in his crotch buzzed, and the younger brother cried out in fright. The father made a quick decision and ordered his brother not to move. He took out the fence for collecting bees and put it on his younger brother's crotch. A rag with honey hung under the fence. The honey attracted the bees and they quickly climbed up the fence.My brother's danger was relieved, and the second swarm of bees settled in my house. The beautiful silhouettes of the bees and the buzzing music became a beautiful scenery in my house. As time went by, two nests of bees turned into four nests, four nests turned into eight nests, and eight nests turned into sixteen nests... Our home became a veritable apiary.

’s father raises medium bee , also called bumble bee . Every afternoon, thousands of bees dance in front of the nest door. The father said that this was the bee "courting the king". It was difficult to distinguish the formations of bees when they were swarming and when they were courting, so my father chewed on the smoke pot and stood in front of the hive to observe. When the swarm of bees flew out and circled over the yard, my father ran out of the house, rang the iron bell in front of the Tutu Temple, and shouted loudly, "The bees have been collected - the bees have been collected -" When the villagers heard the shouts, they took bamboo cages filled with plant ash and took to the streets. Under the command of his father, the young people lay on the ridges of the roofs and rode on tree branches, while the old and weak formed teams according to the directions of southeast, northwest and northwest. When the bee swarm flies in that direction, the watchers in that direction will use plant ash to attack it. The swarm's vision was blocked, and it bumped around in the gray fog that covered the sky. It couldn't break free from the intercepting gray net. When it was exhausted, it needed to find a place to rest. At this time, the tall old persimmon tree in my yard became the best target for the bee swarm, and the bee swarm had no choice but to hang on the old persimmon tree. My father moved a ladder, climbed up the tree, and collected the bees. Once the bees are in place, it's time to reward the helpers. The father brought out vegetable nectar, and the mother brought out steamed buns. Everyone dipped the buns in honey and ate them with gusto. The fourth gentleman was always greedy, so he used his chopsticks to hollow out the steamed bun, filled it with honey, and took a bite like eating a soup dumpling. The honey shot all over his face, choking him so much that he almost choked, and made the village neighbors laugh.

With bees, there is honey and royal jelly. Honey is a good thing. It can help my brother and I get back school fees and daily necessities for our family. Royal jelly is a treasure that can maintain health and longevity and cure tracheitis . Wu Liang, who had once ridiculed his father, suffered from tracheitis and asked the production team leader to come home to buy royal jelly. My father said, my place only smells bad but not fragrant. After Wu Liang left in embarrassment, his father asked the captain to deliver royal jelly to Wu Liang.

We have been experiencing a famine year. The acacia flowers were all pruned by hungry people before they bloomed, and the rapeseed was also plowed out by the roots after winter. When spring is warm and flowers are blooming, bees cannot find nectar sources and have no choice but to cry in the wilderness. Bees have no flowers to make honey, no honey to survive, and they die one nest after another. Looking at the dead little creature, my father's face was full of sorrow, and his temples looked like they had been stained by frost.

The lean years lasted for three years. My father's interests and hobbies were gone, and life became boring. The bell of the production team is still ringing, and the swollen members are still carrying tools to grind. Most of the animals on the team starved to death, and their skins and flesh were all eaten up. The cattle ropes could not be cut, and no one asked my father to play the drums. My father was very sad. He sat at home and sang Qin opera and played randomly:

There are many stars in the sky and the moon is unknown.

There are many fish and unclear water in the river.

The roads on the ground are uneven and the team has many people working hard.

When the captain saw that his father was not at work, he came to the door and said, "If you don't work in the fields with everyone, you will be fooled by the drama!" My father said that pigs push forward and chickens dig backwards, each has its own way of living.

There is a small town ten miles away from the village. The town holds a market on both days. Although the weather is famine and business is sluggish, the farmers still miss the market, buy pounds of salt, fill bottles of vinegar, and weld a smoking pot and a washbasin. At the crossroads, the little furnace maker , who is known as Hou San to people over fifty years old, has been setting up a street stall, and there is a young man dancing in front of the street stall. The young man, with thick eyebrows and round eyes, and nimble hands and feet, pulled the bellows for the little furnace maker. The fire was roaring, and Hou San held the soldering iron with tongs and dipped it in tin to solder smoke pots and washbasins for customers... Sometimes, Hou San would stop the fire, pick up a small and exquisite drill, carefully embed a diamond in the drill bit, and drill and rivet the glasses sent by the customers. This process is called nailing glasses. Nailing glasses is a unique craft, and one must have the eye for mirrors and superb skills. The most important thing is to know the mirror.Glasses include protective glasses, reading glasses , sunglasses... The lens materials are generally glass and crystal, and the colors are white, brown, tea, ink, etc. Depending on the lens material and the quality of the production process, the price difference is very different. The price of glasses depends on the quality of the glasses.

When Hou San, the little furnace maker, showed off his skills, the young man standing aside watched intently. This young man was his father. At first, Hou San, a young furnace maker, asked his father whether he was welding smoke pots or nailing glasses. Father shook his head. Hou San asked again, are you a member of the society? Father nodded. Hou San said, you are a member of the commune and you are not doing anything, but what are you doing in front of my stall? My father said, I want to learn your craft. Hou San smiled and said, my craft is the most inconspicuous among craftsmen. I am called a small furnace craftsman. A small furnace is a small craftsman. Skills do not support people. There are seventy-two professions in the world, and none of them are better than my craftsmanship. My father said frankly, I have learned how to play, play and sing, but now everyone is eating pulp and scratching their mouths, and no one is paying attention; I am also a cow rope maker and a drum maker. After the cows starve to death, the skins are eaten by people, so I can cut them and do whatever I want. Hou San said that skills should not be passed on to others. If you learn my skills, you will steal my job. I will drink the northwest wind! Dad said, I understand. From the moment he said these words, Hou San's father's figure was missing from the stall. But something happened later that made the young furnace maker so grateful that he wanted to pass on his craft to his father. It was a market day in and . Hou San, a small furnace maker, used a diamond to drill holes in a customer's glasses. The so-called diamond drill bit is only as big as a grain of millet. At the end of the process, Hou San disassembled the drill bit and accidentally dropped the diamond to the ground. There was a layer of loess and dust on the ground, and the diamond disappeared as soon as it hit the ground. Diamonds are very valuable. They are the result of Hou San's hard work for many years. Losing diamonds means losing your property. Hou San wore 500-degree spectacles and used a steel cone to carefully dig out the dust under his feet one by one. From morning to mid-afternoon, Hou San was dizzy and couldn't find his beloved treasure. Hou San was anxious and painful, and his spirit was about to collapse.

At this time, my father suddenly came to the scene. Without saying a word, he found a broom, a dustpan, and a copper wire rope. He fetched a large basin of water, swept all the dust and sand on Hou San's stall into the dustpan, and poured it little by little into the rope floating on the water. He shook it gently, and the dust and sand were filtered away with the water, leaving the sand in the water. Onlookers said that this was pure gold in the sand. After doing this several times, the dust and sand became as big as a palm in the pile. I picked up the sand and stones as big as wheat grains and dug them in the sand with a steel cone. A golden shiny thing as big as a grain of millet shined in front of me. Diamond! Diamond! The onlookers shouted happily. Hou San wiped his tears and smiled like a child. When his father left, Hou San, a young furnace maker, grabbed his father and said, "You are loyal, smart and smart. I will pass on your craftsmanship to you!" My father said, "Thank you, master. I have seen your craftsmanship for a while."

After his father became a small stove maker, he was not like Hou San, who sat in the market town with a heavy burden. He took matters into his own hands and made the little furnace maker's tool box into a horse-riding style and placed it on the back frame of an old bicycle. When he went out, he used the bicycle to carry the tool box. He went to the market when there was a market but not to the village when there was no market. My father went to the market and traveled around the village, welding smoke pots, matching keys, and nailing glasses. Those who had money would give money, and those who had no money would serve as services. If the person being served felt sorry for him, he would stuff a steamed bun or an egg into his arms. My father's artistic virtues were praised by the villagers, but he later encountered trouble. His tool box was confiscated and he was criticized. It was during the Cultural Revolution that the rebels asked my father to make a cowhide drum. My father said that he could not make a big drum, but could only make a small drum for children to play with. So the rebels collected evidence to criticize him, saying that the plays he had written were against socialist society, and that his abandonment of farming and working skills was a form of speculation and capitalism.

Life consumed his father’s interests and hobbies and cut off his craft. When the age of destiny came, the rural policy changed, land was contracted to each household, and farmers began to grow their own crops.My father had not grown his own crops for many years. When he saw the land that had been redistributed, he recalled his unwillingness to join the commune. We had been working as foreigners together for many years, but it was not until we could no longer do it that the production methods changed. This was a big joke played by history on Chinese farmers.

After everyone went to work on crops, people's work changed. With the development of science and technology, nylon ropes replaced cowhide ropes, and plastic washbasins replaced enamel washbasins. Smoking pots were rarely smoked in the mouth. filter cigarettes made farmers smoke as happily as immortals. My father's skills of cutting cattle rope and small furnace maker were gradually eliminated by real life. When the peasants are full, entertainment activities start. New year's festivals, temple fairs, weddings, weddings, and weddings all have a movie or a troupe show.

The boiling life splashed waves of joy in my father's heart. He studied drama in his early years, but the living environment in his adulthood abated his interest. Just as his spiritual interest relapsed, his former theater friends came to visit him. My father had many theater friends. In the village, there was the second child with a broken head and a lion child with a beard; in the other village there were a bird child with a golden bell, a bird with a silver bell, and a blind dog child called the Iron Whisperer. When the theater friends came, my father would chop wood and make tea for everyone on the earthen tea stove in the doorway. The tea my father brews is called Shaanqing. The tea can is cut from a 1059 pesticide bottle discarded by the production team. The bottle is made of tin and iron. My father roasted the medicine bottle on the fire several times, and the medicinal properties disappeared. The method of making tea cans out of pesticide bottles was invented by my father. It proved to be strong and durable, and it soon became popular among Murakami and his fellow actors. My father's tea was so strong that when I poured it out of the tea can, there were long threads. People who were not addicted to tea would stick out their tongues after taking a sip. Even the theater friend Hu Hujiang said, "You should have given 1059 to everyone." The blind dog boy said that people are sinners in the world, but if they drink to death, they will be out of misery. Gou Wa’s words revealed the misfortune of his life. His parents died when he was young, and his brother and sister-in-law kicked him out of the house. He begged for food like a beggar, and he starved to death in front of the Earth Temple in front of my house. It was his father who carried him home, and his mother cooked corn porridge and fed it to him to help him recover. During the conversation, his father discovered that the blind man Gou Wa had a very good voice, so he taught him how to sing, giving him a way to make a living. The blind man is so smart that he can memorize traditional operas by heart in less than a year. The blind man was loyal and kind. When his father went out, he would hold the stick in his hand. That winter, the snow was so heavy that when I went home after singing at night, the snow was so deep that I couldn't find my way home. It was the blind man who poked the front with a stick to lead the opera friends home safely.

My father had a broad acting career, and his singing voice was pure and clear and long-lasting. When he was sixty years old, his voice remained unchanged, and he was invited to sing operas one after another from miles around. My father became famous. When he came back from singing opera, he would always have a handful of fruit candies or fried flower buns in his pocket for his grandchildren to eat. At this time, I was married, working as a contract cadre, and had a child named Maomao, who became my father's spiritual concern.

Once, when my father went out to sing, he accidentally fell into the gutter and lay on the kang for half a month. My brother and I advised my father that you are getting older and it is inconvenient to go out, so just rest and we will take care of your life. My father said, my arms and legs haven’t been broken yet, so I can eat it right away! You think I go out to sing for money, but you are wrong. Can money buy happiness? I said to my father, didn’t you say that the baby relied on his father thirty years ago, and his father took care of the baby thirty years later? My father said that society was changing and the old imperial calendar was no longer useful.

When my father celebrated his sixtieth birthday, his family and relatives were not allowed to hold a birthday banquet, but he spent 3,000 yuan to customize a box of colorful shadow puppets. This was his long-cherished wish. shadow puppet show organically combines singing and performance, turning the invisible into tangible, and is deeply appreciated by the audience. My father's love for shadow puppets is endless. This is his pursuit of high-level art and the sublimation of his spiritual life. After buying a shadow puppet box, my father practiced it repeatedly in the house, even forgetting to eat and sleep. When Mr. Si, an old man, saw his father playing with shadow puppets, he smiled and said, "You are like a toothless wife eating fried beans." After hearing this, my father smiled calmly and indulged himself in his favorite art. One month later, my father called the blind Gou Wa to be his partner, and took his shadow puppet box to the public in the village.The father was picking up the shadow puppets and singing at the same time. Although the thread-picking movements were not very skillful, the brand-new shadow puppets and the clear pronunciation of the singing still won applause from the audience. Some of the actors were joking and some were scolding. My father was happy and comfortable, with a bright face.

This winter, my father received a craft job. The Iron Buddha Temple, fifty miles away from home, asked my father to make a cowhide drum half as tall as a man. My father and my grandfather made big drums for Tiefo Temple many years ago, but due to life reasons, they did not make big drums in the future. The person who invited my father to play drums was Master Zheng Wen, the abbot of the temple. During the Cultural Revolution, the big drum was smashed as the Four Olds. The master remembered the benefactor who made the drum for the temple and searched for it. When the master saw his father, he said that he would pay 800 yuan after the drum was finished. My father put down his singing skills and took up this good deed. My father carefully made it according to the process taught by his grandfather. He spent 400 yuan to buy the drum shell, cowhide, and put on the drum head. When setting the drum teeth, my father no longer used traditional wooden nails, but used his skills as a small furnace maker to use copper-plated iron nails to make the drum look beautiful and spectacular. After the drum was completed, it was sent to the temple. Master Zheng Wen saw the shape of the drum and listened to the sound of the drum, which was very satisfying. The master made tea for his father in the main hall and asked him to give alms. At that time, the Master was raising donations for the floods in southern my country. My father said, I will donate two hundred yuan. The Master remained calm and continued to make tea for his father. My father took a sip of tea and said, I will give another 200 yuan as alms. The master stopped making tea and then said, I will help you onto the Buddha lotus platform, beat the drum you made, you close your eyes, and touch the Buddha from head to toe. My father said, what are you doing by touching the Buddha? The Master said, I will tell you after touching it. After touching the Buddha, my father got off the lotus platform. The Master said, the Buddha will bless your family with two happy events, one getting rich and the other becoming famous. After the Master finished speaking, he recited Amitabha. After hearing this, my father seemed suspicious. After leaving the main hall, my father saw people coming to the Buddhist temple to burn incense one after another. Among the crowd, Wu Liang, who had a poor official career, was also among them, and his father was puzzled for a while. At this time, a pair of couplets in front of the main hall caught my father's eyes:

Morning bells and evening drums Awaken the famous and wealthy in the world

The sound of the Buddha's name calls back the officialdom and the dream travellers

My father came home. He had worked hard all winter and made no money, but he felt relaxed and comfortable. At the winter solstice party that year, my sister-in-law spent 2 yuan to win a prize and got a Ruyi color TV set worth a thousand yuan. After the spring started, one of my novels won a provincial award, and I became an official national cadre. My father, who had never believed in Buddhism, lamented that if people do good deeds, they will be blessed in future generations!

When my father was over seventy years old, I encountered a headache. My child had graduated from college and was temporarily unable to find a job. In my child's eager expectation, I had no choice but to ask the county magistrate. The county magistrate lives in a separate courtyard, and his mother sleeps on a heated kang. When the weather is hot, the heated kang stops burning, and a swarm of bees crawls into the hole of the kang. The bees were buzzing and flying and stung the county magistrate's child on the head. The magistrate's child wanted to set fire to the bees, but the magistrate's mother refused, saying that bees flying into the house would bring good luck and sweet life. So the county magistrate searched for someone to collect the bees, but no one could take the job. After learning about this, I told the county magistrate that my father could collect bees. The county magistrate looked at me with doubts and said, can your father do it? I said, my father had kept bees and was an expert in collecting bees. With permission, I took the car to the countryside to pick up my father. My father was getting ready to go out to sing an opera, and I told him about going to the county magistrate’s house to collect bees. The father said, can you arrange work for your children after harvesting bees? I said, this is just to help others. The father said that if the child can't do public affairs, he should just sing opera with me. I said that if your children think differently than you do, they will lose their jobs and make the family uneasy. Father was silent. I know that my father has a stubborn temper. He has been self-reliant throughout his life and is not willing to curry favor with the powerful. What’s more, he once said that his father will rely on his children for the next thirty years. My father is over seventy years old. I have not given him any happiness and enjoyment, but I have asked him to violate his principles as a human being for the sake of my children. At that moment, I felt extremely confused and in pain. When I was in a dilemma, my father put down the props that he had used when he went out to perform in an opera, said hello to his fellow actors, took down an empty beehive and a bee trap from the wooden floor of his house, smeared them with honey, and followed me to the city.

It was already dark after my father entered the city.The county magistrate had a meeting in the evening and he was not at home, so his woman opened the door to greet him. After entering the door, the county magistrate's woman invited her father to eat. His father said that eating is a small matter, but collecting bees is a big deal. Under the lamp, my father rolled up his sleeves, revealing the bumpy veins on his arms. He walked to the kang hole and turned off the light to prevent the bees from flying around the yard when they saw the bright light. He only had a small flashlight he carried with him, used a shovel to enlarge the kang hole, and then slowly crawled into the sooty kang hole with the bee harvesting tool. With a faint light, I saw my father put a fence on the bee pile, and used his bare hands to gently move the bees to let them crawl towards the fence. Staring at my father's arched body, my heart tightened. I felt as if my father was removing a dumb cannon that did not explode, which made me anxious and guilty. After about an hour, my father carefully handed the collected bees out of the hole, and then slowly moved out like pupae. Suddenly, something fell down with a thud. I asked my father what was going on, but he didn't say anything. He panted and crawled out of the kang hole. He didn't bother to wash his hands and face, so he took the bees from my hand and placed them in the beehive he brought. It wasn't until midnight that my father came home from the city.

I found out later that when my father was collecting bees for the county magistrate, a falling brick of a bed hit him on the waist, and he suppressed his voice at the time. He didn't tell me when I sent him home and fell asleep after I left. I regretted hearing that my father injured his back. I took my father to the hospital for treatment. My father said that he is old and useless, so you should not worry about it anymore. After that, I asked the child if his affairs were done. I said, not yet, but the county magistrate has promised to consider it.

At this time, some theater friends came to the house and invited my father to sing a shadow puppet show. I told the visitors that my father had a backache. My father said, "It's weird, my waist doesn't hurt so much as soon as you come back." My father put on his clothes and went to the kang. When I stopped him, my mother sitting aside said, "It's okay. You can go back to the city!"

The father carried the shadow puppet box on his bicycle, and the wheels rolled forward...

About the author:

Zhou Haifeng, male, is from Qianxian County, Shaanxi Province. A member of the Chinese Reportage Society, a member of the Shaanxi Provincial Writers Association, a director of the Shaanxi Literary Creation Research Association, the vice president of the Western Reportage Society, the vice president of Bangu Academy of the Shaanxi Writers Association Literary College, the former chairman of the Qianxian Federation of Literary and Art Circles, and the chairman of the Writers Association.

has published the novel collection "Promised Land" and the novel "The Bodhi Tree". The collection includes a collection of short stories and short stories "A Dream in a Small Town", a collection of essays "Chasing the Sun", and a collection of reportage "Where the Tornado Hits". In 2002-2003, the Municipal Federation of Literary and Art Circles awarded him the "Morality and Art" award. His achievements are recorded in more than 10 classics including "21st Century Talent Pool" and "Who's Who in the World of Chinese Literature and Art". The novel "The Bodhi Tree" is collected by Museum of Modern Chinese Literature.