Before writing a diary, I suddenly remembered that I needed to explain my origin so that I wouldn’t let Qin look confused.

My surname is Qin and my name is Qin Shousheng. My father is a restless farmer and my mother is an educated youth in the countryside.

I was asked about why my father and mother were married and why I gave birth to me? Why did I be called a hybrid? These questions have been with me for a long time, and I didn’t know the meaning of a hybrid until my child was also scolded as a hybrid.

My father's name is Qin Kaitai. It is said that he also has the name Sanyuan, which is very charming of ancient people.

My grandfather asked someone to ask for a letter. I hope my father can study hard and win three consecutive years, so that the road will be smooth.

My grandfather’s idea is good, which means that his parents want their children to become successful. It is normal.

Unfortunately, with the outbreak of the "Cultural Revolution", my grandfather's idea of ​​wanting his son to become a success has become a bubble.

My father was in high school at that time and was a famous cultural person in the village and had a great hope of getting into college.

At the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, my father was attracted by this vast political movement and devoted himself to it.

To what extent was he invested? He and the young men and girls in the village formed an "expeditionary force" and prepared to retake the Long March of their predecessors and feel the taste of the 25,000-mile Long March.

My home is in the north, and it is 108,000 miles away from the Long March route of the revolutionary predecessors back then. If I go through it, I will not be able to walk for a year.

At that time, the fanatical political atmosphere exaggerated everyone. Everyone had a deep political awareness and would remember every inappropriate thing they said to others. Maybe they could mention it at any time and blame you for "anti-party, counter-revolutionary group" or "four-type elements". In that case, I'm sorry, a big brand, a big hat on your neck, a big head, a parade around your street, and be beaten, which was not pleasant.

Although my grandfather often beat my father, in that era, facing the powerful voice of a Red Guard, he had to smoke dry cigarettes and sulk, but he did not dare to say anti-party or counter-revolutionary words.

At that time, there were many things that couples, fathers and sons betray each other, and people lost their basic sense of trust.

My grandfather is afraid, but my grandmother is not afraid of this son whom she "pulled out" himself (grandma's words).

Grandma took a broom and beat my father up, but it did not extinguish the flame of revolution in his heart.

When grandpa saw grandma wiped his tears there, he snorted and said to grandma who was busy preparing clothes for his son: "These little beasts don't know how high the sky is, so if you want to go, you don't need to prepare anything. Anyway, there is a station for receiving the Red Guards on the road, so they can't starve them to death. In less than three days, they will have to come back in shame."

My father and his wife were not as revolutionary as grandfather expected, and they came back obediently the next day. However, there was no gain. My father and his wife brought back some educated youth to the countryside.

My father and the others were not hungry, but tired.

At that time, there were reception stations for Red Guards all over the country.

Wherever the Red Guards went, they had food, drink, and lived, just like the old man.

My father and the others walked on their luggage for a day and were exhausted.

After finally finding a reception station, several people rushed in with tears as if they saw their relatives.

The conditions at the reception station were good, including the white steamed buns, white rice porridge, and cabbage, which made several hungry young people eat a lot.

After dinner, everyone slept like dead pigs until noon the next day before they got up lazily.

In just one day, my father's enthusiasm for revolution dissipated completely.

Several men and women all gave in their hearts, but they were embarrassed to mention it first.

At this time, a group of educated youths from the countryside flocked to the reception station.

Among them is my mother.

It was because of this encounter that I was born.

I always wondered in my heart: Why did the stubborn father take the risk of letting his father laugh at him and give up his ambition to retrace the Long March? Is it because he fell in love with his mother at first sight?

Unfortunately, my father was the most taboo about this issue. No one dared to ask him, nor did I dare.

In order to return to the city, my mother ruthlessly abandoned her father, which caused her to suffer the biggest blow in her life. From then on, my father used wine as his wife and got drunk all day long. He passed away before I could become an adult.

My mother left when I was six or seven years old (I can't remember the specific days).

I only remember that my mother's tears wet my clothes. At that time, I knew nothing except crying. I only knew that my mother was leaving me, and maybe I would never see my mother.

It seemed that my mother promised to take me to the city in the future, so she coaxed me and left in a hurry.

The villagers did not call their mother a loving mother when she left her. It is said that this was because her father "raped" her mother. With me, she had no choice but to live with her father. The two of them had not registered and just lived there.

Life in the city is very attractive to her mother. So after having hope of returning to the city, she gave up her beloved son and returned to the city to live.

When my mother left, I lost my happiness. The children in the village called me a bastard, and my father called me a bastard. Except for my grandparents, a sister who was a descendant of educated youth like me, I couldn't feel any warmth anymore.

Every day, I followed my sister's butt, watching her go up the mountain to mow grass, go home to cook and wash clothes. Occasionally, she would give me an apple or a big duck pear, which would make me happy for several days.

My sister rarely talks, just occasionally saying a few words to me.

Thinking about it now, she must have nothing to say to me. After all, she is a teenager and I am less than ten years old. The age gap determines that there is no common language between us.

My sister is very pretty and a hundred times better than the ugly girls in the village.

Everyone in the village said that it was borrowed from her mother. Otherwise, there would be no such baby in the countryside.

I remember that I had just reformed and opened up, and the rural areas implemented a joint contract responsibility system. The villagers were busy doing this and that, and their enthusiasm was better than eating a big pot. When the production team competed for work points, they won tens of times better.

My sister's mother also returned to the city. Her mother was the first third-year-old to go to the countryside. When she came, she was raped by her father and the childbirth captain and gave birth to her sister.

Like my mother, my sister's mother also hated these beasts that took away their chastity. She gave up on her children and returned to the city. Although she had the idea of ​​getting tired of rural life, she should have the feeling of revenge on that man.

Anyway, as the only two children in the village who occasionally receive packages from the city, my sister and I have a very good relationship, even closer than my own siblings.

Our fathers are both widowers and have bad tempers and often beat and scold us. At this time, my sister and I comforted each other, encouraged each other, and talked about the mother I hadn't seen for a long time.

Mom is the spiritual pillar that supports our growth.

At night, I had to run to my sister's house and sleep with her. In her arms, I found the feeling of my mother and slept very well.

When I was eight years old, my sister was already in junior high school. For some reason, my sister was not willing to sleep with me anymore. Although she slept on the same kang with me, she rarely hugged me to sleep.

I was used to being hugged by my sister to sleep, so I had to wait until my sister fell asleep, then crawled into her bed, hugged my sister's fragrant body, and fell asleep sweetly.

The next morning, my sister would grab my ears and deal with me, but I still enjoy it.

Occasionally, I would touch the little steamed bun that had just protruded on my sister's chest and ask naively: "Is there any milk here? Can I give me a few puffs?"

At this time, my sister would scold me: "Little hooligan!" and then ignore me. However, in a blink of an eye, my sister would forget about this and treat me very well.

A beautiful life is short. After my sister's mother comes back and takes her away, the good days of sleeping in her arms end sadly.

My sister's mother found a man in the city and lived a good life. The man had no fertility and did not dislike my sister's mother having children. She generously allowed her sister's mother to help her get her to the city.

My sister was like a carp leaping on the dragon gate, turning from an ugly duckling to a white swan. She envied the girls in the village and made me look forward to it in my heart: Mom, come and pick me up.

The night before my sister left, I had to hug her and sleep.

Maybe it was because I was going to leave me. My sister didn't drive me away, and hugged me tightly, making me breathless.

The sister whispered: "Sister can't protect you anymore, be careful. If they bully you, you can stay away. If you really can't hide, you can beat them hard. Do you know?"

I nodded in a bad way, not understanding what my sister said.

Suddenly, I felt wet on my face and water flowed onto my face.

I pressed my face to my sister's face and found that it was my sister who was crying.

My sister's tears were very salty, very salty, so salty that I didn't want to lick the smooth face that I usually like to lick.

In the morning, when I woke up, my sister was gone except for a large water mark on the pillow next to me.

I ran to the highest hillside in the village and looked into the distance, hoping to find my sister's shadow.

Unfortunately, I didn't see any figures except the flying dust.

OK, Qin?, after saying so much, you also know a little about me.

Now, I'm going to tell you my story.

The story began when I was born. It was the 1970s, a very distant era from now on.

My childhood and youth were very ordinary. The reason I talked to you is because what happened during that period seemed irrelevant, but it had a very important impact on my life.

If you are interested, start from the beginning. If you find it boring, start from my diary after going to college.

My wonderful career started in college.

Before college, I received all the training to become a villain. In college, I began to become a villain.

Please everyone. Readers who see this book must give you some advice. Is the first person or the third person better? This is very important for this evil person's growth diary.

When a person is born, he is a piece of white paper, no difference. How did he gradually become a villain?

Why? Stay tuned.
Chapter completed!