The Rise of the Youth in the War of Resistance

Hidden among the rolling mountains on the border of Hunan and Jiangxi, which look like a sleeping giant, is a quiet little mountain village.

The fields around the village are vast and boundless, like a huge brocade woven by Mother Earth, with several ponds scattered among them. The surface of the water sparkles like broken gold under the caress of the sun.

The ancient locust trees at the entrance of the village, with their lush branches and leaves, are like giant umbrellas, witnessing the changes of time.

Mao Xiaosi was born and raised here. He was thin and looked like he could be blown down by a gust of wind, but his eyes were like burning charcoal, revealing an unyielding stubbornness.

The face tanned by the scorching sun was full of the vicissitudes and hardships of life, and the messy hair danced freely in the wind like dry grass.

His elder brother Mao San is a little more steady in comparison. Time has prematurely carved a few crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, and his eyes often reveal his worry and responsibility for the family.

Their father, Old Man Mao, was a farmer whose back was bent by the burden of life. His once straight back was now like a fully drawn bow, ready to break at any moment.

My mother is a typical farm woman. She has a kind face but can't hide her fatigue. Her hands are covered with thick calluses from years of hard work and are as rough as pine bark.

This year, God seemed to be particularly kind to this land. The weather was good and the crops grew exceptionally well, as if blessed by God.

The wheat waves rolled, and the plump ears of wheat hung their heads heavily, as if expressing gratitude to Mother Earth.

Mao Xiaosi and Mao San were sweating profusely in the fields. The scorching sun was baking them mercilessly, but the joy in their hearts was like a gurgling spring, endless.

"Brother, look at this wheat. The ears are big and firm. We're sure to have a good harvest this year."

Mao Xiaosi's voice trembled slightly with excitement, and the hoe in his hand drew arcs in the air, as if cheering for the scene of the good harvest.

Mao San straightened his aching waist, raised his hand to wipe the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, and a long-lost bright smile bloomed on his face, that smile was full of longing for the future:

“Yes, Xiao Si.

If we can store all this grain safely in our own warehouse, our family will have hope for the future, and maybe we can even find a good wife for you."

.........

Soon it was time to harvest the grain.

The two brothers were harvesting crops and dreaming of a bright future, but a loud noise in the distance broke the moment of peace.

Landlord Zhao came over with a square step, his big round belly bulging out, swaying with every step, just like a fat goose that had lived a life of luxury.

Behind him were several ferocious-looking servants, all of whom had thick flesh on their faces and arrogance and domineering eyes.

"Congratulations!

Congratulations!

It seems that Mr. Mao, this is a great harvest! "

Landlord Zhao's face was filled with an extremely hypocritical smile, which was uglier than crying, just like the frost flowers remaining on the branches in winter, cold and dazzling.

Father Mao was sitting on the edge of a field, puffing on his pipe. In the smoke, his eyes grew increasingly stern, like a lone star in a cold night. He responded coldly:

"If you have something to say, then say it. If not, you are not welcome here."

A servant beside Landlord Zhao instantly flew into a rage, like a vicious dog whose tail had been stepped on. He stepped forward and shouted viciously:

"Ugh!

Ugh!

Hey!

How to speak?

This is your landlord, and this is a blessing from heaven."

Landlord Zhao waved his hand hypocritically, with that disgusting smile still on his face:

"Shut up, how can you talk to Mr. Mao like that?

I'm coming?

It’s nothing.

I'm here to collect the debt!"

When Mao Xiaosi heard this, his eyes widened like a mad lion, almost spitting fire from his eyes. He roared angrily:

"No.

This is the result of my hard work and coming home early and late, why should I give it to you?"

His chest heaved violently, his hands were clenched tightly into fists, his nails dug deep into his palms, but he felt no pain at all.

Mao San sighed helplessly. He knew that resisting the landlord was like hitting a rock with an egg. It was futile. He could only turn around and walk aside silently. His eyes were full of helplessness and sadness, as if he was in an endless dark abyss, with no sign of hope.

Father Mao stood up and stopped the impulsive Mao Xiaosi. He suppressed his inner anger and unwillingness and said to Landlord Zhao:

"Say it!

What will the harvest be this year?"

Landlord Zhao stretched out two fingers and waved them in front of Old Man Mao, as if giving alms, and said proudly:

"Eighty percent."

When Father Mao heard this, his face instantly turned red, like a ripe tomato, veins popped out on his forehead, and he said angrily:

"Hasn't it been 70% for the past few years?"

Landlord Zhao shook his head, the smile on his face growing even wider, like a poisonous mushroom blooming on a dung heap, and he said with a grin:

“This year is different!

You see, there are warlords everywhere outside, and from time to time there are armies coming to collect debts from me.

If it weren't for my protection, you might not exist at all!

so!

Eighty percent of the time, I deserve what I receive."

Mao Xiaosi was so angry that he was shaking all over, his teeth were chattering, and he leaned forward, wanting to rush up to argue with Landlord Zhao, but was held back tightly by Mao's father.

At this moment, Mao Xiaosi's heart was like a turmoil, anger, unwillingness, despair and other emotions intertwined together. He roared in his heart:

"Do I have to pay an extra 10% just for this?"

Old Man Mao looked at his son, his heart filled with helplessness and sadness. He knew very well that this was the fate of farmers like them, as if fate had strangled them by the throat and they could not break free.

"Why don't you even listen to your father?"

Father Mao said sternly, with a tremor in his voice, which showed his helplessness and compromise with life.

Mao Xiaosi held back the tears that were about to burst out of his eyes, and watched the servants carry away bags of grain like vicious wolves. There seemed to be a ball of blazing fire burning in his eyes, and the seeds of hatred were deeply buried in his heart at this moment.

This winter is particularly cold.

The biting cold wind was like a sharp blade, cutting the earth wantonly.

The sky was covered with dark clouds, as if a heavy lead plate was about to fall down at any time.

Due to the shortage of food, the Mao family fell into despair.

In order to keep their two sons alive, Mao's father and mother lived frugally, eating only a pitiful amount of coarse grains for each meal. They became thinner and thinner, and eventually passed away forever from hunger and cold.

Mao Xiaosi and Mao San knelt in front of their parents' graves, heartbroken.

Mao Xiaosi's tears flowed freely like a flood, his heart filled with self-blame and regret:

"Dad, Mom, I'm an unfilial son and I haven't been able to give you a good life.

If I don't avenge this, I will not be a human being."

.........