Children of China Series

Feng Yun

21st Century Publishing Group

July 2021

112.00 （CNY）

Brief introduction：

Based on the 34 administrative regions in China， the author selects the most representative regional characteristics such as traditional culture， folk customs， delicacies and geographical landscape as the background of her stories. She tells the childhood stories about the lives， living customs and growth characteristics of 34 children from different regions， and how they realize their Chinese dreams， which presents the diverse childhood in different regions of China and blends the life picture of Chinese children with the development of the times. In this way， readers can get a richer picture of China’s development in the new era.

Feng Yun

As a writer of children’s literature， Feng Yun is a member of the Writers’ Association of Jiangsu Province. She has published more than 100 children’s literature works， including picture books， fairy tales， poems and nursery rhymes， and has also edited several textbooks. She has been awarded the Bing Xin Book Award， shortlisted for the Xinyi Picture Book Award， won the Shanghai Best Children’s Book Award and the Gold Writer of Little Star， etc.

In my memory， Qingming Festival is always accompanied by rain， and this year was no exception.

Travelling by car from the West Lake to Wuzhen is a journey neither too long nor too short. The rain envelops the world outside the car， as well as my heart.

I haven’t been back to Wuzhen for four or five years as I had been living in Hangzhou with my parents since my primary school. They believed the quality of education here was better than that in Wuzhen. However， the fact was that no one could take care of me in Wuzhen anymore.

The Qingming Festival matters as much as the New Year. This year， my uncle in America would come back for a gathering in our hometown. As a result， the gathering place was to be held at Wuzhen.

The car journeyed towards Wuzhen as the fine rain enveloping us much like my memories did ...

It was 8 in the morning when we arrived in Wuzhen. It was quiet. Black tiles ran along the pink walls， green plants crawled on the houses along the street， and rain seeped through the quartzite on the street， all of which filled the air with fresh and familiar scents.

I am back， Grandma！

After briefly speaking to my relatives， I left my parents there to have small talks with them. I dived into the alleys amid the cool rain. With each step I took， I looked at each bridge and brick carefully; with each step I took， each stump and window in my sight reminded me of my childhood.

Turning left and then right， I stepped into a short and narrow alley. I ran forward and suddenly found that my grandma appeared at the other end of the alley.

“Huihui， why are you running about again？” She came up and smoothed my hair from my forehead. “The food is ready; let’s go and visit the ancestral graves.” Grandma lifted the blueprint cloth on the basket in her hand， there were Qingming pastry and malt flat bread.

“I want to have a bite，” I said.

“You greedy little girl.” She carefully chose an emerald-like green Qingming pastry for me ... With just one bite， the fresh and sweet taste filled my mouth.

“Can I have one more， grandma？” I reached my hand into her basket， only to find it and my grandma disappeared like smoke. My nose was sore and my eyes were foggy. “Grandma！” I cried in my mind.

There was an alley across the stone arch bridge and the third house in the alley was grandma’s old residence， where I spent 6 years. It was what it had been. The wallboard was dark red， solid in the lower half， and carved into hollow panes in the upper half， connecting the door with the wallboard. This room was locked and closed to visitors.

I moved forward and gave it a push， and the door creaked open for a crack， through which I saw the window by the river. It was open and my grandma was sitting by the window. She turned back and saw me， shaking the comb in her hand towards me， “Come here， Huihui， let me comb your hair.”

“But ... I can’t open the door.”

“Try harder –”

With a squeak， the door was open. I bounced to my grandma and sat on the chair in front of her.

“Huihui， how about combing two pigtails today？”

“No，” I refused with my four fingers holding up. “I want four.”

“OK， OK. One pigtail for each year and our Huihui is four years old now.”

My grandma was weaving knitting wool into my fine blond hair while singing a ballad： “Row row row， row the boat to the Grandma’s Bridge ...”

The lucid water outside the window rippled amid the breeze. The cool wind swept over my face and grandma’s coarse warm hands fondled over my head again and again.

“Can you always help me comb my hair， grandma？” I asked.

“I comb your hair now and when you grow up， you can help me comb my hair.” She smiled.

“I have already grown up; let me help you comb your hair.” I turned my head to get the comb from her hand ...

What I got， however， was just a cold lock. Turning back， I could only see the tranquil alley and the endless rain.

Oh， my grandma！