马年的六月,我披着似火的骄阳回老家莱西赶赴一位堂弟的婚礼。熙来攘往中,我的乳名突然被本门族长喊出来了:“小胤吗?都当记者了,好啊,当记者好,现在哪儿都怕记者,谁要得罪了记者,……”我的掌心被他的硬茧扎的生疼,彼时彼地,当一切解释都注定苍白无力。我无地自容的苦笑只好算作众人眼里“谦虚”的标签。不仅仅在乡亲们的眼里,在工厂、 In June of the Year of the Horse, I drafted a fiery sun back home Lacey rushed to a cousin’s wedding. Bustling, my name was suddenly shouted out by his patriarch: “Xiao Yin it? When a reporter, well, when a reporter is good, now where are afraid of reporters, who want to offend the reporter ... ...” My palm Was his cocoon tied painful, then, when all explanations are doomed to pale and weak. My groundless smile was counted as everyone’s “modest” label. Not only folks in the eyes of the factory,