The article written by Bing Xin

This was more than ten years ago.

One afternoon before the Spring Festival, I went to see a friend in the suburbs of Chongqing. She lives above the town hall in that village. Walking up the dark stairs, I walked into a room with a square table and several bamboo stools, and a telephone on the wall. Then I went into my friend's room, separated from the outside by a curtain. She is not at home. There is a note on the table by the window saying that she will go out temporarily and asked me to wait for her.

I sat down at her desk and picked up a newspaper and read it. Suddenly I heard the outside door creak open. After a while, I heard someone moving a bamboo stool. I opened the curtain and saw a little girl, only about eight or nine years old, with a thin and pale face, purple lips with cold, short hair, worn-out clothes and a pair of sandals barefoot, boarding a bamboo stool to meet the listener on the wall. When she saw me, she seemed startled and shrank back. I asked her, "Are you going to call?" As she climbed down the bamboo stool, she nodded and said, "I want to go to XX Hospital to find Dr. Hu. My mother just vomited a lot of blood! " "I asked," Do you know the telephone number of XX Hospital? " She shook her head and said, "I was just about to ask the telephone office ..." I quickly found the hospital number from the phone book next to the machine and asked her, "Who should I invite to see a doctor?" She said, "Just say that Wang Chunlin's family is ill and she will come. "

The phone got through, she thanked me gratefully and then left. I grabbed her and asked, "Is your home far?" She pointed out the window and said, "It's just under the big yellow fruit tree in the mountain nest, and it's within walking distance." With that, he went downstairs.

I went back to the house, read the newspaper from beginning to end, and picked up a copy of Three Hundred Tang Poems. Halfway through it, it was getting darker and darker, but my friend still didn't come back. Bored, I stood up, looked at the misty mountain scenery outside the window, saw the hut under the Huangguoshu, and suddenly wanted to see the little girl and her sick mother. I went downstairs and bought some red oranges at the door, stuffed them in my handbag and walked along the uneven stone road to the door of the hut.

I gently closed the door and made a clear "plop". Just now, the little girl came out to open the door, looked up at me, paused, and then smiled and motioned me in. The room was small and dark, covered with boards against the wall. Her mother lay flat with her eyes closed. She is probably asleep, her head is covered with blood, and her face is turned inward, only to see the messy hair on her face and a big bun at the back of her head. There is a small charcoal stove by the door, with a small casserole on it, steaming slightly. The little girl asked me to sit on the stool in front of the stove. She squatted next to me and looked at me all the time. I asked softly, "Has the doctor been here?" She said, "yes, I gave my mother an injection ... she is fine now."

She seemed to comfort me and said, "Don't worry, the doctor will come again tomorrow morning." I asked, "Did she eat? What's in this pot? " She smiled and said, "sweet potato porridge, our New Year's Eve dinner." I remembered the oranges I brought, so I took them out and put them on the low table beside the bed. Without saying anything, she reached for the biggest orange, peeled off a section of the skin with a small knife, and gently rubbed more than half of the bottom with her hands.

I asked in a low voice, "Who else is in your family?" She said, "No one is here now, my father has gone outside ..." She didn't go on, but slowly took out an orange from the orange peel and put it next to her mother's pillow.

The dim light of the small orange lamp gradually dimmed, and it was even darker outside. I stood up to leave and she took my hand. She quickly took the big needle of twine and surrounded the small orange bowl relatively, like a small basket, carrying it with a small bamboo stick. She also took a short foreign wax head from the windowsill, lit it inside and handed it to me, saying, "It's dark, the road is slippery, and this little orange lamp will shine on you up the hill!" "

I took it appreciatively and thanked her. She walked me out. I don't know what to say. She seemed to comfort me and said, "Dad will be back soon. My mother will be fine then, for sure! " She drew a circle in front of her with her little hand and finally pressed it on my hand: "We are all fine!" " "Obviously, this" everyone "also includes me. Tears are spinning in my eyes. ...

I am carrying this clever little orange lamp and walking slowly on the dark and humid mountain road. This hazy orange light really can't shine far, but the little girl's calm, brave and optimistic spirit inspired me, and I seemed to feel that there was infinite light in front of me!

My friend has come back and saw me carrying a small orange lamp and asked me where I came from. I said, "From ... from Wang Chunlin's house." She said in surprise, "Wang Chunlin the carpenter, how do you know him?" Last year, at the foot of the medical school, several students were regarded as * * *, and later Wang Chunlin also disappeared. It is said that he often delivers letters for those students ... "

That night, I left the mountain village, and I never heard from the little girl and her mother again.

But from then on, every Spring Festival, I will think of that little orange lamp. 12 years have passed, and the little girl's father must have come back early. Her mother must be fine, too, right? Because we are all "good"!