Whether in dreams or in reality, there is a place that is where I am rooted, where it all began.

Every time I get discouraged or try to find a piece of purity, I go back there, where I don't have a job, I don't have friends, I don't have dreams, I don't care about money, I don't care about pursuits, I don't even care about life.

To this day, I remember very clearly that it was just a very ordinary place, but for me, it has a taste that matches it.

That place is called Nandi, but some people in my hometown call it "nan" (lang, two sounds). When I was a child, I always heard my mother call it Lang Land, but in my mind, it was translated as wolf land, and I even stubbornly thought that there were really wolves in that place.

There are three points of land in the family, not the one acre in front, just three points, very small.

At that time, my father went out to work, and my mother took care of me at home, often planting commonly used vegetables, leeks, beans, and tomatoes in the wolf field. Three thirds of the house is on the oars, and on the side is a canal that does not know where the end is. Opposite an apple orchard, the old persimmon tree was on the side, only to be cut down later.

When I wasn't in school, my mother would always take me to the field, and by the way, she would bring me half a piece of steamed bread. She worked, and I sat on the stone slab by the canal, looking at her, at the vegetables that were planted, and at the wheat fields not far away. After sitting for a long time, I was bored, so I ran under the persimmon tree, picked up the fallen leaves, or leaned on the trunk and nibbled on steamed buns.

At that time, the sky was so clear, and the swallows flew so high that the sparrows would land on the branches and find their own food.

At that time, the heart was also clear, there was no good, there was no evil, just understood that when you were hungry, you would eat, when you were sleepy, you would sleep, the bad people came, there was a mother, you didn't have to worry about anything, and you didn't have to think about spending money to earn money.

But often I couldn't sit for long, so I pestered my mother to go home, and my mother patiently coaxed me to finish it soon, and wait a little longer. There are dead snails on the earthen walls, go and play with them.

So, I took the trouble of rummaging through the dried snail shells in various places, and then took them out and squeezed them into each other, and put the best one in my pocket, as if it were a peerless treasure. Take it home and PK with your friends, squeeze everyone's snail shells, and then say that your own one is the king of snail shells. It wasn't until it was also crushed that I didn't know that it was not the king, so I started looking for something more powerful, until one day, my friend picked up half of the shell, and it easily crushed all my snail shells, and I realized that the shells were harder than the snail shells. So I started looking for shells.

On that day, the second master went to work by the Yellow River and helped me bring one back. I was happy to take revenge, and I squeezed my friend's shells for a long time, and I didn't know the winner. In the end, the two reached an agreement, his is the eldest, and mine is the second. Because he's bigger than mine. We agreed to take these two shells and crush all the snail shells that everyone else had, and then claim the throne.

Later, when I was a little older, I was probably able to climb the persimmon tree. When I followed my mother to the field, I had to help with the work I could, but it was often just a moment before I held my stomach and pretended to be in pain and told my mother that I had a stomachache and wanted to go to the toilet. My mother looked at me helplessly, and couldn't bear to expose my tricks, so she said that she was not allowed to run far. Before I could finish speaking, I left with a girl.

After autumn, the wolf field is full of ripe smells. There were many people working, so I ran to the persimmon tree, looked at the red branches, and thought to myself that I must pick enough of a hundred before coming down. At that time, one hundred was the biggest number in my mind.

The old man who was working on the side looked at me and said. Will you climb trees and be careful to fall you down. Then smile meaningfully.

The boy's competitive spirit made me glance at him, and then climbed up with great difficulty, even breaking a small piece of skin on my arm. It hurts, but I have to endure it, and I have to laugh.

I plucked a persimmon, put it in my mouth, and took a bite full of joy, and then my mouth was full of astringent taste, and spitting didn't work. The old man looked at me with a strange face under the tree, and he couldn't stand up with a smile. He said, baby, pick the soft ones to eat, and the hard ones to eat the tied mouths.

Under his guidance, I found a soft one and put it in my mouth, so sweet. Actually, I like to eat soft curtains in fresh persimmons. It is close to QQ candy sold in supermarkets. I sat on a tree all afternoon, my clothes were full of yellow persimmon juice, and my hands and face were all black. I understand that I'm going to be scolded again.

When I got home, my mother took off my coat and soaked it in the basin of water, educating me while washing my clothes. And when he saw the wound on my arm, he asked me, "Who told you to climb a tree, and what should I do if I fall?"

After speaking, he was distressed and cleaned the wound with clean water for me, which made me grin in pain.

By the time I was older, I rarely went there, except once a year when I was harvesting wheat to help the family. The rest of the time is spent in front of the TV.

I heard from the old man that the persimmon tree was wild and no one took care of it, but it grew very tall. The persimmons that are produced every year are not picked deliberately. It's just that whoever wants to eat two will go up and pick a few, and most of them will be eaten by birds or fall to the ground.

When I went out to study, by chance, I came back here, and the three-point land was still there, and the wolf land was naturally the wolf land, but the persimmon tree was gone. I heard that it was secretly cut down by a tree thief from out of town.

Now the canal is gone, and the original bridge is gone. When I was a child, I didn't know what an echo was, but when I stood under the bridge of the canal and shouted, there would be a crisp echo reflection. I thought it was the soil above the canal, and there must be a soil doll calling along.

Earth dolls, when we were children, we have seen many times, turned out from the old mound, like an egg-like shape, but a little bigger than an egg, there is a small hole on the top, pour clean the soil inside, from the inside to the outside is so smooth and flat, as if grinded out. The adults called it the earth doll and emphasized that it was alive. The echo we produce is what it makes. But until now, I don't know what it was called, let alone how it was made.

As of today, I can't remember how long I haven't been there. The persimmon tree that carried the joy and satisfaction of my childhood is gone, not even a root, no trace, as if it never existed.

I stood on the abandoned canal, looking at the place where the persimmon tree used to grow, looking at the three points of land, and it seemed that the scene of the past appeared in front of me, the woman fiddling with the vegetables planted in the field, and the boy sitting on the side and waiting patiently, his eyes were like a clear spring, so clear, so transparent.

The wheat fields on the side are full of life, and the spring breeze blows, still a familiar taste, with the fragrance of earth, grass, and occasionally a few birdsongs. The people in the fields were urging each other to go home and cook, carrying farm tools on their shoulders and freshly picked vegetables in their hands, covered in dirt, still smiling on their faces, indescribably happy and content.

Maybe life is conceived here, and soon it grows and matures here, and then awakens, and finally returns here to turn into dust and return to nature, although no one has thought that this is no longer the past, but that heart is still that heart.

May I be like the rain and dew in the mountains, giving you warmth, may I be like the afternoon sun, giving you warmth, may I be like a lighthouse on the riverbank, giving you direction, and may I be like the spring breeze in the wilderness, giving you clarity. And all of this is for the sake of wishing you less suffering and more peace.

Who can tell the meaning of existence? What you don't care about may be the most important thing in the hearts of others, and what you worship as a treasure may be what others can easily put at your fingertips.

I may not be a good person, and I don't need to, I'm not a good person, but I also have my heart, you can don't want it, but don't spit on it at the same time, okay?

Sometimes it's like that, weird, inconspicuous, enough to fit all you have. It's like the persimmon tree, it didn't ask you to water it, it didn't let you put a drop of fertilizer on it, you were tired, you rested, it rained, you came to hide from the rain, you were hungry, it gave you food, what did you say?

Later, when I grew my brain, I really understood that the tree not only carried my happiness, but also placed my youth with nowhere to rest.