A prose by long Yingtai published by readers is very moved. I always feel that I have too little contact with my brother on weekdays, and I don't have frequent greetings, so I feel the true meaning of brother.

the following is an excerpt from the 6th issue of 2008 Longyingtai.
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it was a sunny, breezy afternoon. I saw that they had gray hair at the temples, so they must have seen me pining away. I feel sorry for the wind and frost inadvertently in their eyes, and they must also be lamenting my busyness.

it's just that we seldom talk.

what a strange relationship. If we are good friends, we will inquire about each other, make phone calls, send text messages, write e-mails, and meet each other to express our concern. If we are lovers, we will miss them all the time, and we will worry about them in every way, because lovers are intimate. If we are husband and wife, as long as we are not resentful couples, we will get along with each other day and night, will be like a shadow, quarrel occasionally, and then make up, and will tightly entangle each other's destinies.

but we are not. We will not ask questions as diligently as our friends, take care of them in all ways like lovers, and will not share the same boat as husband and wife. The so-called brothers are ordinary life at home, each has its own work and life, and each makes its own choices and endurance. We usually get together not for each other, but for our parents. Even if you sit on your knees when you get together, you may not necessarily have a heart-to-heart talk. Even if you have a heart-to-heart talk, you don't necessarily have to ask for ���� 's own choice, only you can bear it. Sometimes, we ask, my mother is gone, will you and I still get together like this? Will we be like a canopy in the wind, each rolling to the vagueness, forgetting the desert of life?

however, it's not that simple, because, unlike everyone else in the world, we can see it in each other's faces. We clearly remember each other's childhood ���� inscriptions on the old banyan tree, the paper windows of the Japanese house, the sound of rain pounding on the tin, the fireflies in the summer night, the sound of my father reading ancient books, my mother's happy smile, and the humiliation, frustration, glory and happiness of growing up. These are the only people in the world who know the good time at the beginning of life, such as your nickname, or which tree you broke your hand in.

there is a kind of tree in South America, the rain tree, the crown is huge and complete as a bell cover, about 30 meters from one end of the crown to the other. On cloudy days or at night, the fine leaves close and rain falls straight from the leaves, so although the crown of the leaves is huge and dense, the grass under the tree is lush and green. Brother, it is not a railway track that never crosses, but rather like the branches and leaves of the same rain tree, although there is a distance, but the same tree with the same root, day and night close, watching the same rain fall straight to the ground. It's good to grow old with the tree rain.

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I feel sorry for the wind and frost inadvertently in their eyes, and they must also be lamenting my busyness. Only you and I in the world know the wonderful time at the beginning of our life together. Brother, it is not a railway track that never crosses, but rather like the branches and leaves of the same rain tree, although there is a distance, but the same tree with the same root, day and night close, watching the same rain fall straight to the ground. It's really good.