少年闰土

Hanging high up in the deep blue sky was a golden full moon, and down below at a sandy beach by the seashore was an endless stretch of melon field with dark green watermelons. In the middle of all these was a youngster about twelve years old; he wore a silver ring at the neck and held a steel pitchfork in his hand. He was stabbing hard at a "cha"; the "cha" twisted its body around and escaped from between his legs. This youngster was Run Tu; when I knew him, I was just over ten and that was nearly thirty years ago.