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We have lived in Yantou Village for generations, forever confined by towering mountains, sheer cliffs with no way through, and roads blocked by thorns. Since childhood, my daughter has been frail and has never glimpsed the world beyond these peaks. She once asked me what color the Yangtze River was, and I had no words to give her.
Now, following the example of "Yu Gong Moving Mountains," we relied on hammer and chisel to carve open this natural barrier and build a road to Shu. After thirty-seven years, at last, we beheld the river's waves as green as jade. I, an old woman, sit idle, hearing the neighbor's shepherd boy singing a fisherman's tune, and I often think of my own daughter.
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