Colorful years

The 1960s was an era full of unique charm. Baiheping Commune was like a pearl forgotten by time, existing in isolation from the world.

The transportation here is extremely inconvenient. The winding, narrow paths seem to be the veins that nature has specially woven for this quiet village, connecting villages and households closely together.

The Zhang family, as an ordinary family in this vast land, naturally could not escape this fate of isolation.

Their connection to the outside world and their school is merely a seemingly ordinary country path, yet it carries countless hopes. This path, like a bridge connecting two worlds, is narrow but resilient.

The path is no more than a meter wide at its widest point, like a thin ribbon lying across the fields; and at its narrowest point, it is only about two feet wide, as if it were a passage designed for two people to walk side by side, just enough for people walking in opposite directions to carefully brush past each other, and if they are not careful, they will fall into the fields and get covered in mud.

At four o'clock in the afternoon, when the crisp sound of the school bell rang, the children poured out of the classroom like happy little birds.

Without pausing, Congcong resolutely embarked on the familiar country path leading home.

In early spring, the fields are like a newly unfolded scroll painting. A tender green comes into view, and new branches and buds stretch out like vibrant lives, displaying their vigorous vitality, as if announcing to the world the arrival of spring and the endless cycle of life.

Busy figures move about in the fields on both sides of the path; they are many farmers sowing seeds and cultivating rice seedlings.

They bent over, skillfully scattering seeds of hope with their hands. Sweat streamed down their faces, but it did not diminish the smiles on their faces.

They knew that these seeds would yield a bountiful harvest and bring hope to their lives.

"Congcong, school's out so early?" Zhang Xinzhi, who was planting seeds, spotted Congcong passing by and quickly stopped what she was doing, greeting him with a big smile.

Looking at Congcong's innocent face, he felt a surge of inexplicable warmth in his heart.

"Brother Zhi, it's getting late. School doesn't let out until four o'clock every day," Congcong replied politely, her eyes sparkling with innocent light.

Zhang Xinzhi was of the same generation as him, a cousin from the same ancestor who had just passed through five households. He was quite friendly to the exceptionally intelligent Congcong.

This country path is not only his way home, but also a link between him and his fellow villagers, carrying his childhood memories and the footprints of his growth.

I slowly walked to the end of the country path, the soil under my feet was slightly damp, as if there were still traces of morning dew.

As you climb the moss-covered stone steps, you can feel the deep marks left by time on each step.

The moment I stepped through the east gate of the Zhang family's courtyard, a faint fragrance of osmanthus wafted over me, as if carrying distant memories.

This ancient osmanthus tree stands there quietly, like a wise man who has experienced many vicissitudes of life.

It witnessed the rise and fall of the Zhang family and carries the stories of countless families.

After Zhang Xiangsong passed the imperial examination and became a tribute student, the Zhang family renovated their courtyard and, to symbolize their success, specially planted this osmanthus tree.

Since then, it has been a part of the Zhang family, and has a history of more than 130 years.

The thick tree trunk required three people to barely encircle it, as if it contained boundless power.

The bark is rough and wrinkled, as if it were carefully carved by time with a carving knife. Every line seems to tell the story of the past, the vicissitudes of time, and the sedimentation of years.

The branches stretched out in all directions like dragons, as if to embrace the entire sky, forming a huge canopy.

Sunlight filters through the gaps in the branches and leaves, creating patches of light that seem to showcase its health and resilience, standing tall no matter how the wind and rain may assault it.

Congcong walked by quietly, his eyes full of tenderness and pity. He slowly reached out and gently stroked the wrinkled tree trunk, as if greeting an old friend, murmuring:

"Osmanthus tree, I'll come back to play with you again after I put down my schoolbag." The voice was soft and warm, as if it could penetrate the mists of time and reach the heart of the osmanthus tree.

As the aroma of food wafted through the air, Congcong's feet involuntarily led him towards the kitchen.

Congcong's little head was filled with hunger at the moment, and his stomach was rumbling as if it were protesting against him.

"Congcong, are you hungry?" Shi Daya was overjoyed to see Congcong return home, and her question was full of concern.

The busy figure flashed past in the kitchen, then quickly turned around, her eyes sparkling with a maternal light like the warm spring sun. Instantly, a warm current surged in Congcong's heart, as if all the fatigue and hunger had been dispelled by this light.

"Yes, Mom, I'm home from school. I was on my way home, and my stomach is starting to rumble a bit," Congcong answered his mother honestly, looking incredibly cute.

"Congcong, don't worry, the food will be ready soon. Put down your schoolbag and go play in the yard for a while." Mom stroked Congcong's head tenderly, her movements gentle and warm, her words full of love for her child.

"Okay, Mom, I'm going to climb the osmanthus tree!" Congcong replied excitedly. He put down his schoolbag and ran to the lush osmanthus tree as if the wind was blowing on his feet.