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 upstairs in the village office. Walking up a dark staircase, I walked into a room with a square table, 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 to read. Suddenly, I heard the door of the outhouse 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, blue lips with cold, short hair, wearing shabby clothes and sandals, barefoot, boarding a bamboo stool and trying to pick up the listener on the wall. Seeing that I seemed surprised, I pulled my hand back. I asked her, "Do you want 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 then asked her," If I find a doctor, who should I invite him to see? " She said, "Just say that Wang Chunlin's family is ill and she will come. "I got through the phone, she thanked me gratefully and then left. I grabbed her and asked, "Is your home far?" Pointing out of the window, she said, "It's just under the big yellow fruit tree in the mountain nest, and it's only a short walk away." He hitched, hitched, hitched and went downstairs.

I went back to the back room, read the newspaper back and forth, 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 knocked on the wooden door, and the little girl came out to open the door just now. When I looked up and saw me, I first paused, and then smiled and motioned for me to go in. The room was small and dark, covered with boards against the wall. Her mother lay flat with her eyes closed. She was probably asleep, her head was covered with blood, and her face was turned upside down, only to see the loose 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 a small 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." 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 petal from the insert and put it next to her mother's pillow. The light of the fire gradually dimmed and the outside turned black. 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 wax head from the windowsill, lit it in it and handed it to me, saying, "It's dark, the road is slippery, and this little orange light shines 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 by then. " She drew a circle in front of her with her little hand and finally received my hand: "We are all fine!" " "Obviously, this" everyone "also includes me.

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, several students of Yamashita Medical College 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. It must be nice for her to have a mother, right? Because we are all "good"!