Original text:
For the vast Kanto Yuan Ye, I have a burning love in my heart. I hear her calling my name all the time, and I hear her calling me back all the time. I sometimes put my hand on my chest. I know my heart is still beating, and my heart is still gushing with blood, because I often feel that it is overflowing with a kind of enthusiasm. When I lie on the ground, when I look up at the stars in the sky and hold a handful of dirt in my hand, or when I recall my childhood, I think of the towering green birch forest, and the beautiful birch trees groan on the Yuan Ye; I saw rushing horses, Mongolian dogs howling in the middle of the night, and I heard the crunchy whip rolling down the mountain stream; I think of sorghum like red cloth, golden beans, black land, ruby's face, jet eyes, colorful mountain carvings, Mercedes-Benz deer, coal with rosin smell, and red gold; I think of the distant bell, the horse running on the straight road wearing a string of bells on a sunny day, the late-night talk of Fox Fairy, the grotesque wind in Yuan Ye ... At this moment, I heard my hometown calling me, and there was a voice calling me from my hometown. She called my name in a low voice, so urgent that I had to go back. I am always haunted by this kind of sound. Wherever I go, even if I sleep deeply or wake up suddenly in my sleep, I suddenly think that it is time for me to go back. I have to go back. I never wanted to leave her. This kind of voice is unstoppable and cannot be chosen. This voice has communicated with my heart forever. When I remember my hometown, I can see the deep layer of the earth, tumbling with a kind of red ripe slurry, and that's where the sound comes from. In that ancient stratum, there is a burning torrent, like my heart spewing blood. I know this. I often put my hand on the ground, and I feel her jumping, just like my heart. They have never stopped, their blood has been flowing, and they are calling each other in a warm tacit understanding, and one day they will meet.
The land is my mother, and every inch of my skin has soil particles; As soon as my palm approaches the ground, my heart becomes calm. I am the lineage of the land, and I can't leave her. On the land of my hometown, I printed my countless footprints. I buried my laughter in that field, I caught grasshoppers on that rice, and left my handprint on that heavy pick. I have eaten my own cabbage. The soil in my hometown is fragrant. In spring, when the east wind blows, the fragrance of the soil flutters in the fields. The river flows shallowly, the wicker rushes out like a misty rain, and there is a joyful sound in the air. There is a singing everywhere in Yuan Ye, the sky is clear and transparent, and the sound of labor rings from one end to the other. In autumn, silver-like spider silk hangs on the horn, and the grain cart pulls the grain back. Sparrows are tired of eating, flying here and there. The aroma of rice grain is strong, and the yard rolling over the new valley is ringing, so beautiful and rich ... No one can forget her. I will fight for her to the end. Land, Yuan Ye, my hometown, you must be liberated! You must stand! Every night I hear the sound of horses' hooves galloping, and the son of the grassland calls on the horizon of dawn. Then I got up and looked for the big bear in the north in the sky. Under its golden light, it was my hometown. I watched over there, watching until the sky broke. I can never forget it, because I promised her that I would go back to her, and I promised that I would definitely go back. I would give anything for her. I must see a more beautiful hometown appear in front of me-or in front of my grave. And I will wash away all her filth and shame with my tears.