The ancestors ended their tired journey here, and the homeless finally got a home. When they go to Qiu Lai in spring, their children become stronger and stronger, and their women become better and better. In Ma Benteng on the grassland, the sheep on the mountain are like snowdrifts and waves.
Many, many years later, my grandmother was born by this river. This baby must be the most beautiful in the mother's eyes, and grandma must love her very much. Because every time we disobey our mother and make her angry, grandma will say, "You children are really unfilial. When I was young, I always tried to help my mother and take care of my siblings. " Or: "I never talk back to what my mother tells me, but I always promise in an appropriate way."
Grandma's words were always heard at that time. By the time I really understood what she meant, I had grown up and was far away from her, just as she was far away from the river.
However, the river has been flowing. Grandma used to play with her brothers and sisters by the river. Every spring, she may watch geese flying from the south by the thawed river. And when she crossed the river one day and married Zhaowudamang on the other side of the river, the river must have expressed its sadness noisily behind her.
When I was a child, I liked to let my grandmother tell stories and let her sing. However, after listening to it every time, we can't write down the content clearly and completely. When grandma asked us to repeat it for the second time, we always stuttered or just ran away with a smile. Grandma must be very disappointed.
However, the river has been flowing. In my grandmother's dream home at night, there will probably always be noisy voices flowing through. "The geese have flown back to the north again, and my home is still so far away ..." The song sung in Mongolian is very gentle. It is heartbreaking to think that the river is still flowing on that land.
So, she still tells us those stories over and over again. There is always a river in the story, a filial child and a lovely mother. Sometimes, when we hear the lessons in her life, we will smile and ask for it again. Every time, she failed to finish her story. Probably if it wasn't because the child ran away, it was because her thoughts stopped at the river again.
How I long to hear the story of that river again today! Who can tell me, sixty years ago, how many flying lights were on that eighteen-year-old girl's face? Who can tell me how many times the boys on the grassland have galloped under her skirt? Who can tell me how much love there is for this land in that young heart? And when she turned and left the river, did she ever think that she would come back tomorrow? Who can I ask? I think, probably only ask this river.
Then, the river began to flow in my life. From my grandmother, I inherited this love for a land I have never seen before. The farther away from her, the deeper the love and the softer the color of the grass. And the purple mountains behind the Xilamulun River began to appear solemnly in my dreams, which my grandmother probably didn't think of before her death.
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