My childhood was spent at my grandmother's house. Since I can remember, our family has been very poor, and my parents left us to work in Hainan. My grandmother lived in a mountain village without road access, surrounded by mountains, which should be considered a picturesque place. Especially the back mountain of my grandmother's house, named Yeji Zao, is a place we often went to when we were young because there were wild pheasants, wild pheasant eggs, and mushrooms on that mountain. Picking mushrooms, collecting wild pheasant eggs, and掏bird nests were common entertainment activities for us when we were young. The children in the mountains were adept at掏bird nests and were as agile as monkeys. Their innocent faces were filled with radiant smiles like the sun.
The village where my grandmother lived was not big, located in a place called Huanglian Chong, with only six households in total. As the name suggests, these six families lived rather impoverished and difficult lives, like the heart of Huanglian (a bitter herb). Because there were few households, we didn't have many playmates when we were young. There were Yinda Yin Xiangyun, who was mute, Deyun Yin, who was short, and A Po, the sister of Yin Xiangyun. Actually, Yin Xiangyun wasn't mute; he just imitated his sister A Po's "ah ba ah ba" so much that he became somewhat stuttered. In our place, both mute and stuttering people are collectively called "mute." When Yinda was young, he was a very kind person. When we first arrived at my grandmother's house, we liked to tease him a lot. Yinda had a habit: the first thing he did every morning was go to the outhouse (toilet). What was even funnier was that he never used his own family's outhouse but always came to use my grandmother's pit toilet. When there was no toilet paper, Yinda would always shout loudly: "Grandma... Grandma... (a respectful term in Hunan dialect for someone older than one's grandfather) there's no tissue...!" Then my grandmother would ask my brother and me to bring him some grass paper. We would hum our self-composed songs and happily skip over to give it to him. I still remember the song: "Mute blows the trumpet, eats feces in the toilet..." Yinda would urgently call out from the toilet: "Little... Little Tian Ji, please come quickly... give me... help me wipe my butt!" Of course, we wouldn't rush to help him. Instead, we would tease him first, asking him to call us "Man Man" (uncle in dialect) or "Bo Bo" (uncle). Yinda would obediently call out: "Uncle... Uncle Man Man... can you give it to me now?" Later, we realized we were actually the same generation as Yinda, so calling us "Man Man Bo Bo" didn't give us any advantage. So we changed our demand and asked him to call us "Di Di" (grandpa in dialect). Yinda, sweating profusely, said: "Alright... grandpa... give it to me quickly... I'm about to stink to death!" Once we threw the grass paper into the toilet without caring where it landed, we immediately ran away because we knew that after Yinda wiped his butt, he would chase us out to catch us. Sometimes if he caught us, I would pretend to scream in pain, and my grandmother, fearing a commotion, would come out to check. Yida would immediately let go of me and smile apologetically at my grandmother: "Grandma... we were just playing around!" Then Yida would take us to Yeji Zao to catch pheasants, set traps for rabbits, and collect eggs from bird nests.
There were many fir trees, pine trees, and ironwood trees at Yeji Zao, along with various other unnamed large trees, making it an ideal habitat for wildlife such as pheasants, wild rabbits, deer dogs, weasels, occasionally wild boars, and some unknown animals. Yinda was very skilled at climbing trees. His feet seemed to have hooks, allowing him to climb high up the tree swiftly. Moreover, he was an expert at catching birds. When he got close to a bird's nest, he would move cautiously, making no sound at all, using his feet to tightly grip the trunk, and then swiftly grab the bird in its nest before bringing it down along with the eggs. He would then let us take them home to fry and eat. Some of the bird eggs were larger than duck eggs, and one trip to the nest could provide us with food for several days. I don't know who told Yinda, but he believed that roasted pheasants tasted good. So, three seven-year-old kids started a fire in the mountains, skewering the bird from its rear end to its mouth without plucking its feathers, roasting it while it sizzled. Yinda, being impatient, began to clamor for eating after less than ten minutes of roasting. He took a bite, tearing off a large piece, chewed a few times, and realized there was still blood, meaning it wasn't fully cooked. The burnt bird feathers in his mouth were both fishy and smelly. All three of us spat out the bird meat immediately, cursing the person who said roasted pheasants were delicious, calling him a turtle egg and worse. From then on, whenever we went to Yeji Zao, we only collected bird eggs and hunted rabbits. Occasionally, upon encountering animals larger than ourselves like wild boars, we would forget everything and run as fast as possible upon hearing the word "wild boar."
One day, after arriving at Yeji Zao, we each took different positions. Yinda didn't tell us anything but hid in the grass to relieve himself. My brother and I were searching for rabbits in the grass when suddenly we heard some rustling. Focusing our eyes, we saw a dark, moving lump. Startled, I shouted: "Mommy! Wild boar..." My brother and I ran northward frantically, while Yinda, forgetting to pull up his pants, ran southward and fell a few times. That evening, when we returned home, we asked Yinda why his face was swollen. He said that while he was relieving himself, he heard someone shouting about a wild boar, and in escaping, he accidentally fell into a pit. My brother told Yinda that it was me who shouted "wild boar," prompting Yinda to ask if I had seen it clearly. I replied that I had seen a black lump moving in the grass with a sound of "en en." Yinda scolded me loudly: "You're stupid... that was me... defecating!"
As children, we played many simple yet childish games like spinning tops, throwing boards, throwing stones, skipping houses, kicking shuttlecocks, jumping ropes, hide-and-seek, and catching thieves. Even when there were fewer players, we would invite our uncle to join us. To make us happy, my grandmother always smiled and encouraged our uncle to accompany us. Our uncle willingly participated but insisted on being the official, leaving the children to guess who the thief was. One day, after our grandmother prepared breakfast, our breakfast options varied greatly—sometimes leftover rice mixed with vegetables boiled into porridge, sometimes sweet potatoes, sometimes homemade noodles, and other times just plain porridge. In my memory, my grandmother was an excellent cook, turning whatever she touched into a feast, except for one thing: homemade noodles. Eating those felt like swallowing rough straw, bran, and twigs, making it extremely uncomfortable. Whenever it was time for homemade noodles, I preferred to stay hungry and go play with Yinda.
After finishing our meals, we would find Yinda and the short boy to play. When we arrived, Yinda and A Po were already playing hide-and-seek. I shouted loudly, "Shorty!" The short boy didn't seem pleased and asked, "Why are you here?" We replied, "We want to play with you!" The short boy retorted, "Who wants to play with you? You're bastards!" My brother and I shouted back, "Who are you calling a bastard?" The short boy stood firm: "You two, you're not from our village, so you're bastards!" Outraged, we picked up clods of earth and threw them at the short boy. The short boy, angry and flustered, cursed, "Bastard, screw your mother!" Originally intending to say, "Bastard, I'll screw your mother," he made a mistake in haste, causing us and Yinda to laugh uncontrollably.
In the afternoon, we were playing throwing boards, and the short boy was watching jealously from the side but didn't dare to join due to the morning argument. Eventually, he hesitantly approached saying he wanted to play. We remained silent, and Yinda stammered, demanding an apology. The short boy initially refused, claiming my brother also threw dirt at him, so it was even. Yinda stuttered, "If you don't apologize... we won't... play with you!" The short boy mimicked Yinda, "Sorry... sorry!" We looked at each other and burst out laughing. That day, we made a pact, promising to be the best friends forever.
The next day, we agreed to go to Yeji Zao again. Yinda refused to take me, patting his sore head, saying it still hurt. Knowing Yinda listened most to my brother, I pleaded with my brother to take me. Yinda said, "Alright... take you... but you must promise... not to shout 'wild boar' again!" With wide, round eyes, I nodded eagerly. Upon arriving at Yeji Zao, we each searched for wild pheasant eggs. By dusk, I had already collected over a dozen eggs. Just as we were about to gather and return home, I faintly heard rustling sounds behind me. Turning around, I saw a wild boar staring at me. Without thinking, I sprinted away. Passing Yinda, he shouted, "What are you running for?" I pointed towards the wild boar without looking back. Seeing it, Yinda trembled and screamed, "Mommy... mommy mia!" He urged us, "Run... Xiaotian... Shorty... Run, there's a wild boar!" and then bolted faster than ever, comparable to today's Liu Xiang. After running for what seemed like hours and realizing the wild boar hadn't chased us, I dropped the pheasant eggs and sat down heavily. My brother, panting, said, "That was close!" Yinda's pants were wet, obviously scared into urinating. After a while, Yinda recovered and, without checking, sat down hard, crushing my dozen-plus pheasant eggs under his bottom. Still shaken, Yinda didn't bother to move and complained, "Xiaotian... there's a wild boar... why didn't you warn us?" I quickly responded, "Didn't you forbid me to shout?" Yinda angrily said, "Today is different... today there really was a wild boar!" In truth, I had already panicked and instinctively fled.
Our uncle and aunt attended a middle school far from home, requiring them to climb over a dozen hills for each school trip, necessitating boarding. They rarely returned home, usually either for money or vegetables. Each time, only one of them would return—either our aunt or our uncle. If it was our aunt returning, she would pinch my cheeks and smile, "My good nephew, you've gotten whiter!" She'd then touch my brother's hair, "Tianlai, your hair has turned yellow; when you grow up, you'll become a golden lion king!" We tilted our heads and pouted, asking our aunt if she missed us at school. She would scratch my nose and stretch out the word "miss" longingly. If it was our uncle returning, we would pester him for snacks until he grew annoyed and extended his hand, asking if we wanted "hand pancakes." Naturally, we would keep our distance. However, whenever our uncle went out to play, we would follow closely behind him, even if he was going to school, like two faithful tail-following dogs. Sometimes, when discovered by our uncle, he would shoo us home like chasing away tail-following dogs. Following him often, we learned private detective-like tracking skills, transforming from tail-following dogs into police dogs, avoiding detection. Finally, once we followed our uncle and found him not going to school but hiding under a tree with classmates to play cards. Excitedly, we rushed home and informed our grandmother as quickly as possible. Our grandmother immediately grabbed a bamboo stick and angrily headed towards the school. Realizing what we had done, we knew it was wrong. An hour later, our uncle was dragged home by his bookbag, covered in wounds and bearing bloody stripes from the bamboo stick. Our grandmother cried her eyes red, sobbing and scolding our uncle for being unambitious. Our uncle glared at us with hatred, making us tremble with fear. That was the only time I saw our grandmother cry, and she cried fiercely. After this incident, our uncle ignored us for a long time and dropped out of school after finishing that semester.
The following year, my brother, Yinda, and the short boy all started school. In the mornings, I would follow them to school. While they were in class, I would stand dumbly outside the window listening to them read "a o e." During recess, we would play together. For cleaning duties and school greening projects, I would deliver sorghum brooms and hoes to them. On the way home, our group of four would laugh and play noisily. Sometimes, we would get into fights with students from neighboring villages. At night, we would sleep on the flat roof of Yinda's house. Waking up in the middle of the night, seeing the twinkling stars, I would shout that I was hungry, which caused everyone's stomachs to rumble. My brother suggested stealing some food, but we were stuck on whose field to steal from. We feared getting beaten if we stole from others, and neither my brother nor I agreed to steal from our grandmother's field. The short boy also refused to steal from his own field. Ultimately, we decided by a three-to-one vote to steal sweet potatoes from Yinda's field. On that moonlit night, we skillfully reached Yinda's field, each digging up a sweet potato. Yinda hastily said, "Enough... stop stealing!" But we paid no heed, grabbing as many as we could. Yinda, seeing this, couldn't shout loudly and instead choked out, "You promised... only one per person!" Satisfied and full, we returned to the platform to sleep as if nothing happened. Yinda commented that we weren't trustworthy and shed a few tears before dozing off.
Early in the morning, we heard Yinda's mother yelling in the field: "Whoever lacks heart, lungs, liver, and morality stole from my field!" We covered our mouths and laughed. Yinda looked at me and said, "You're still laughing... she's talking about you lacking morality!" I replied, "Don't forget, she's talking about all four of us. I lack morality, and you lack heart!" The short boy chimed in, "Then your brother lacks lungs." My brother retorted, "Better than you lacking liver!"
During that summer vacation, it was particularly hot. In the afternoons, our group of four frequently jumped into the pond to swim. Not satisfied with just ourselves, we forced A Po to swim with us. A Po, being the same age as me, couldn't speak but understood our words. Due to this, Yinda's mother allowed A Po to attend school for a few years. At school, A Po would "ah ba ah ba" incomprehensibly, seemingly speaking another planet's language, but everyone recognized the characters she wrote. We insisted A Po go swimming, and she vigorously shook her head, gesturing and "ah ba ah ba"ing. Ignoring her protests, we lifted her and threw her into the water. After A Po drank a few gulps, we also jumped in, pulling her out, resting for a bit, and throwing her back in repeatedly. Eventually, A Po learned how to swim, even better than me, teaching me a valuable lesson: People improve under pressure!
Sometimes, I wondered if A Po was truly Yinda's real sister. In my impression, Yinda treated A Po quite poorly. One day, after collecting wild pheasant eggs from Yeji Zao, Yinda mentioned hearing that during hot weather, burying eggs in the sand could cook them. We buried a few eggs in the sand. Having experienced the failure of roasting pheasants before, we knew it wouldn't cook quickly, so we went to Yinda's house to play. A Po was taking a nap. Both Yinda and A Po sleeping was quite scary since Yinda slept with his eyes open, and A Po slept with her mouth wide open. Seeing A Po sleeping with her mouth open, Yinda, feeling playful, took a bamboo strip, scooped up some chicken droppings resembling black sauce, and smeared it into A Po's mouth. After finishing, Yinda hid aside, laughing hysterically. Upon waking, A Po pointed at Yinda and "ah ba ah ba"ed, hitting and scolding him. That night, we dug up the sand and cracked open the eggs, which were raw and had gone bad, smelling foul. Yinda again cursed the ancestors of the person who gave this advice from the first generation to the eighteenth.
When my brother was in second grade, our uncle got married. In the closed-off countryside, marriages occurred relatively early. Our aunt was carried into the house via a traditional Chinese sedan chair, accompanied by a television set, which was the earliest black-and-white TV in the village. For our uncle's wedding, my father returned from Hainan, bringing along a clock that ticked audibly. After the wedding, my father returned to Hainan to work, and life returned to normal. However, having a TV to watch at night became a new highlight. The movies that left the deepest impression on me were "Liu Sanjie" and "San Mao's Wandering Story."
When my brother was in third grade, a cousin visited our grandmother, bringing along a fishing rod. In the evenings, we deliberately avoided turning on the TV, cooling off in the yard while fishing for carp in Yinda's pond. By ten o'clock, the cousin had caught a whole bucket of carp.
One autumn evening, our aunt brought a plastic bag and led us to a neighboring village to steal oranges. Unlike when we stole Yinda's sweet potatoes, our aunt was greedier and didn't stop until she had half a bag of oranges. Reluctant to leave, she ended up causing us to be chased by dogs for most of the night. I vaguely remember how difficult it was for our aunt that night, carrying half a bag of oranges while a dog bit onto the bag and wouldn't let go.
Some time later, my brother was caught stealing a sweet potato on his way home from school. As a result, the village secretary Wang Jiafa specially came to our grandmother's house and took away a basket of sweet potatoes. That night, our grandmother punished my brother by not letting him sleep inside the house. In retaliation, my brother pooped on the wall and even on the windows, forcing us to spend the next day cleaning with brooms and water.
Later, Wang Jiafa came to our grandmother's house to drink wine. Taking advantage of his drunken stupor, the four of us stole his sickle and hid it under a big tree on the back mountain. When Wang Jiafa sobered up, he searched everywhere for his sickle, questioning us if we had hidden it. We shook our heads, denying it, and Yinda even asked him if he might have left it somewhere when he was drunk. Over the next few days, Wang Jiafa came twice more to inquire, and we continued to shake our heads. Wang Jiafa said, "That's strange, I've searched everywhere and still can't find it." The short boy asked if he might have accidentally dropped it into the pond while drunk, warning us that we wouldn't dare swim there anymore. Wang Jiafa dismissed this as impossible, saying, "You're just kids talking nonsense. Even if I was drunk, I wouldn't drop a sickle into the water without knowing it." Thinking of the basket of sweet potatoes he had taken from our grandmother, my brother and I gritted our teeth in hatred, so we said, "Not necessarily. Isn't there a story about a drunk carpenter holding an axe while looking for it?"
To this day, Wang Jiafa has returned to his hometown in glory, and we have never returned his sickle.
Time flies, and soon it was time for the New Year celebration, which was to be the last one my brother and I would spend at our grandmother's house. In the eyes of children, the happiest time of the year is undoubtedly the New Year celebration. Although we were poor and didn't receive lucky money, new clothes and fireworks were indispensable. We held onto the Wuling brand cigarettes snatched from our grandfather, stuffed our pockets with firecrackers, and lit them, throwing them into the pond, the ditch, beer bottles, and Jianlibao cans. Finally, we strung a string of firecrackers and placed them in the short boy's pocket. Fortunately, it was winter, and the clothes were thick enough that the short boy wasn't injured, though his clothes were honorably retired from service. This resulted in the short boy receiving a severe beating from his father on New Year's Day. The next day, despite his bruised face, the short boy smiled and came to play with us. We sincerely apologized, and the short boy smiled, saying, "It's nothing. We're the best friends. It's just a couple of slaps on the ear, like eating a plate of fried hand pancakes!"
At noon, the short boy's family had gone out to pay New Year visits. The short boy said it was our last New Year at our grandmother's house and insisted on dragging us to his house to play. My brother patted the short boy's shoulder and said, "Shorty, don't be sad. We will definitely come to see you again!" Yinda also stammered that we must remember to visit them often. We teared up and nodded, saying we certainly would. After that, the short boy insisted on cooking personally as a farewell meal for us. None of us knew how to cook at the time. The short boy brought out a pot, washed the rice, but forgot to add water. Then he brought out the wok, added half a pot of water, waited for it to boil, and added nine eggs without oil or salt. At the time, soy sauce had just become