winter have passed, and all things recovery, at this time, the annual ching ming festival again. from the start my notebook, each of the ching ming festival this day, the mother let me put on army colored spring, with paper money, led me go.
the death of our family are buried in people biandantang hill, where very far from my house, want to switch cars several road. i remember a child, i always am glad to go上坟, because the mother at one grave money, me, and i will fill the fields and everywhere to play, until his mother put on my drag car go.
i do not know from the start when i go to play it again no longer downtown, but one after another to observe each one graves. i once found in a dilapidated graves, no traces of burnt paper money, i am very surprised that on the down, the language carefully to identify the monument, as if engraved above the so-called "life took part in fighting this war," and he was still a stranger miles! why, he should be buried in the marty