That night the wind blew through the Urumqi Night Market, I stood next to the bustling crowd, looking in the direction of the wind blowing, the small traders were pushing a cart of rock sugar gourds or sugar buns from the intersection, I took out my mobile phone to see, it was already ten o'clock.
"I haven't bought chewing gum yet!" I talked to myself.
"The owner! Forty chewing gums! With that, I held out my hand and compared it to the incredible "four-finger gesture," and I took the bubble gum from the glass cabinet all into my arms, paid for it, and ran to the national unity community as soon as I slipped a cigarette.
At that time, the evening wind was really warm and comfortable, blowing the night into a warm and melting place. At the entrance of the national unity community, two large trees hung down thick leaves, one moment being blown fluffy by the wind, and the other quietly falling a few leaves.
"I've bought chewing gum!" As I spoke, I held up a large handful of chewing gum, and some of the children in the community were sitting on the bench, and some were sitting next to a brine stall under the street lamp, and everyone brushed and ran toward me.
"Reward Umar first!" I first stuffed a few bubble gums into my small hands, and then the bubble gum was distributed to everyone, and we sat on the top of the abandoned little cement house, our legs dangling, in front of us, across a green belt, that is, the cement road in and out of the community, and a car lowered the lights and drove slowly and calmly.
Street view of Urumqi in summer. (Photo by Prince Yang)
Under every street lamp, there is a stall, and my favorite one sells yellow noodles. Golden noodles, drizzled with sauce, packed in a bowl with plastic bags, chopsticks fiercely picked up a large ball, and then, excitedly and impulsively eaten, incomparably satisfied, the whole summer night is more satisfying.
As I devoured the noodles, I chatted with the Uighur boss who sold yellow noodles. So much so that when the noodles were finished, he added a lot of mung bean powder to me for free.
There is also a stall, apples piled up like hills, selling apples is a Uyghur grandfather, every time I walk around the neighborhood, the grandfather has to say: "Come and buy apples!" If I don't buy it again, my apple will fall asleep! So, I rushed forward and waved a big hand- "Two pounds!" In my eyes, the apples really became a dream that slept.
There was an uncle in the yard who was a policeman, and I played around with the children in the community, often playing "police catching thieves" in front of the policeman in the community. We have been playing in the community until very late, often, it is everyone who goes home, late at night, the stalls under the street lights in the community are closed, and I will leave.
Sometimes, when I saw Uncle Mamati closing the door of his own bakery, I would go and talk to him.
I said, "You're surrounded by the smell of grilled bread." Uncle Maimaiti smiled and buttoned the lock on the door ring: "Yes! Life should also be fragrant! We burst out laughing, the evening wind blowing from the end of the uphill road, and the streetlights seemed dimmer and dimmer.
"Go home!" It's late! I've made all the gourd baby roasted buns you want! Come and get it tomorrow morning for breakfast! Uncle Maimaiti said. It's really hard for Uncle Maimaiti to get a gourd-like roasted bun, and it starts with the fact that he and I lost the bet. At that time, when buying bread, I casually said "it will rain in the afternoon", and Uncle Buymaiti was confused, saying, "Obviously it will be a sunny day!" ", and then... We inexplicably made a bet, and later, in the afternoon, the heavy rain poured down, and Uncle Maimaiti was troubled to find that he remembered the weather tomorrow...
The next morning, the sun was shining, the sky was clear, the whole streets of Urumqi were filled with an energy, everything was so clear and clear in the field of vision, I walked to the door of the courtyard, stretched my waist, and my mind immediately flashed like a slide of photos of breakfast - "thin skin buns, chaos, leek buns, hot milk, nutritious soup noodles, mutton soup..."
Suddenly, I had a flash of inspiration, "Yes! My gourd baby roast bun! Then a sharp turn turned and ran to Uncle Mamati's bakery.
Uncle Maimaiti carefully took out the gourd baby roasted bun from under a piece of cloth, the customers in the store all showed surprised and curious eyes, I held the golden yellow, or easy to recognize the gourd baby roast bun, excitedly walked out of the grilled bun shop, the sun is still finely dyeing every corner of the street, the dust in the air is jumping up, until the evening, I did not want to eat the bun.
As I walked back to my hospital, I didn't know what I remembered, and I couldn't help but laugh again, and the evening wind blew through my sweaty coat, like a warm and firm force that surrounded me... (Photo: Photo by Prince Yang)
About the Author
Wang Ziyang, male, born in 2001 in Suzhou, Anhui Province, is currently studying at Tianjin University of Science and Technology. At the age of 17, he began to write prose, traveled to Xinjiang many times, and loved travel and literary creation.
He is now a member of the Western Prose Literature Society, and has published many essays in the Western Prose Anthology, published a collection of essays "Above the Earth", and won the Prose Award of the Seventh Wild Grass Literature Award, the Ye Shengtao Cup and the National First Prize of the National Innovative Composition Competition.
Editor: Yang Mengyao
Review: Feng Wei
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