(xix)

My father had a wooden box that was locked all year round.

The more mysterious it is, the more curious it becomes. I once forced a crack in the lid and sniffed inside. It smells so good, it's a pungent musky scent, mixed with a little bit of book. So, I gave full play to my imagination, always thinking that there was some fun "treasure" locked inside.

I've coveted that box for a long time. Many times, I tried to get a glimpse of the secrets, but my father always kept an eye on it, and before leaving, he would lock it and push it under the bed.

One day, I finally couldn't hold back and pulled out the nail on the lid of the box with my vise, but I was disappointed.

In the box, a set of military uniforms was neatly folded, with a military cap on top, and a stack of badges and medals lined up. A thick book is full of photos of my father when he was in the army, some of which are his own, some are given by his comrades-in-arms, and there are also photos of him and his comrades-in-arms, and there is always a line of crooked words written on the back of the photos, probably the name and time of the photo. In the corner, there was also a bottle of fine ink, some expired and invalid food stamps of small denominations, some small coins, and animal bones and Chinese medicinal herbs that I could not name.

That's all my father treasured. I thought it was fun, but there were none.

If there's one thing in this box that interests me, it's a few yellow bullet casings. Unfortunately, I didn't dare to take it, so I just played with it a few times and put it back again.

Suddenly, I heard my father's voice from afar, and I hurriedly and carefully closed the box and loaded it with iron nails, but it was difficult to restore it to its original state.

I was worried for a few days, and I was even ready to be scolded in various ways.

I think my father must have found out. With his shrewdness, he would not fail to see that the box had been pried in. I thought my father would be furious and reprimand me severely. It's strange that my father didn't pursue it, as if nothing had happened.

Later, I realized that my father was not guarding against me and my brother and sister, but that my father was actually cherishing a glory that belonged to him.

In fact, my father also knew that several of us siblings were not interested in his money. On weekdays, he puts a handful of corner tickets in his jacket pocket very casually.

My father's salary as a private teacher is only 12 yuan a month, but a public teacher can always get more than several times.

Many years later, I still remember this humble number.

My father always said, "People are more angry than people; People are better than people, and they can't be compared." After speaking, he sighed, his face was full of helplessness, and he completely lost the sharpness of the veteran back then.

My father's meager salary often lasted less than a month, but since the fourth grade, my father has squeezed out the money to subscribe to a publication called "Composition".

The unexpected arrival of "Composition" made me start a new kind of reading after the comic book.

This private teacher, who has suffered enough of "suffering without a diploma" in his life, always hopes that his son can take a bad breath for him. In other words, he pinned all his hopes on his son.

That little "Composition" always came in a kind of heart-wrenching waiting, and it kept satisfying my curiosity.

When fate wants to push people on a road, there are always many double pushers behind them. I was coerced by fate to embark on a literary road of no return, and my father was the most powerful driving force behind it.