Fujian is mountainous and Fujian is even more so. This can be seen from the name of the place-either with a “concave” or a “ridge”, no more pits or flats. My family lives in Keli Village. The nearby areas are Dashanao, Huyangao, and Ashiwa. From this point of view, the name “Keli” is simply too cultural. The villagers in Keli Village have always liked to be vegetarian, eat wild (wild fruits, wild vegetables), eat coarse (coarse grains), and eat miscellaneous foods (omnivores, offal), probably because of the poor mountains and rivers, and there is nothing else to eat that can fill their stomachs. Don’t live up to it.

Tofu is the darling of vegetarian food. At first, three or two pieces of tofu and a piece of pork were enough to hold up the noodles for the guests. Even if you worship Buddha and ancestors, you have to put a stick of oily tofu next to the blanched pork. Here, the immortal Buddha enters the hometown to follow the customs, eats meat and fish, and has a soft spot for tofu. People in Caixi Town are famous for eating tofu, which makes the tofu here more expensive than elsewhere. But if you say that eating tofu is particular, no one is more picky than them. In their opinion, a good tofu must be tender if it is not cooked. If it’s good tofu, it’s just fried and fragrant, sprinkled with salt, soy sauce, and chives, and you can eat it.

When it comes to making tofu, our family has a great say. Grandfather, father, and second uncle all made tofu for a living. Up to now, my father has eaten this bowl of rice for nearly 20 years.

Punting, hitting iron, and selling tofu are the three sufferings in the world. In ancient times, making tofu required three and five nights to sleep and to do the work of a donkey. It stands to reason that doing this business is a big waist, but my father does not have this image. He was born thin and thin, with a few catties of meat on his body. When he was young, he worked as a tailor. He was handsome, free from the sun’s bitterness, and his skin was fair. Even his mother said that marrying him would make him look better.

From the old photos, the father has high cheekbones, deep eye sockets, and a diamond face, so handsome. Such a good skin bag seems to be a waste of tofu. He probably felt so too. When he first started this business, he was thin-skinned, he didn’t feel embarrassed to open his mouth, and kept hiding behind his mother. The mother was born sturdy and terribly strong. A bag of hundreds of kilograms of soybeans was picked up and carried on her shoulders. After giving birth to me, she became stronger and stronger, her belly no longer smaller, but her weight began to increase by leaps and bounds, and finally she left her father far away. My mother is courageous and able to talk, and everyone feels close when she sees it. People often give her fried cakes, rice crackers, and dumplings as gifts. My mother picks up tofu and visits each house one by one. Until now, many regular customers only recognize the fat aunt but not the father.

My father made yogurt tofu. Compared with salted tofu and gypsum tofu, it produced less flowers and had a lower yield, but the taste was better. My father didn’t bother with gypsum tofu, saying that it tasted hard, like gnawing stones. At the market, if someone asks what tofu they sell, he must raise it by half a decibel and say: yogurt tofu! Saying this, he was straight and full of breath, like a serf turned over to become the master.

My father made tofu. He loved it more. One time he said there was too much water, and another time he said there was too little water. There was always something wrong. Tofu is difficult to serve, the water is not boiled, and the pulp cannot be blanched; if physalis is added too much, the taste is bad and it is not conducive to preservation; if the physalis is less, it cannot produce flowers; even the old and new tofu cloth will also affect the formation of tofu . My father was impatient, he pursued perfection, and his mouth refused to forgive. Even if his aunt, who came to help a year ago, did something wrong, he would smash his head and cover his face, often making others cry back. Helping my father to work is a test of psychological quality. He doesn’t speak swear words, but just a few words make people feel like a big mistake. In his eyes, tofu is extremely precious, and it is a gold bracelet. My sister and I only hate that they are all born to him and cannot get rid of them. We often persuade my mother to go back to the old county. Mom just laughed: If I go back, what will you eat?

Father is more picky than others in making tofu. When the tofu is done, I often cook a few pieces by myself. Staring at us while eating, asking: Is it delicious? My sister and I are quite successful in eating tofu. They are sour, old, soft, or hard… You can tell by just putting your tongue on it, and it’s better than getting the pulse. Sometimes you can tell a general idea by smelling the tofu before it’s on the table. My mother was dull in this respect: all tofu from her own family is delicious; not necessarily from others.

If you were a guest, and there was tofu on the table, my father would put two pieces together and comment on it. He doesn’t talk much, just talk about it. If it is delicious, he also praises it; if it is not delicious, he talks even less. Only after coming back, tell us as if chatting fresh.

The craft of making tofu is hard to learn, it is an experience. If there is a little difference in technique, heat, water temperature, timing, and materials, the tofu produced will be different. Even if my mother did it for nearly 20 years, she didn’t learn home, so she could only play as a deputy. Grandfather, father, and second uncle all made yogurt tofu, but they all made it the same way. Grandfather’s tofu is delicious but older, second uncle’s is thick but smoky, only father’s, moderately firm and well-known. Sometimes my father came back from my second uncle with his eyes bent and snickered and said, “I can smell smoke all the way away.”

My father didn’t care about the tofu made by my second uncle, he could always spot the fault. Their stalls are close to each other, and quarrels will inevitably occur. The second uncle is a chronic child, making tofu is not slow or ill, and the operation is not so particular, it seems that everything is fine. Because of this, he is often not timely enough to kill the fire. The tofu flower is left in the pot for a long time, and the flower is more, but the smoky taste is natural. But his father was impatient. He made tofu like he was on the battlefield, and he couldn’t make any mistakes. When boiling or killing fire, even if it’s time for the meal, he has to stay in front of the stove. Years ago, he made a lot of tofu, he slept less, his face was brutal, and he often said to my sister and me: I have no time for farting!

In order to make tofu, my father often refused to let himself get full, because he could easily nausea after eating. When making tofu, he eats a small bowl and leaves. Mother is not the case, she has to pour some rice wine in the tank, and get some snacks to serve. Mother has always been drinking well, and two or three pots of rice will not pour her off. But my father doesn’t drink, and people often say that it means less socializing with him. My father doesn’t care, he is satisfied if he only prepares tofu and keeps his money in his whole life. He often messes with people close to him when he speaks, and his words are not dirty. When he is free, he keeps his mouth open and works hard, and when he is busy, he rushes, as if someone else is blocking his way. If you talk to him, he will put on a political class posture and talk about it all through the ages. Last year, my mother was injured by a fall. The palm-sized meat was cut apart by bamboo pieces and slumped on her calf, with meat scraps on top. When he saw him, he said to his mother, “It’s broken, you will lose all of your wealth.” His mother said he had a hard mouth and a hard heart, but she was probably the same.

Tofu is very particular about water quality. Our tofu is better than others, and most of the credit is due to the water quality. The water at home is drawn from the high mountains, clear and clean, and after several layers of filtration, it reaches the pool at home. It took my father a lot of effort just to build the pool. There is only one path on the mountain, and bricks and cement are picked up. My father has been diligent and thrifty all his life. He grabbed me, built the pool and buried the water pipes. In winter, the amount of water is small, and it is also cited elsewhere when making new year tofu. The water diversion point is often the mountain nest next to the tofu shop, but the water outlet is low in terrain and it has to be pumped by a pump. The water here is different from other places. It is warm in winter and cool in summer, and it tastes sweet, which suits him well.

The heat is also very particular. My father still uses wood to make tofu. He thinks the tofu made with electricity is not good. It heats slowly, but the temperature drops quickly, unlike wood fire, the blower blows up the water at once. Remove the firewood and charcoal, without the heat source, the bean curd will not be burned. But the stove can’t cool down within half an hour, and the tofu in the pot has to be simmered with the remaining temperature, and only a lot of tofu will come out. But burning wood makes the entire tofu shop hot, even in the winter, you can only wear a single undershirt. If it is summer, the moisture is heavy, and if you stay in a tofu shop, you will only feel that your whole person is being steamed with sweat.

In the town, my father sells tofu a lot, eight or nine boards a day, and 10 boards a day at the market. In the early years, tofu was carried on a motorcycle. A shelf was installed at the rear of the car. Because it was soaked in tofu water, a layer of dirt accumulated on the rear of the motorcycle, which was disgusting. After the tofu is put on top, it has to be supported with wooden sticks to prevent it from falling. If I am at home, I will help him by the side. After putting it on, the tofu water flows down. There is only a snakeskin bag between my mother and the tofu board. When I go to the market, my trousers and back are often wet. Tofu is highly acidic, and the skin is prone to corrosion and cracking if it touches too much. My mother also suffered from this. She often lifted her trouser legs in front of me, pressed them down, and said, “Jian Guzai, look.” After she finished pressing, it took a long time for the sunken flesh to return to its original shape.

My mother’s weight was kept at 156 jin all year round, and tofu was also 4 to 500 jin. It was such a motorbike that staggered to the town, as if it had accidentally tipped over. It is even more troublesome if it encounters heavy rain. In the rain and fog, the motorcycle swayed between the mountains, like a small broken boat floating on the rapids.

By 2012, my father bought a Chang’an brand car with a rear bucket and convenient tofu. My father was even more proud after buying a car. I told me over and over again how good it is to have a car, and when I was finished, I asked me: “What do you say?” I often put him aside and didn’t answer, and I didn’t agree with it in my heart, thinking, what is so proud of this thing. I call that car a four-legged chicken behind my back. It has been used for a long time, and the seat cushion is full of dirt. Sitting on it only makes people wonder if it will stain the pants. After my father had a car, he would often drive his fellow villagers to and from the market. He never charged any money. Just as the villagers said he could—there were not many people who bought cars in Keli Village.

The year before, I went home for the New Year. I got off the highway from the county seat. It was late at night and there was no shuttle bus back to Keli Village for my father to pick him up. The father took his mother down to the county seat. On the return journey, the car made a strange noise and became louder and louder. Father drove the double flash and parked the car on the edge of the highway. My mother and I also got out of the car. My father was sweating, checking this and checking that; my mother was talking coldly on the sidelines, blaming him for never adding water when driving. Mother had broken the first officer’s door earlier, and later pulled the first officer’s safety belt into a display. I remembered her attitude towards her father’s car washing-she broke her throat and mocked her father for not finding work. At that moment, I felt that my mother, just like me, hoped that the four-legged chicken would soon be broken-we don’t want a proud rooster around us. The night was so cold that the highway under the stars plunged straight to both ends. The shadows surrounded my father, and my mother and I were calm as if watching a play. It took more than an hour for the tow truck to come over and took the four-legged chicken to the nearest car repair shop. Along the way, my father mumbled: “Chinese New Year tofu, I must let everyone eat it!”

My father cherishes the four-legged chicken very much, although it is not so dexterous after changing the engine, the sound inside is broken, and Zhuo Yiting’s songs can no longer be played; now, even the air conditioner is working; the back seat cushion is still There is a big hole, dug by someone, and it is getting bigger and bigger. But his father took it to maintain it from time to time. On the New Year’s Eve, watching him shoot a hose on the car, I told him that I should buy another one. He patted the car and said, “I can drive this car for several years.”


Mother took me to sell tofu very early. When I was five or six years old, I walked with her home, and I don’t know where the foot power came from, and I could follow her for a day. Earlier, no tofu was made at home. My father worked in Guangdong and it was often midnight when he returned home. As soon as I woke up, many men next to me rubbed stubble on my face and couldn’t push away. He didn’t make any money in two or three years. It is said that one year after he made some money, his wallet was taken away at the bus station. With nowhere to survive, he stayed at home and learned his grandfather’s craft. My grandfather ran to Guangdong all the year round. In the words of his mother, “As soon as they had a little money, their parents-in-law jumped in the car and slid to Guangdong.” It seems that his grandfather went to Guangdong to spend money instead of making money. The debt that my grandfather owed when he was young was not paid off until a few years before his death. He often relied on credit for buying soybeans. When he couldn’t help it, his grandmother went to ask someone with a shy face. Poverty, in their generation, left an indelible memory. And what I remember is mostly fragments of locked rooms. When my father made tofu, his feet were liberated.

When we were seven or eight years old, our family’s tofu began to be sold at a fixed point in the market, one for each father and mother. Caixi Town looks like a big city to me. It is not a mountain, not a fog, or a wall of earth. There are so many children in the town. I watched them run over and ran over from the stall without daring to leave my mother’s sight. Mother hung a big wallet around my neck. The wallet is dark and autumn, and there is dirt on it that cannot be scraped off. As soon as she stretched her hand over, the shed cloth surface had to be added with a layer of grease. She took the trouble to say to me: “White tofu is 50 cents, and oil tofu is 70 cents. Jian Guzai, do you remember?”

I nodded and said, “I remember.”

When there were no customers, she began to test me: “How much did you get for two pieces of white tofu and one piece of oiled tofu?”

“A piece of seven.”

She then asked, “Then if he gave five yuan, how much would you look for?”

I paused: “Three dollars and three dollars.”

Finally, she felt relieved, took a white plastic bag, filled a lot of change and gave it to me, and arranged for me to go to my father’s booth. My father rode a motorcycle away. The father’s stall sells pork, and the opposite side sells vegetables and aquatic products. Not many people come to buy tofu, so I often kill how many fish on the opposite side of the morning, or count how many people bought pork. The pork-seller is greasy, with a big belly, fat and strong. I think the fat meat cannot be sold, and it is caused by drinking lard as soup. They have a loud voice, they like to joke, and often say something cute. Sometimes I should say a few words, more often I don’t hear it. I guarded the tofu stall and did not move, as if the monkey grandson drew a circle there and it was not safe to go out.

Probably because the person is small and it is not like a business person, no one wants to buy it from me. Therefore, most of the day can not sell a board (32 yuan). Mother said that the most important thing in business is to welcome people with a smile. So when I saw the man, the corners of my mouth rose, my eyes squinted, and I smiled seriously. But it didn’t work, and the business was generally bad. Of course, sometimes if you hit the big luck, you can sell two boards. After the sale, I cleaned up the tofu shelf, took the plate and the tofu cloth and ran to the mother’s booth. When the mother saw it, she would laugh and say, “Jian Gu Zai, he is amazing.” Most of the time, this kind of praise does not contain much gold. It is her usual tactic. Whenever a child is required to work, she will use it. . Sometimes, when acting awkwardly, she would laugh for a while. But I also laughed at that time, and said to myself in my heart: “Jian Gu Zai, it’s amazing.”

As time went by, the selling of tofu for parents became a burden on them-students began to use it as a joke. And I also resist selling tofu from the bottom of my heart, but this resistance is interpreted by my parents as lazy or timid. I sit on the tofu stall, like sitting on pins and needles, always watching whether any classmates are nearby. If you find them, lower your head or look away. But, it seems that all the classmates in the class know where I sell tofu, so they came over and asked, “Hey, are you selling tofu?”

“Well, it’s… yes.” Next, I will ask quietly: “Is to… buy tofu?”

Most people will reply: “Oh, I don’t buy, I just come over and take a look.” Sometimes they will say: “I have to ask the adults.” Then they disappeared into the crowd and never came back.

Because of my young age and great playfulness, I often ran down to fish with my companions. Sister always has to come down over and over and drag me back. There is no idle time to make tofu. Sister has a high-pitched voice, is rude and uses brute force, often breaking good things. She treated me harshly when she was a child, as if I was some tool of hers. My mother and I often said in the past that when I was young, my sister had to pick up the grains quickly and asked me to lift the grains and pour them into the baskets. But I don’t have the strength, and she often scolds me as a wooden person. Before marrying, my sister had to cry a lot a year ago, moving rocks and tofu, which was terribly heavy, her wrists couldn’t stand it, and her soreness was severe. No matter what, mother kept soaking soybeans, often crying her sister in anger.

During the New Year, the tofu board and tofu cloth are often not enough. I have to take a tractor to the town with my mother. When the five plates of tofu are sold, the plates and cloth are sent home. One year in a cold winter, the sky was gray, and a layer of white snow accumulated on the distant mountains. My mother put me on the side of the road, and she and the master who drove the tractor continued to move forward. It rained not long after she left, and I hid under the eaves of other people’s houses. After the white minibus appeared in the heavy rain, I ran out to stop it, and then ran back to lift the five tofu boards. Because I couldn’t lift it, I could only lift it twice. When I lifted it, the conductor looked disgusted and greeted the driver to close the door. Then, the minibus splashed with water and was hidden in the hazy vapor. I stood there, feeling ashamed, like a clown. After stopping the car several times, the whole body was soaked. Later, standing on the road altogether, any cars passing by beckoned weakly. Finally a van stopped and asked me where I was going. After I answered, he beckoned me to get in the car. A female high school student walked down in the car and helped me put the board on it. I picked a plastic stool to sit on, and the rain on my body fell drop by drop. I looked at the girl’s face from time to time, and I had thanked her several times. The picture of her coming out of the rain holding an umbrella has always been in my mind. It was like a little star, shining on the vast night. The master drove me to the door of my house. After getting off the car, I smiled seriously at him, raised the corners of my mouth and squinted my eyes.

Tofu is made a lot, and there is more tofu residue. During the New Year, dealing with tofu residue has become an annoying thing for us. Around the New Year, the wind turned to the south and the humidity was heavy. Soon after the bean dregs were placed, hairs began to grow, and the whole area was black and green mold spots. Not only mold grows, but it also emits a foul smell. In the past, pigs were raised at home, and bean dregs were excellent feed. The mother would pile the tofu dregs on the corner of the wall to make it firm. Tofu is no longer made on the 30th of the New Year to the 8th day of the New Year. The pigs have to live on the tofu residue from years ago. When it is needed, the mother removes the upper layer of mildew, scrapes it out, and feeds it with feed to the pigs. But even so, the smell of tofu residue is still unpleasant. Friends and relatives come and go, and it is not a good idea to let them smell this. My sister and I only hope that some people will pull the okara to feed the chickens and ducks.

Later, my father stopped raising pigs and the biogas digester was abandoned. He felt that the price of pork was unstable, like a roller coaster, and he didn’t make much money. In this way, the only purpose of tofu residue is to feed chickens. Chickens don’t like to eat it, so they have to mix them with millet. They have a small appetite and don’t need much okara. When the tofu dregs were almost piled up, my mother and I used a cart to pull the tofu dregs into the ditch. As soon as several snakeskin bags were tilted down, the water in the ditch was cut off, and it took a long time to wash away the tofu residue. Someone really came to buy bean curd dregs. The price given by my father was cheap. A large bag of bean dregs only cost five yuan. The uncle asked for more than a year, but he refused to give the money, saying that he had lost money in raising pigs. Father was so angry that his lungs were split, and he went to ask for it several times, but almost didn’t fight.

If the bean dregs are dried, not only does it have no smell, but it even has a bean aroma. When it’s time to use, take out some, mix with water, and the bean dregs will swell up, like bread fermented. Perhaps because of the bean dregs, the chickens raised by my mother are always bigger than those of other families. Cut open the chicken belly, the chicken fat is orange-yellow, and it is a full bowl when you pick it out.

After making tofu, there is a lot of charcoal left. The pot for cooking tofu is huge, and the stove must be big. When the fire is killed, the whole stove is covered with charcoal, and the temperature is so high that the bricks are red and transparent. After the fire is killed, some raw wood must be stuffed under the stove to lower the temperature of the stove, and by the way, the raw wood must be dried. It often happens that there is firewood. Fire together, the tofu will grow old. You have to use a hook and rake to kill fire, and even a dustpan has to be specially made. At first, thick iron sheets were used, and that piece of iron alone could exhaust people. The iron sheet rusted badly, and was later changed to stainless steel, but it was still heavy and hard to call. Charcoal is harvested by hammering iron, it has to be dried, and the broken carbon has to be filtered out. When I do this job, I often get dark, and my sister and I are not happy to do it.

When I was in sixth grade, I moved to a new home. My father designed the tofu shop himself. He was quite proud. A baffle was added to filter the tofu flower, so that the physalis water would not flow to him, and the chimney was quite big, so the fire could burn well. But when I used it, I found that the fried tofu was terribly dim, and the shop was not well ventilated. The smoke kept rising to the floor because it could not get out, and it floated to the kitchen and living room. By now, the first floor of our whole house is gray and black. Back then, the house was built with a load-bearing wall structure, and the idea of ​​not being able to move the wall. My father never talked about the flaws of his own design, he just said that it was just such a structure, as if it were just like this naturally.

When I first moved to a new house, the road across the pond was not paved and often collapsed. It was troublesome to catch up with the New Year. In winter, warm and cold air clash in the mountainous areas of Fujian, and it often rains. One year, the road collapsed in half. Father cut a few big logs from the mountain and spread them to let the tractor pass. The rain hit the road and the road was slippery. The whole family had to run over and push the tractor, thinking only that the soil should be firmer, otherwise, even the car and people would have to slide down. After the new year, my father started planning to build a road. I brought a few carts of stones over, and invited a reliable master. He and his mother also worked as small workers, moving one by one. My father also called me to be a little worker.

After the road was paved and sturdy enough, he felt that he should buy a car. After that, I never suffered from the collapse of the road. After the New Year, my father stopped asking for tractors and asked my uncle to help carry tofu, and also paid wages, but after all, he was relatives, which could save a lot of money.

He saves money and a lifetime, does not waste any labor, and even builds a house by himself. My mother often buys some fruits that are strange or rotten. They can’t eat them and cost money. But she has a set of theory, the logic is strict and unshakable.

A few years ago, my mother had bone spurs on her heel bone, and when she stepped on it, the meat seemed to be pricked by a needle. After looking for a lot of prescriptions, I originally wanted to do an operation to remove it, but I thought that the thing could grow back. My parents felt that the operation was not worthwhile, so they just made it hurt. My mother was in anxious pain, and deliberately stepped on her foot, and muttered: “Spread you down.” After a year and a half, it really didn’t hurt anymore. She took a big tone and said how much she had suffered since she came to Corey, and she endured everything for this family. After some remarks, I was moved by myself. At that time, my elder sister and I had grown up, and we were very hard-hearted and didn’t feel much.

When I first started making tofu, my father used the old method. When the milk was over, he brought a basin of soy milk and another. After fifty years of work, his body became more and more dysfunctional. He often said that his teeth hurt, got angry, and dizzy… He changed things and used a high-temperature pump to pump soy milk. Within two years, I felt that the bean dregs were too heavy, and I was exhausted, so I bought a dregs separator. One mouthful of soy milk and bean dregs in one mouthful makes it a lot easier. When the slag separator was first bought, my father was not very good at using it, so he invited the master to come over. After debugging for a long time, I always felt that it was wrong, and the tofu made was thin. He thought about scalding the bean dregs with hot water, and then using the dregs machine to give it to 80%. The tofu that comes out is really thick.

My father was very sensitive to the thickness of tofu, and if he made it thinner, he felt that he owed something to others. The price of tofu has risen drastically, and the weight of father’s tofu has indeed increased. In previous years, the tofu flower box was never full. Not only is it full now, but also to filter the water back and forth, and add some tofu flower to be satisfied.

At older age, there are many problems. My father stayed up all night, still doing coolies, and couldn’t hold his body beaten up. At first, there was something wrong with the pancreas, the blood pressure fluctuated up and down, and the whole person was in confusion. After he was cured, he said he had an andrological disease. He was inexperienced, after listening to the advertisement, he sneaked away from Longyan to the Putian department. The illness was not cured, and a lot of money bags were taken out. There was a big hole in his heart, which didn’t heal for half a year. Later, when I went to a regular hospital, no major problems were detected, except that the prostate was enlarged. After using a lot of medicine, it didn’t work. He thought about old age and felt that it was the same when people were old, and it was not much worse than cure.

Last year, my mother was cut by a bamboo chip, but the meat did not grow back and became worse and worse, so she had to be transferred to Zhangzhou. Father also had a rare leisure time. He was very quiet in the hospital. I’m lazy at everything and fall asleep in bed. The whole family stayed in the hospital, chatting about this and that, and they looked like family. I can see that my father is happy in his heart, he doesn’t have to do anything, and his mother also has a sister worrying about it, and he is not used to worrying about it.

Nowadays, most people in Caixi Town have gone out, and business is getting harder and harder on weekdays. My father thought about working outside. For a while, he followed his brother-in-law to Nanping, saying that he was in charge of the construction site. The construction site is in the mountains and forests, in remote areas, and it takes a long time to go to the small town, and the people seem to be trapped in the mountains and forests. He couldn’t bear the loneliness, and returned within three days, making up his mind to make tofu for the rest of his life. Three or five years after the death of my grandfather, my second uncle saw that the market was getting worse and worse, so he threw away the craft and went to learn about excavators. Immediately afterwards, the second aunt also went to the county seat and learned the craftsmanship of driving excavators, and her life improved. As for the old tofu guys, the old and the disabled, the father was actually young in it.

During the New Year, when people come back, the pressure to make tofu soars. The year before last, I felt distressed about the fatigue of his old couple. I did the heavy work by myself. As a result, the root of the disease fell on my waist, which became prominent and twisted. Last year, I was a good student and didn’t do too much heavy work. It’s a pity that I didn’t have a good waist and did a little bit worse. I found that my father was bald on the top of his head, and he was no longer as handsome as before; my mother was over ten kilograms fatter, and clothes became more and more difficult to buy. Five Xs and one L were not enough.

At first, most of the time I called my father for less than a minute, I just asked if there was anything at home, so I hung up. In the past two years, I have talked more with my home. One day, my father called. Asked him, he said there was nothing wrong at home, but it hadn’t been a long time. I thought in my heart, okay, finally learned to think about me. Later, my mother talked more and talked about things back and forth, always thinking about teaching me writing and providing me with writing materials. Father, the people seemed to be calmer. He didn’t speak so aggressively. He set up a flower garden and planted this kind of stuff. It seemed that he was ready not to sell tofu, and he felt relieved.