甜之根 – Sweet Root

tián zhī gēn

Wo cong wei xiang guo, yi ke huo long guo neng gai bian wo de ming yun. Na tian zai re dai guo yuan li, fu qin qie kai yi ke huo long guo, zi hong de guo rou shen chu mi zhi. Ta zhi zhe na xie hei se zi li shuo: “Zhe xie zi li li cang zhe zheng pian guo yuan de tian. ” Wo di tou kan jian jiao bian gun luo de shan zhu, ying ke lie kai yi dao feng, lou chu xue bai ban rou. Shan zhu de suan tian zong rang wo xiang qi mu qin, ta sheng qian zui ai yong shan zhu pei liu lian. Liu lian de nong lie qi wei zai kong qi zhong zha kai, xiang ta shuang lang de xiao sheng.

Fu qin you peng lai yi lan hong mao dan, rong mao shang zhan zhe chen lu. Bao kai hong mao dan, tou ming guo rou hua jin hou long, tian de fa chan. Ta di gei wo yi ke lian wu, shuo: “Lian wu zui dong shui de xin shi. ” Lian wu yao xia qu shi qing cui de liang, zhi shui shun zhe xia ba di luo. Wo hu ran ming bai, mei yi ge shui guo dou shi tu di de mi ma.

Hou lai wo li kai guo yuan qu cheng shi du shu. Chao shi li leng cang de huo long guo mei you yang guang wei dao, zhen kong bao zhuang de liu lian xiang shi qu ling hun de biao ben. Wo mai le shan zhu he hong mao dan, ke ta men chang qi lai zhi shi tian, mei you wen du. Zhi dao you ci zai cai shi chang jian dao mai lian wu de lao nong, ta cu cao de shou zhang tuo qi yi ke lian wu, shuo: “Gang zhai de, hai dai zhe chen wu. ” Na yi ke, wo chang dao le gu xiang de gen.

Sweet Root

I never thought a dragon fruit could change my destiny. That day in the tropical orchard, my father cut open a dragon fruit, and purple-red flesh oozed honey juice. He pointed at the black seeds and said, ‘These seeds hold the sweetness of the entire orchard. ‘ I looked down and saw a mangosteen rolling at my feet, its hard shell cracked open, revealing snow-white segments. The sweet-sour taste of mangosteen always reminds me of my mother; she loved to pair mangosteen with durian. The strong smell of durian exploded in the air, like her hearty laughter.

My father brought over a basket of rambutans, their fuzz covered with morning dew. Peeling a rambutan, the transparent flesh slid into my throat, tremblingly sweet. He handed me a wax apple and said, ‘Wax apples best understand water’s secrets. ‘ Biting into a wax apple was crisp and cool, juice dripping down my chin. I suddenly understood that every fruit is a code of the land.

Later I left the orchard to study in the city. The refrigerated dragon fruits in the supermarket had no sunlight flavor; vacuum-packed durians were like soulless specimens. I bought mangosteens and rambutans, but they tasted only sweet, without warmth. Until one time at the market I saw an old farmer selling wax apples. He held up a wax apple in his rough palm and said, ‘Just picked, still carrying the morning mist. ‘ At that moment, I tasted the root of my hometown.

音频

Audio recording for this story will be available here.