My memory was uprooted by the words Lily said.

Before, in order to learn to read, I would kneel down and let my brother ride on my back.

Each time he rode, he had to teach me a new word.

I would draw and redraw on the ground with a stick.

Turns out, the three characters for "Liu Da Ni" are written like this.

I think, if I were the one going to school, I would cherish every book.

But those books that were out of reach for me, my brother tore them page by page, folding them into paper airplanes.

I used to yearn to read, yearn for everything that belonged to my brother.

Yet for sixteen years, I have never possessed anything.

No love, no material possessions, nothing.

I picked manure, tilled the land, fed the pigs, raised the chickens.

In winter, I fetched well water to wash clothes, in summer, I cooked by the stove.

While my brother went to school, enjoying everything.

In winter, he had warm cotton shoes, in summer, he had orange popsicles.

In my heart, it's not just envy, it's pure jealousy.

Even a rural woman living in a mountain valley, who doesn't know a single word, still has aspirations.

She wants a better life, wants to climb over tall mountains, to see what the outside world looks like.

I remember once, after cutting grass for the pigs, I impulsively climbed to the mountaintop.

The winding mountain road and the distant, long railway tracks, leading to who knows where.

On the other side of the mountain, there are more mountains.

The endless high mountains have locked away my sixteen years.