Colorful years

Father smiled and nodded, a smile that seemed to contain boundless strength and profound love.

Then, like a nimble ape, he carefully and slowly climbed down the steep cliff. Every step he took was steady and powerful, and every movement demonstrated his superb skills and indomitable will.

Congcong stood there quietly, his eyes following his father’s slightly tired but resolute figure. His heart was filled with surging waves of gratitude and admiration.

He knew that his father had worked tirelessly for the family all these years, like a hardworking ox, silently dedicating so much of his heart and soul.

Those deep wrinkles and gray hairs are the marks left by the relentless passage of time, but they are also the best testament to my father's deep and profound love for this family.

After a short rest, Father resolutely led Congcong and his older siblings on their journey to continue searching for the dead tree.

They were like a group of brave explorers, traversing through the dense jungle.

Sometimes you have to climb steep, knife-like slopes, using both hands and feet, relying on your tenacious willpower to climb step by step.

Sometimes they had to cross streams that rushed like wild beasts, splashing water everywhere and wetting their clothes, but they still forged ahead without hesitation.

Despite the many hardships and dangers along the way, and the possibility of encountering various unknown risks at any time, no one showed any intention of backing down.

Because they all clearly understood that only by chopping more firewood could they bring warmth to their homes during the cold winter and ensure their families could live a stable and happy life.

Although Congcong didn't personally pick up a machete to chop wood, he absorbed knowledge like a sponge throughout the journey, learning a lot of valuable experience and wisdom about chopping wood.

He understood that there were two main sources of firewood: one was the messy branches left behind after people cut down trees in dense forests, which often made up good firewood.

Another type is trees that grow on cliffs and precipices. Due to the lack of sufficient water for a long time, they gradually wither and die naturally. These dead trees on cliffs and precipices are rare and high-quality firewood.

After a day of hard work, the family finally chopped enough firewood.

Father, brothers, and sisters worked together, holding the sturdy wild vines tightly in their hands, carefully bundling the dry firewood into neat bundles.

The wild vines seemed to possess magical power in their hands, weaving nimbly and quickly binding the firewood tightly.

Then, they picked up their machetes and carefully carved out a long, straight carrying pole, which was smooth and straight, like a meticulously crafted work of art.

This long carrying pole, over ten feet long, exudes an ancient charm from the wear and tear of time. Locals call it "Qian Dan," meaning it can bear a heavy load.

Watching their father's skillful movements, the older brother and sister followed suit. They first carefully inserted both ends of the load into the two tightly bound bundles of firewood, then took a deep breath, hoisted the load onto their shoulders, lifted the heavy load of firewood, and set off on their way home with steady and powerful steps.

Each step they took landed heavily on the solid ground, producing a series of muffled thuds. Yet, these sounds seemed to be the rhythm of life itself, brimming with hope and anticipation for the future.

On the other side, Father stood in front of the thick piece of firewood that had just been cut from the cliff, his hands gripping the axe handle tightly, his arm muscles taut, and his veins bulging like dragons.

With a deep roar, Father swung his axe with all his might, and with a crisp "crack," the huge piece of firewood was split in two!

This single chop, like a skilled butcher dissecting an ox, cleverly disassembled this enormous object.

Seeing this, Congcong, who had been watching from the sidelines, immediately ran over obediently. He reached out his little hand, laboriously took the lighter piece of firewood, and then carefully placed it on his tender shoulder.

That piece of firewood was obviously too heavy for him at such a young age, causing his small body to tremble slightly, but he gritted his teeth and stubbornly persisted in not letting himself fall.

His eyes shone with a resolute light, like the brightest star in the night sky.

At this moment, the sun was high in the sky, and the heat was unbearable. Everyone's foreheads and cheeks were covered with beads of sweat, and their clothes were already soaked through.

However, despite their physical exhaustion, their faces were always beaming with joy and satisfaction.

The fruits of this hard work will bring warmth and happiness to the family.

Finally, the group returned home. Zhang Zhong skillfully weighed all the firewood they had brought back, and when he weighed Congcong's piece of firewood, the weight steadily stopped at eight jin.

Everyone praised Congcong for being capable, and Shi Daya's joy was palpable as she saw everyone returning with their bounty.

She walked happily to Congcong's side, stroking his head and praising him highly, saying that he was amazing for knowing how to share the burden of the family at such a young age.

As Congcong listened to his mother and family's praise, a warm feeling welled up inside him. That sense of happiness and pride made him feel as if he were floating on air.

He knew that although he was still young, he could make a contribution to his family through his own efforts.

This feeling is really great and wonderful.

Night quietly descended, and the whole family gathered around the roaring fire. The warm firelight illuminated everyone's faces, dispelling the day's fatigue and chill.

Congcong gazed quietly at the snowflakes falling outside the window, lost in thought.

He thought of the scene of everyone working together during the day, and of the heavy firewood, and his heart was filled with emotion and gratitude.

At the same time, his past life memories also told him that when he turned twelve and said goodbye to his childhood, he would get up before dawn every day, run into the deep mountains to chop a load of firewood, and then go home to go to school.

He imagined himself getting out of bed, getting dressed, carrying a heavy wood-chopping knife, and heading alone into the depths of the mountains to chop firewood as the first rays of sunlight touched the earth.

Despite the rugged and thorny mountain roads, he never complained.

He silently wielded his machete, felling thick shrubs one by one. Sweat streamed down his forehead, soaking his clothes, but his gaze remained steadfast and focused…