Colorful years

Congcong squatted down and carefully examined the firewood he had painstakingly collected with his slightly immature yet determined gaze.

The afterglow of the setting sun shone on his face, casting a faint golden glow and illuminating the pile of dry firewood beside him.

The firewood, each piece as thick as an arm, was carefully selected and now neatly piled together, numbering more than twenty, resembling a small mountain of firewood, standing there quietly.

He estimated the weight of the firewood; it must weigh at least 80 or 90 pounds! This was undoubtedly a considerable sum for a young child.

What delighted him even more was that this firewood was not ordinary firewood, but rather composed of hard, mixed wood. This mixed wood was not only easily ignited, but also very durable, burning with a roaring flame, producing little smoke and a strong fire—it could be considered the finest quality firewood.

If you can carry such a load of good firewood home, not only will it make the stove burn brighter, but it will also make your family and neighbors look at you with new respect. That would be quite a prestigious thing!

The most pressing problem now lay before him—his left hand was injured! It was a sizable wound, blood soaking through the bandages and staining the area red. This undoubtedly made it extremely difficult for him to tie up and lift the heavy load of firewood.

He tried to move the firewood with his right hand, but even the thinnest piece was beyond his strength.

Congcong looked troubled. He stood there, staring at the pile of firewood, his heart filled with mixed feelings.

What should he do? Should he simply give up on this hard-won firewood and go home? Or should he grit his teeth and fight with all his might? His heart was filled with contradictions and struggles.

You should know that this was the first time in his life that he had climbed this mountain to collect firewood! Before going up the mountain, he specifically asked his father for advice on how to select firewood and how to safely go up and down the mountain. He also specially prepared a sharp wood-chopping knife.

He embarked on this challenging journey, filled with anticipation for the unknown and expectations for his family. Now, if he were to return empty-handed, not only would all his efforts have been in vain, leaving him feeling incredibly lost and frustrated, but he would also be ridiculed by others.

However, if he were to force himself to carry all this firewood back, given the current situation, it would present considerable difficulties. His left hand was injured and unable to exert any force, and the mountain path was rugged and uneven; a slight misstep could lead to a fall or a sprained ankle. In that case, not only would he be unable to bring the firewood home, but he would also put himself in an even more dangerous situation.

Congcong stood there, lost in deep thought. He looked around, trying to find a solution that would satisfy both sides. Suddenly, his gaze fell on the sandy ditch that had been eroded by rainwater over a long period of time.

It was a narrow ditch that led almost straight down to the foot of the mountain, and it was extremely steep, following the contours of the mountain. A brilliant idea struck Congcong—he could use this sandy ditch to roll the firewood down to the foot of the mountain!

After making up his mind, Congcong stood up, dusted himself off, and shoved the firewood into the ditch. With a series of crackling sounds, the firewood rolled down the mountainside.

Congcong watched happily as the firewood rolled down the mountain. He soon noticed that the round and straight pieces of firewood rolled to the foot of the mountain without stopping, just like children rolling a shuttle. Only the crooked pieces of firewood were left in different places in the sand ditch.

He descended the ditch, carefully approaching the stranded firewood, and threw it down the ditch one by one, letting it roll down the mountainside...

After repeating this process several times, Congcong finally managed to get all the firewood to the foot of the mountain.

He sat on the ground, sweating profusely and panting, staring at the pile of dry firewood in front of him, looking worried.

The remaining work was to bundle and load the firewood, then carry it home.

Just as Congcong was struggling with how to bundle and load the load, Dali, a fellow villager, passed by.

Dali was a burly man with bulging muscles, clearly a strong person. Seeing Congcong sitting on the ground with an injured hand, he asked curiously, "Congcong, what happened? How did you get your hand hurt?"

Congcong looked up at the sound and saw Dali's honest face. His heart warmed, and he told Dali the whole story.

After listening, Dali laughed and patted Congcong on the shoulder, saying, "What's so difficult about that? I'll help you bundle up the firewood and carry it back! But you'll have to give me some reward!"

Congcong was overjoyed to hear that Dali was willing to help. He quickly asked what the reward would be.

Dali scratched his head, looking embarrassed, and said, "Next time your mom makes steamed rice cakes, just give me two. I haven't had your mom's steamed rice cakes in ages; they taste absolutely amazing!"

Upon hearing this simple request, Congcong breathed a sigh of relief. He smiled and nodded, agreeing, "No problem! Next time my mom makes steamed buns, I'll definitely save the two best ones for you!"