Scrambled lamb soup! Following each other alive and alive! It's a scrambling phrase, to the effect that men and women love each other as much as scrambled and lamb soup. This is what I was told by Shige, who grew up in the north. She invited me to her house and said I had made it myself, and I ran in the wind and pushed her door to the side of her house with a thick smell of lamb, with the rumour of her tunnel, as if I had fallen to the ground where comrade Zedong had occupied it, at a time when the Mount of Peta, Yang Jia Ling and Southern Mud Bay appeared, as if I had heard the love of the north with the nostrils. In the love of a yellow-earth plateau, she has eaten her lamb soup, which she makes so well, and certainly has the opportunity to record her practices in this way.
