Outside, the snow came down endlessly from the vast sky. Somehow, the snowflakes dancing in the air made the inside of the house seem especially warm. Dad, mom, my elder brother and I sat around a big table making dumplings, which were traditional food for New Year's Eve.

I didn't know how to make them. Dad caught my little hands to teach me. Mom was watching me with her affectionate eyes and smile, which are stored so preciously in my memory that I will never forget. Dad and mom were always busy. How nice I could have them both with me!

When finally I did a good job - -  kneading the dumpling skin tightly with my little fingers - -  mom gave me a sweet kiss. When I tired of making dumplings, I talked with my "living doll" - -  my one year old brother, who lay in his cradle. He could already utter his first word, yi ba. He learned this word because I always followed him, and his nanny kept calling me wei ba. Its meaning in Chinese is "tail."

My elder brother always had some new ideas. He brought me into the kitchen to "steal" some of the delicious food the housekeeper had made for the following day. It was his idea again that late that night we pretended to sleep when, actually, we were waiting for grandma to appear with red envelopes full of lucky money. It was a tradition that after the children were fast asleep, parents or grandparents would place the red envelopes beneath the children's pillows. Our clever grandma discovered our ruse and held us in her arms, laughing loudly for a long time. Love, endless love filled me on that and many other a New Year's Eve!

During my childhood, every time I was intoxicated in a boundless ocean of happiness, I never even considered the real meaning of the Spring Festival. One day, in elementary school, I read something about it in a textbook. It said: "Spring Festival is a Chinese peasant tradition. At the beginning of Spring, they celebrate the harvest of the past year and pray for a bigger harvest during the next year." I repeated and memorized this information for a test at that time. But my real understanding of the festival's meaning did not come until ten years later, when I was in the remote countryside.

This happened in the late 1960's. I lost my mother during the chaos of the Cultural Revolution and was exiled to a mountain village in southern China. Leaving the city, which was full of ambitious politicians, and arriving in the peaceful countryside, I felt a sense of release. But I had to face a harsh challenge to survive in this strange and primitive environment. Besides a pair of delicate hands and shoulders, I had nothing. Everything seemed to be starting from zero.

The kindhearted villagers became my best teachers. During the spring, I followed them to transplant rice seedlings. The spring rainfall was chilly. As I worked barefooted in the paddy fields, my hands and feet were frostbitten. A number of leeches stuck to my legs, absorbing my blood. Trying to keep pace with the other workers in the row, I didn't even have time to pull the leeches off. The mixed blood and rainwater mingled beneath my feet.

During the early summer, I followed the villagers as they trampled the weeds into the earth in the paddy fields. The sun of the southern part of China was especially fierce. The beads of sweat kept rolling down my face. During the late summer, we had to cut the first rice of the season and then transplant the second season’s seedlings in a hurry. We often worked for sixteen hours a day during that busy time.

Every night when I returned to my little thatched cottage, I was dog-tired and wanted to eat nothing. The villagers often brought their homemade food to me. The red pepper with which they seasoned their food restored my appetite. Many times, they just watched me gobble up a big, full bowl of rice, smiling with satisfaction. That was the moment when I came to believe that hot pepper was one of the most delicious foods in the world.

The golden fall season followed closely. We had to cut the second season rice quickly. I don't remember how many times I was unable to stand up straight after having spent hours bent over the rice. At the threshing ground, the blisters on my hands were grazed again and again.

I was so happy to receive my allocation of rice, mixed with my own blood and sweat, at the end of that harvest season. During the winter the villagers were still active. Early every morning, when the moon was still hanging high in the sky, I followed them to fix the dam. It was not easy for people to climb that one-hundred-foot dam, even without an added burden. However, we had to carry more than one hundred twenty pounds of stone on shoulder poles to the top. Not even the cold wind could prevent me from streaming with sweat.

After one year of hard work, my appearance totally changed. My thin and weak body became sturdy. My skin turned rough and dark. Thick calluses were growing on my hands and shoulders. I could walk barefooted along the rugged mountain road. I could talk fluently in the villagers’ dialect. I had totally become a mountain village girl!

Three days before the New Year, the villagers stopped working and prepared for the coming Spring Festival. Although there were no exquisite foods or elaborate decorations as there were in the city, the gaiety of the festival still touched every family. I learned to prepare the villagers' natural foods with their primitive, wild flavors. They taught me to make rice wine which was so mellow and sweet that I thought it exceeded any found in the city. They also taught me to stew malt sugar, which would be the children’s favorite during the New Year. I even learned to make a special brown tofu, which was prepared from wild, dark nuts we picked from deep in the mountains. The villagers brought me to a remote lake to catch fish, which had a special meaning to the village families. Since the pronunciation of the word "fish" in Chinese is the same as the word "saving," every family should have a dish of fish for the New Year's Eve dinner. They would leave a part of it uneaten on the plate. That would symbolize prosperity in the coming year.

New Year's Eve was approaching, and everything was ready. The kindhearted villagers really loved me. Almost every family invited me to join with them to celebrate New Year's Eve.

This would prove to be a very sentimental moment in my life. The village postman delivered two letters, one from my eldest brother and one from my younger brother, to me before the celebration started. My elder brother was living in a remote village in northern China. Although he suffered terribly during the Cultural Revolution, he still confidently discussed his new and bold opinions about our country's future in his letter.

Perhaps jail is waiting for me, but I can not stop my independent thinking and exploring. I believe a thorough reform will rise abruptly across the wide earth of our motherland! Although there is a dead quiet right now, dear sister, you will hear the spring thunder soon!

My younger brother was alone in Shanghai. He wrote his first poem, "To my Sole Sister," as his New Year's gift to me:

How much love
was contained in my childhood cradle!
It was swinging with my first word
which was for you,
my dearest sister.

I read these two letters in tears.

Looking up the vast sky, I wished that it would snow again and I could return to that childhood New Year's Eve! But I knew everything was different. I quietly sprinkled a cup of rice wine to the ground.

Facing the sky and mountains, I spoke silently from my heart.

Dear mom, where are you? Where are your affectionate eyes and smile? This cup of mellow rice wine is for you. On this New Year's Eve, I've brought my brothers' letters with me. The three of us are with you at this moment.

Elder brother is persistently walking in his own direction. He walks close beside the ocean of truth. I know he needs my support. Younger brother is so delicate. He lost too much of his childhood. I really wish you could enter his dreams!

I, your beloved daughter, am no longer a fragile little princess in boarding school. I have begun to understand the bitterness of life. But I haven't surrendered to fate. I have truly grown up among the kindhearted peasants here. I have shared toil, delight and hope with them. The tough mountains and open country have made me become a strong village girl.

Here in this remote area, I have finally grasped the meaning of the Spring Festival. This beautiful time belongs to the people who have paid with their blood and sweat. I am glad that I'm now worthy to celebrate my first true New Year in these humble surroundings.