Many marks from childhood have a profound impact on a person’s life.

My hometown is behind a hill. The mountain is round and hundreds of meters above sea level, like a huge boulder. The village is called Houshishan Village. The stone tiles on the roof of the old house are stacked in a tube shape, with a distinctive animal totem on one end. I remember that it was in this old house that my mother tied two yellow pigtails for me, like foxtail grass in the dry fields, and a group of children sang loudly and softly, "The wind in the sun hole in the clouds, the scorpions." "The tail of Huang Feng's needle is the most poisonous to the stepmother's heart." People in the mountains don't know how to teach children children's songs. I don't know whose family this "song" came from, but the children's words are unbridled, so they sing it every day. The simple people in the mountains all know that this ballad is directed at the family of Lao Yu, the head of the village, who is the stepmother of Xiao Rourou. As long as she shows up at the other end of the alley, we can sing with all our heart. Because Xiao Rourou couldn't play with sandbags, she carried a dung basket on her back to pick up excrement during the cold weather, and her body was bruised and bruised.

What I never imagined was that the road to happiness would take a turn, and one day I would become the stepmother’s child.

Not long after getting married, as soon as a little flower of sweet life bloomed, lightning started to thunder in the sky. My mother left this world forever on a rainy night. The ceiling was leaking, the road was muddy, and the sky was as chaotic as people's faces. The suona resounds throughout the valley, which must be the last sob of the unwilling souls in the world!

I like singing, and there is a song that I have never sung since: "When you are in that foreign country, someone is caring about you; when you return to that home, someone is making hot tea... Ah! This This person is my mother! This person is my mother..."

In early winter one year, I received a call from my hometown saying that my father was getting married. Dad is alone and there is no reason for me not to go back.

I didn’t want to watch the lively scene, so I stood in front of the earthen stove in the corner, with my back to the crowd, and inserted the firewood into the stove one by one. The sound of the crackling firewood resisted the sound of the whole courtyard. The noise. I imagine that stepmother's appearance. She should have a "black ointment" stuck on the back of her head like the little Rourou stepmother, with a big forehead and a pointed chin like an inverted hot iron, which could burn someone at any time. I am so lonely outside the noisy crowd, I belong to my mother. I stuffed the firewood into the furnace one by one, and the water in the iron pot rolled and splashed on the stovetop.

With his back to the crowd, his stomach was full of hunger, and the strong aroma of haggis wafted over him. Haggis is a delicacy for mountain people on major festivals. There is a shortage of everything in the mountains, except for the sheep that fill the hillsides. After the sheep is slaughtered, the head, thighs and bones are boiled for a whole day and served with clean mutton, sheep offal, etc. It is said that this name was given by Kublai Khan. No matter who came up with this name, we mountain people would not change it for a god even if we smelled it and drank a bowl of haggis. This taste can only be found in heaven, how many times can we taste it in the human world?

"Girl, hurry up and give your mother two eggs." My second aunt was holding a sea bowl with two red-skinned raw eggs rolled in it.

"Who? Who is my mother?" I closed my eyes hard, and sparks were flying when I opened them.

"Okay, now that you're married, just call her aunt. Your aunt won't eat haggis, so give her two poached eggs." The second aunt hurriedly opened the lid of the pot.

"Everyone likes to eat, but she can't eat it. If she doesn't eat, she will fall down!" Stepmothers all over the world are the same, they will give someone a showdown when they enter the door.

“I’m an outsider, and I can’t get used to the smell of sheep’s mutton.”

Are you a few dozen miles away from the mountains and you become an outsider? This woman is clearly torturing our family and showing off. I turned around and glared through the window, falling on the woman. She lowered her head and waited for the two poached eggs with peace of mind. I took a big bowl from the basket on the ground, grabbed a handful of mutton, poured two spoonfuls of mutton soup, and angrily dug out a spoonful of spicy oil, sat in a corner and ate it. I remember that year when I was in my senior year of high school. It was snowing lightly and the north wind was howling. It hurt like a knife shaving my face. My mother rode for more than 20 miles and gave me a hot can of haggis after class. Snowflakes fell on her red scarf one by one. Looking around at the bustle of the courtyard at this moment, the things are still there, but the people are not the same as they were yesterday. Even the black dog that usually barks when it sees me is quietly locked in the cage. The sour things in my eyes fell into the mutton soup, and my nose became uncomfortable.

I didn’t go home all winter. I called my father and said that there were always endless meetings and endless reports in the office. On New Year's Day, my father asked me to go home. His personality was dull and his tone was pleading: "Daughter, when you come back, my family will prepare mutton soup and haggis for you."

"Dad, I I don’t like eating it for a long time. They are also sold in the city.” I said politely. Dad was silent for a long time, and then said in a low voice: "Just come back!" Then there was a burst of coughing, and the sound of his voice was like muddy water that was not flowing smoothly. I decided to go home.

There is a large pot in the courtyard with sheep lungs hanging next to it. The sheep's head was exposed out of the soup, the thick white soup was rolling, and the long-lost fragrance penetrated into the internal organs. The woman, as I always called her, wore an apron and cut cooked meat and mutton livers on a chopping board. I haven't been home for a long time. When I came into the house, the black dog barked and wanted to rush out of the cage. The woman shouted, and the dog immediately fell silent. She turned around and hugged my son Doudou behind me, warming her face with her own. Then I poured the brown sugar water and went to add some fire to the stove.

"Dad, I have something else to do today..." Putting down the gifts, I didn't want to dine at the same table with someone.

"How can we leave today? No matter what, we can't leave." The woman heard me speaking outside the house and immediately stopped me.

"I heard you were coming back. Your aunt spent the afternoon washing the sheep yesterday. She roasted the sheep's thighs in the yard at night and cooked them before dawn today. She hasn't stopped for a minute yet. In order to make haggis, she learned from your second aunt for several days. My daughter, people's hearts change people's hearts..." Dad said word by word. I have never seen him say so many words in one breath, and his voice trembled slightly. I can hear it.

"Then I'm in for a treat today!" Dad was still mumbling, and my husband immediately said in a high-pitched voice. My husband quickly took off his coat, he is very good at doing things.

The woman prepared several large black bowls with red edges, grabbed a large handful of mutton and mutton liver, repeatedly heated them in the mutton soup, and served them to us. "Oh, aunt, this meat is too much and too thick." My husband couldn't help but be polite.

The woman held Doudou in her arms and fed him meat. After a while, they scooped soup from the pot and put it in our bowls. Wherever the spoon passed, soup dripped all over the floor. Although it was noon, the weather was very cold. New Year's Day was the 29th day in the north, and the ice flowers on the windows clung stubbornly to the glass. The warm winter sun shone brightly on the dining table, watching her feeding her son and chewing a dry steamed bun. My heart broke. He walked over and said, "Auntie, you should eat some yourself! It's delicious."

My father quickly interrupted: "She doesn't eat, she really can't get used to it."

I I saw her smiling sheepishly and cleaning two plastic bottles marked "Arowana" with a rag. Only then did I observe her carefully. There was no little Rourou stepmother's black bun on the back of her head, and her eyebrows were not so inverted. She didn't have a fierce look on her face. She has short hair cut close to her ears, and she laughs first when she talks, and is very fiery, which is similar to my personality. I saw her on the steps repeatedly pouring water into a plastic bottle and pouring it out again. The cold wind blew, and her rough hands that rolled up her sleeves were red, like two old hollow radishes, chapped and lacking in moisture.

After eating, when I stood up and left, my aunt hurriedly pushed a bulging red plastic bag to me. I knew that it contained chopped mutton and offal. The two plastic bottles were filled with cold mutton soup. She put it directly into the car and said: "I've cut the mutton for you. I tried it yesterday, and the two bottles of mutton soup can just be placed in the lower shelf of the refrigerator. You go back and eat slowly. Eat whatever you want after eating. Come back, I have learned this craft, and I will make it for you every year." She babbled. Holding down the rolled-down car window with one hand, he kept giving instructions.

After all, I won’t go back for a long time. Mountain people say that when a man remarries, he wears patches, which means that remarriage is like having patches on clothes, and you can only make do with them. As for appearance and warmth, it all depends on personal destiny. Later, when I called, my aunt always snatched the phone from my father's hand and shouted to my daughter to let me go back. I was talking to my father like a machine gun and couldn't finish when I suddenly noticed that there was a different person on the other end of the phone. His words were as incoherent as a cassette tape and I didn't know what to say. I always feel that the stepmother’s patch is too obvious and makes her look awkward. One time when I was going to the countryside and passed by my house, I saw that the iron gate was locked, so I called my father. Later, my aunt told me that she had given me a key and put it under the white porcelain bowl at the door. If no one was home when I came back, I could open the door and wait for them. However, the aunt's reputation gradually improved, she got along well with the neighbors, and she even took the initiative to take care of her sick grandfather. When people in the village saw me, they all said that my house burned high-quality incense.

I am also a person who cares about face, and I don’t want my family to say that my educated and qualified children are being hindered. When spring comes and flowers bloom the next year, people take off their winter clothes and go to the fields to enjoy the spring breeze and sunshine. This kind of season is really warm and sad, and the grass sprouts during the Qingming Festival. I'm afraid of days like this. The light rain in the sky always touches the hidden pain in my heart. Those distant memories are always brought back by days like this. Sitting in my father's house, watching my aunt running back and forth making a meal of mutton dumplings, I was expressionless. My mother's death had nothing to do with my aunt. She came to fill this gap, not to squeeze her away. However, the weather is gloomy and it always looks like rain in my eyes.

My father carried a ladder and put it on the toon tree. He said that the toon in the city costs 15 yuan a pound. What are you spending the money on? I will give you as much as you want. My toon tree has been around for many years. When it was small, I often stood on the stairs to pick it. Gradually, it grew into a figure as thick as an arm. Let alone standing on the stairs, even a bamboo pole seemed out of reach. Dad set up a ladder on the tree, but said to me: "My legs hurt. You go up."

Should I go up? I can't climb trees. No matter how nutritious toon is, it is still out of reach. No wonder it costs only 15 yuan on the market. I don’t want it anymore! I stopped Dad. At this time, the aunt took a carpenter's saw from the south room, stood on the stairs and said to my father: "Saw these two branches off, and it will be enough for my daughter to eat."

I don't care about me. No matter how I tried to dissuade him, the ground was soon covered with sawed-off tree branches, and the fresh toon filled the courtyard with the breath of early spring. Now even my colleagues have toon to eat. I am moved. Standing in the familiar courtyard, my heart felt warm. I don’t know whether it was the spring sunshine shining in my heart, or the scene of my aunt and father picking toon for me that moved my heart.

My father and aunt sent me outside the hospital, with a large bag of incense in their hands that touched my sense of smell.

I sat in the car and waved to them. Suddenly I felt something strange in the yard, so I asked strangely: "Dad, why can't we see our black dog?"

Dad's eyes squinted at my aunt in dissatisfaction. , and said in a strange voice: "I sold it for 160 yuan!" Such a big black dog only sold for more than 100 yuan, no wonder my father felt distressed.

The aunt immediately glared at my father and said unwillingly: "I should have sold it long ago! Didn't you see that this dog doesn't recognize its relatives and barks at my daughter every time she comes back!"

< p>My eyes instantly became wet. Only then did I know that my aunt had heard that I was coming back during Qingming Festival and sold the black dog at a low price in advance. Just because this dog didn't know me and barked at me last time.

The car drove all the way to the alley, and I dared to turn around. When I was a child, I used to play in this alleyway. I could see my mother’s back in the distance carrying firewood and coming out with a dustpan. My mother’s graceful figure standing at the door is the most beautiful scenery in my memory, and the warmth that lingers in my dreams several times. I turned around and saw a tired figure standing at the door of my house through the car window. A thin voice drifted over from afar: "Come back when you have time, and I'll cook haggis for you."

The afterglow of the setting sun gilded that figure with a layer of beauty. My eyes were blurry and I couldn't tell who she was.