It's radish. No salt, just sun. When I was a child, I often saw a picture or a piece of it, and I remember most of it as a child on the festival of Qingqing, and as a people's dinner, and often on the mountains of the wild, there was often something made of it, whether it was meat or not. But it's true I like it. Growing up may be materially rich, but rare. The old man pulled a couple of carrots in the New Year's, left the fridge without a chance to eat, and I cut it on the roof in the third year, when the weather was good until the eighth day, and the two days before I got up to fire, the soft, sweet, delicious, and sorry I didn't get much sun。
