Hard work after winning the lottery

Life in the mountains flows silently, like a stream.

In the blink of an eye, nearly a month has passed.

The prosperity of City A and the shadow of Zhou Yanjin are truly like an old dream blown away by the mountain wind, leaving only a few blurry outlines.

Hua Yun's skin was tanned to a healthy honey color by the mountain sun.

Those slender fingers that once danced across the keyboard like butterflies now have thin calluses on their fingertips and palms.

Those are the marks of holding a hoe, leading sheep by the reins, and washing rice and vegetables.

This was market day in town.

Before dawn, Li Guifen, the mother, started shouting in the yard.

"Get up, everyone! Hurry up! If you're late, Old Zhang's pig's head will be sold out!"

His voice was loud and clear, full of energy, dispelling the last trace of sleepiness in the early morning.

Hua Yun smiled and shook her head, then quickly got dressed and got out of bed.

Hua An, the younger brother, also emerged from the room yawning, sporting a head of messy, bird's-nest-like hair.

It's rare for the whole family to go out together.

Father Huashu drove the family's old electric tricycle, the "putt-putt-putt" sound particularly loud on the quiet village road.

Hua Yun sat in the back of the truck with her mother and grandmother, while Hua An squeezed next to her father.

The morning breeze, carrying the fragrance of earth and wild grass, wafted towards me.

The market in Baixi Town is the liveliest place in the surrounding area.

Before you even get close, the cacophony of voices and the mingled smells rush over you.

This is a vibrant, bustling noise.

The shouts of vegetable vendors, the dull thuds of butchers chopping meat, the squawking of chickens, ducks, and geese in the live poultry section, the laughter and cries of children, the arguments of adults haggling over prices...

All the sounds intertwined, merging into a rugged yet vibrant symphony.

The air was filled with the aroma of freshly steamed buns, the smoky smell of fried dough sticks, the sweetness of fresh vegetables, and the fishy smell of live fish.

Everything felt so real and down-to-earth.

Hua Yun linked arms with her mother as they weaved through the crowded streets.

She watched the aunties arguing heatedly over a few cents, the men carrying half a pig with beaming faces, and the old men squatting on the ground with bundles of vegetables in front of them, their eyes full of expectation.

Everyone here is doing their best to make a living.

This vibrant, untamed vitality is a sight you'll never see in the glamorous CBDs of City A.

Li Guifen was a master at this. She pulled Hua Yun along, rushing left and right, and in one moment they bought two jin of pork belly, and in the next they bought a lively grass carp.

Grandma Hua, on the other hand, was interested in the colorful fabrics, touching one piece and looking at another.

Hua An had the clearest goal: he went straight to the stall selling study guides.

The family members each have their own goals, yet they are all connected by an invisible thread.

Just as they were passing a street corner, a bright red sign unexpectedly came into Hua Yun's view.

—China Welfare Lottery.

Those few words seemed somewhat out of place against the backdrop of the bustling market.

Hua Yun's steps suddenly stopped, as if by some strange twist of fate.

She didn't know what was wrong with her.

Perhaps it was the bright red color that was too glaring, or perhaps it was the words "welfare" and "lottery" that stirred up her subconscious memories of the city.

An absurd, inexplicable impulse suddenly seized her.

She let go of her mother's arm.

"Mom, you guys go ahead and buy your things. I have something to do, I'll be right back."

Li Guifen turned around and looked at her with a puzzled expression, but seeing that her daughter's expression was normal, she didn't ask any further questions, only reminding her, "Don't get lost!"

"Um."

Hua Yun responded, turned around, and walked into the small lottery station.

The shop was small and dimly lit, with the walls covered with various lottery trend charts, a dazzling array of reds and greens.

An old man wearing reading glasses was dozing off on the counter.

Hearing the noise, he lazily lifted his eyelids.

"What should I buy?"

Hua Yun knew nothing about these things.

She pointed to the game on the wall that looked like it had the most numbers.

"How much... do I buy this?"

The old man pointed with his chin to a piece of plastic cardboard, which was printed with dense grids and numbers.

"Choose your own numbers, or have them randomly selected."

Choosing a number?

Hua Yun looked at those numbers and felt a headache coming on.

She took out her phone, and without thinking much, opened the calculator and randomly entered a string of numbers.

Let's keep these.

She gave the old man the set of illogical numbers that were simply generated by randomly touching her fingers.

"Ten yuan," the old man said weakly.

Hua Yi paid the money.

"Sizzle—"

The printer ejected a thin strip of paper that smelled of ink.

Hua Yun took the lottery ticket.

The paper is very light, so light that it has almost no weight.

She didn't even look down at the number again; she simply folded it in half and stuffed it into the deepest compartment of her wallet.

That spot is usually used to put cards that are not frequently used but cannot be lost.

Stepping out of the lottery station, the sunlight outside was a bit dazzling.

The hustle and bustle of the market enveloped her once again.

Those brief few minutes were like a small interlude, instantly submerged in the main melody of life.

She quickly found her mother, who was haggling with a fruit vendor.

"Is your melon guaranteed to be ripe?"

"Don't worry, ma'am, it's free if we're not familiar with each other!"

Hua Yun walked over, smiled, picked up a watermelon, and weighed it in her hand.

She had completely forgotten about buying lottery tickets.

Life returned to its slow and steady rhythm.

In the early morning, she followed her grandfather to drive the sheep up the mountain, and she could already skillfully distinguish between "dragon's beard grass" and "heartbreak grass".

In the afternoon, she would move a small stool and sit under the grape trellis in the yard, accompanying her grandmother to pick green beans and listening to her grandmother tell the stories she had heard countless times about her grandfather's time in the army when he was young.

In the evening, the sound of her chopping vegetables would ring out from the kitchen on time, crisp and rhythmic.

At the dinner table, her younger brother Hua An would wolf down his food while complaining to her about how difficult the physics problems were, or sharing funny stories from school.

Father Hua Shu was still that silent man, but he would quietly put the biggest piece of mutton from his bowl into hers.

Neighbors from the village would occasionally come to visit.

"Oh, Yunyun's been back for so long, aren't you planning to go back to the city?"

"Look at our Yunyun! Staying in the village has made her look so much better; she's much prettier than those girls in the city who wear so much makeup!"

"Yunyun, your cousin's distant nephew is a nice guy. He's a teacher in town. Would you like to meet him?"

Faced with these inquiries, whether out of curiosity or concern, Hua Yun simply smiled gently, neither confirming nor denying.

Her heart was as clear and serene as if it had been washed by a mountain spring.

She never opened that wallet compartment again.

She hadn't even paid attention to any lottery results.

The old TV at home broadcasts the news every night at 7:30, and perhaps one of the news items is about the winning numbers. But at that time, she is usually peeling apples for her younger brother or discussing with her mother what to cook for tomorrow.

That dream, which carried a set of random numbers, that tiny probability worth ten yuan, had no meaning for her anymore.

Her life was filled with the bleating of sheep, the smoke from the stove, and the laughter of her family.

These tangible warmth and reassurance are far more precious than any elusive grand prize.

That forgotten lottery ticket was like a small pebble that she had unintentionally tossed into the center of a lake.

It once stirred up a tiny, insignificant ripple.

Then, it quickly sank to the bottom of the lake and disappeared without a trace, as if it had never existed.