Introduction:

When I was very young, we went to my grandma’s to help plant rice seedlings. At night, the moon hung as big as a washbasin. Mom led us home along the narrow path between the fields, crickets chirping all around, a gentle breeze on our faces. Seeing the neat rows of seedlings in the paddy, we would look forward to the golden harvest season. That year, the moon was bright and the breeze was cool!

When I grew up, I left my hometown, like a scrap of paper swept up by a typhoon—seemingly free and unbound, yet in truth, never in control of my own fate. But the typhoon will pass. I struggled, I resisted, and then I let go. I walk further and further away. Yet there is always a door in my heart; push it open, and there is home. Not everyone can return to their village, but everyone, at some point in their life, has passed by their own village.

Listen：

QQ Music：https://y.qq.com/n/ryqq_v2/albumDetail/004P5dpP2mJsrX
NetEase Cloud Music：https://music.163.com/#/album?id=361700753
Bilibili：https://www.bilibili.com/audio/am1280291616
Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/album/1IhoKS3U8fJbLc6EkilIhc
Youtube Music:https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_mWjTE8Q0_SWt2lf9SEj24F0NIzIBndcEo