I grew up living in the countryside. When I was a child, my family was not wealthy, and I built a brick and red tile house, but my neighbor was a bungalow made of green mud. At that time, I simply thought that as long as I could live in people, it didn't matter how I looked. As for the color, I prefer brick red.

This is because in winter, the north wind is cold, and the brick-red outer packaging is most likely to feel as warm as a stove. Looking at the eternal cement green of my neighbor's house, I thought, a few times, why not just paint it white? Green gave me the feeling of a swollen face, which was too ugly.

At that time, the village was dominated by tiled houses, few bungalows, and even fewer western-style houses were out of print. And I only think that those who have built green houses will never be rich. If you are indeed rich, then why not build a western-style house? Until now, I have eaten more salt and understood more, and I think so.

I think that the friends of the poor are always the poor, and the rich are very troublesome to get along with the poor, and most of this is the class mentality of the rich that is at fault. After all, the countryside is full of poor people, and there will be no class between the poor and the poor.

So at that time, I was very confident that my house was no different from my neighbor - it was nothing more than that they were all poor together - but the poor together were the most similar, and the obvious difference was the background color of the house.

On the question of why it was not painted white, I went out of my way to ask the mother next door. I think it's her family's house, and she's the one who can explain it to me the most. Sure enough, the mother next door explained that the ones that were not painted white were the sides and the back, and the front was painted white.

Why not a side and back piece brush? The explanation also said that it doesn't matter whether the side and the back are brushed or not, it is a waste to brush, and as long as the front is brushed in, anyone can see it. I think this makes a lot of sense, the priority is clear, and the paint is saved.

So I feel like I've learned and become wiser.

It is often said that if you eat a trench, you will grow wiser. That is to say, wisdom does not grow for no reason, and there should be a price to be paid accordingly. And simply as long as the price is paid, it is not extra important to pay the price. After the mother next door explained this to me, his precious son Zihua suddenly pushed the door in, and blood flowed from the corners of his mouth. When I looked at it, I couldn't help but feel a sinking heart, knowing that my wisdom had grown, and the price I paid for it was arranged for him by God.

Zihua's mother was distressed, and hurriedly ran over to ask what was wrong. Zihua seemed to be fine, but he smiled reluctantly at the corner of his mouth, saying that he accidentally fell by himself. At that time, I didn't know if it was a fall, but I was ashamed, and thought to myself that just to make me grow wise, God made it like this, and it was a bit heavy.

But as time passed, I didn't care about it, and even took it for granted that he had to bear it for me, and I thought that everything had a reason, and that the result of all causes should be.

Zihua's full name is Wang Zihua, and he was six years old when the corners of his mouth were bleeding, and I was already six years old. The reason why I say this is because Zihua and I are in the same year, I was born in May, and he is in June. After birth, trouble is born like a reincarnation.

Because maybe it was almost the same pregnancy period (I was May 31, he was June 1, and it was actually only one day apart), and the two mothers were so close together that Zihua and I were considered twins by all the neighbors around us since we were babies.

We were both six years old, and from birth to six long years later, time was there to grow us, and more importantly, it was a silent response to our neighbors.

Because the time that made us grow up together made us look more like each other. That year, whenever I went to any place in the village where there were people, the first thing I heard the most was you. Every time I saw them so puzzled that it was as if I couldn't find Bei, I would smile innocently and innocently, and at the same time I would think to myself that it would be harder for them to tell the two of us than for them to know more about the two of us.

My name is Wang Zhi.