My ancestral house is built on the back of the mountain. My mother told me that it used to be a face shop. In the old days, people still worshipped gods and left shabby shrines. There were many bamboo and green trees on the hill, and on the side there was a small pond. Directly opposite was the flagstone road leading to the market, and you could go to different towns on either side. The asphalt roads have only been built in recent years, but they are not wide, and there are not many large vehicles driving, only the villagers' own vans and motorcycles and the like. Behind the house is a hall of Avalokitesvara, which we all call "Big Avalokitesvara". This name is so powerful that those who do not know it think it is a big temple, but in fact it is just a small village temple, built on the top of the hill, where the Goddess of Avalokitesvara and the dragon Lady are worshipped, and there are many small gods and goddesses. My mother said that many years ago, there was a monk living in the hall of Guanyin, a bhikkhuni, experienced a very tragic thing. Perhaps for this reason, my mother always felt that being a monk was a terrible thing, the fate of a desperate man. She did not believe in ghosts and gods, but when her brother was ill, she returned home to burn incense. Every year, she would buy a basket of incense to worship God. During the Spring Festival the year before last, my family went to burn incense. At that time, the temple had been repaired and the courtyard was paved with concrete floor and railings. The book of merit was written on the wall. Now son and no permanent monks in the temple, the village a regularly in the past, not merit in money to be part of subsidies to her.

When we went, we did not see her, only a few oil lamps in the hall, burning quietly. One year when I went back with my father, my uncle and his family had moved down from the mountains and their new home was built next to our ancestral house. I walked alone and came to the house where my uncle's family used to live. The earth wall had not collapsed completely, and the scale of the house was still vaguely visible. The stove used before had been knocked down, the ground was overgrown with weeds, and several large water tanks remained. A few pomelo trees planted in front of the door, bearing a lot of fruit, or green skin. Looking down is the grandma and grandpa's grave, grave weeds grow, years ago hanging paper still left a wooden shelf there. When I was a child, I visited my uncle's house several times, but I was not impressed. I still remember that there was a carved bed in the house. The bed was very high, and you had to climb on it. The house is always faint, turn on the light is not bright, but feel the woods outside the window clear up. Later, the bed was moved to a new home and placed on the first floor, where Uncle was still asleep. The carved flowers on both sides were cracked and the paint on the bed fell a lot. The window was no longer facing the woods, but the open fields and the distant mountains beyond the field. It was the season to harvest rice. My father helped my uncle with his work. There were deep marks on his shoulder. More than a decade ago, when it was time to harvest rice, adults would go to the village a few days in advance to invite people, usually a table of people. When people come to help us, we have to pay them, but we also have to eat and drink well to entertain them, because it is strenuous work. In addition to chicken, duck and fish, there will be extra meals, usually eat three meals, rice harvest in the afternoon to send a rice to the field, like porridge with salted duck eggs. When I grew up, I didn't like duck meat very much. I always thought it was fishy. But I remember my aunt once cooked duck with sour beans. The duck meat is fried dry and crispy, in the old soil bowl, the dishes are finished, reluctant to throw away the oil and water, save the next stir-fry or boil noodles. When the Hungry Ghost Festival is coming, five uncle in preparation for the memorial to use incense, paper money, he and three uncle are from the Taoist priest, also sing Sichuan opera, is still doing this line. He unpacked the little table under the eaves of the house and took out a block pencil hanging on it from a nail in the wall. He took a box of ink and wrote blabbed. I helped, too, with the names of ancestors I'd never met. My father once said that if it hadn't been for the change of times, he might have become a Taoist priest, but this kind of work can only be done for three generations in one family. I didn't say why. When I returned home, I also had a birthday wine and served traditional dishes, such as crispy meat, braised elbow, braised bamboo shoots with black chicken and braised white. Now the weight is large, in the early days, the white meat will not be put in piles, then is a big bowl and then buckle a small bowl, according to the number of a table of meat slices spread on the small bowl, looks like a pile of sharp, give a person a very rich illusion. These dishes may not be loved by many people, but they are always kept in the banquet. There is osmanthus wine before the opening, each table ladle a bowl, the color of the yellow Sangsang like autumn leaves. There are also white cake, which is later called, in the beginning, everyone called "duck cake", the old people still call it so. When I was a child, I did not like to eat white cake, and occasionally after growing up to eat a little, waxy waxy, it seems that I have a nostalgic feeling, as if I was a child in the basket of adults, small people, looking at the market things, everything is very like, reach out to catch. The custom of eating birthday wine is to leave guests for dinner after noon, and in the afternoon, men and women mostly play cards and drink tea to amuse themselves. Dinner is simple, most of them are home-cooked dishes, bean flowers must have, in addition to salted rattan rattan vegetables [illustration], sour cowpeas fried raw cowpeas, celery shredded meat, cold bean sprouts, and sometimes also cooked glutinous rice balls, very strong wine, can drive away the cold in winter. The people sitting at the table are usually old people who have nothing new to talk about. They only talk about how they were twenty years ago. They are not too old, but they look like their days are numbered.

My ancestral house is built on the back of the mountain. My mother told me that it used to be a face shop. In the old days, people still worshipped gods and left shabby shrines. There were many bamboo and green trees on the hill, and on the side there was a small pond. Directly opposite was the flagstone road leading to the market, and you could go to different towns on either side. The asphalt roads have only been built in recent years, but they are not wide, and there are not many large vehicles driving, only the villagers' own vans and motorcycles and the like. Behind the house is a hall of Avalokitesvara, which we all call "Big Avalokitesvara". This name is so powerful that those who do not know it think it is a big temple, but in fact it is just a small village temple, built on the top of the hill, where the Goddess of Avalokitesvara and the dragon Lady are worshipped, and there are many small gods and goddesses. My mother said that many years ago, there was a monk living in the hall of Guanyin, a bhikkhuni, experienced a very tragic thing. Perhaps for this reason, my mother always felt that being a monk was a terrible thing, the fate of a desperate man. She did not believe in ghosts and gods, but when her brother was ill, she returned home to burn incense. Every year, she would buy a basket of incense to worship God. During the Spring Festival the year before last, my family went to burn incense. At that time, the temple had been repaired and the courtyard was paved with concrete floor and railings. The book of merit was written on the wall. Now son and no permanent monks in the temple, the village a regularly in the past, not merit in money to be part of subsidies to her.

When we went, we did not see her, only a few oil lamps in the hall, burning quietly. One year when I went back with my father, my uncle and his family had moved down from the mountains and their new home was built next to our ancestral house. I walked alone and came to the house where my uncle's family used to live. The earth wall had not collapsed completely, and the scale of the house was still vaguely visible. The stove used before had been knocked down, the ground was overgrown with weeds, and several large water tanks remained. A few pomelo trees planted in front of the door, bearing a lot of fruit, or green skin. Looking down is the grandma and grandpa's grave, grave weeds grow, years ago hanging paper still left a wooden shelf there. When I was a child, I visited my uncle's house several times, but I was not impressed. I still remember that there was a carved bed in the house. The bed was very high, and you had to climb on it. The house is always faint, turn on the light is not bright, but feel the woods outside the window clear up. Later, the bed was moved to a new home and placed on the first floor, where Uncle was still asleep. The carved flowers on both sides were cracked and the paint on the bed fell a lot. The window was no longer facing the woods, but the open fields and the distant mountains beyond the field. It was the season to harvest rice. My father helped my uncle with his work. There were deep marks on his shoulder. More than a decade ago, when it was time to harvest rice, adults would go to the village a few days in advance to invite people, usually a table of people. When people come to help us, we have to pay them, but we also have to eat and drink well to entertain them, because it is strenuous work. In addition to chicken, duck and fish, there will be extra meals, usually eat three meals, rice harvest in the afternoon to send a rice to the field, like porridge with salted duck eggs. When I grew up, I didn't like duck meat very much. I always thought it was fishy. But I remember my aunt once cooked duck with sour beans. The duck meat is fried dry and crispy, in the old soil bowl, the dishes are finished, reluctant to throw away the oil and water, save the next stir-fry or boil noodles. When the Hungry Ghost Festival is coming, five uncle in preparation for the memorial to use incense, paper money, he and three uncle are from the Taoist priest, also sing Sichuan opera, is still doing this line. He unpacked the little table under the eaves of the house and took out a block pencil hanging on it from a nail in the wall. He took a box of ink and wrote blabbed. I helped, too, with the names of ancestors I'd never met. My father once said that if it hadn't been for the change of times, he might have become a Taoist priest, but this kind of work can only be done for three generations in one family. I didn't say why. When I returned home, I also had a birthday wine and served traditional dishes, such as crispy meat, braised elbow, braised bamboo shoots with black chicken and braised white. Now the weight is large, in the early days, the white meat will not be put in piles, then is a big bowl and then buckle a small bowl, according to the number of a table of meat slices spread on the small bowl, looks like a pile of sharp, give a person a very rich illusion. These dishes may not be loved by many people, but they are always kept in the banquet. There is osmanthus wine before the opening, each table ladle a bowl, the color of the yellow Sangsang like autumn leaves. There are also white cake, which is later called, in the beginning, everyone called "duck cake", the old people still call it so. When I was a child, I did not like to eat white cake, and occasionally after growing up to eat a little, waxy waxy, it seems that I have a nostalgic feeling, as if I was a child in the basket of adults, small people, looking at the market things, everything is very like, reach out to catch. The custom of eating birthday wine is to leave guests for dinner after noon, and in the afternoon, men and women mostly play cards and drink tea to amuse themselves. Dinner is simple, most of them are home-cooked dishes, bean flowers must have, in addition to salted rattan rattan vegetables [illustration], sour cowpeas fried raw cowpeas, celery shredded meat, cold bean sprouts, and sometimes also cooked glutinous rice balls, very strong wine, can drive away the cold in winter. The people sitting at the table are usually old people who have nothing new to talk about. They only talk about how they were twenty years ago. They are not too old, but they look like their days are numbered.