Winter have passed, and all things recovery, at this time, the annual ching ming festival again. from the start my notebook, each of the ching ming festival this day, the mother let me put on army colored spring, with paper money, led me go.
The death of our family are buried in people biandantang hill, where very far from my house, want to switch cars several road. i remember a child, i always am glad to go上坟, because the mother at one grave money, me, and i will fill the fields and everywhere to play, until his mother put on my drag car go.
I do not know from the start when i go to play it again no longer downtown, but one after another to observe each one graves. i once found in a dilapidated graves, no traces of burnt paper money, i am very surprised that on the down, the language carefully to identify the monument, as if engraved above the so-called "life took part in fighting this war," and he was still a stranger miles! why, he should be buried in the martyrs cemetery ! why is no one above the names of relatives?
With questions about my curiosity ran to tell his mother, the mother does not rise, but slowly, said: "alas! you go get some paper money for him it!" i took over the delivery to the mother of a pile of paper money. he went to the tomb, while throwing paper money to the fire, he murmured: "no one has ever been up for your grave, you must be very lonely, and i do not know what you call not recognize you, but you year must be a hero, now has displaced bones, i burn some paper money for you now ... ... "at this time, his hands gently caught one of my shoulders, i looked back and was the mother, she gently from my hands took some paper money, threw the fire, the paper money fell fire, one, two, four ... ...
This year went to the vicinity of cemeteries, and because the mother had severe rheumatoid arthritis, she could not , and i go, she is not a person at ease. so we at outdoor money, his mother threw some paper money said: "dad! you then you! small, remote, (my uncle) with ... ..."
Finally only a pile of paper money, the mother put it to me said: "little wing, do you die for that unknown person burned it, alas! did not give him strange people poor." the fire ... ... my face, my heart said: "rest in peace now! next year the ching ming festival, i must go for you!" wind gust over, put the ashes of burnt paper money has been blown away ... ...
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