Sitting in the air, misty rain is floating around in front of me, the river is not urgent or slow, the temperature is not warm or dry, the mood is not warm or hot, the willow branches are graceful in front of the window, the smiling faces are shuttling in front of the door, and the world is broken ... Once on the road, I happened to chat about the past and the present, gossiping, a cup of tea and two or three books, and my body and mind paid for it. ...
Once such a fantasy, now, sitting here is such a scene. And this kind of scene, in the Wei, Jin and Qing dynasties, needs to be pure.
So, I sat in Jiangnan, in the misty rain of Jiangnan, for four days. In Tang Sheng's tea room, tea is served against the railing, and the river under the pavilion flows slowly. On the other side are willows, breeze, tourists, joy, sweetness and search.
It's night, and occasionally the stars are flickering. I think of Jiang Baishi's words: flowers are all over the city, and the moon invades the skirts, and youth is always sad; When I came to the bustling Shahetang, the climate in early spring was a little cold, and people watching thousands of lights slowly walked home.
Come back slowly, covered with spring cold and summer rain.
[Peanut seeds, ferns turn into firewood, shirts are not old, hearts go first]
In April, I tried to get rid of what I called a great disaster. This catastrophe lasted for more than a year, and my thoughts, feelings and even consciousness were almost swept away, similar to Shen Congwen's "madness" in KLOC-0/949. At present, I am tired because of all my senses, and my mind has lost its luster and flexibility. I just want to rest.
If you really want to escape, there is only death. However, death does not give you real relief. It is conceivable to calm the stormy waves at the bottom of the lake, and a truly enlightened life is calm. I think; This process of breaking free urgently needs a little peace, and I long for this peace.
The peony on the fan was covered for the last time, and the child called: Go to the bar for a drink.
There is my favorite singer in the bar, a girl of 19 years old, who likes men's wear, Anita Mui's expression and sad voice. Her stage name is thirteen, shawl hair and cold appearance. This name easily reminds me of the castle peak wandering on the roadside with a guitar many years ago. Speaking is sometimes a waste, and when it's finished, it's tasteless. What's worse, it's a lack of memory after countless times. Some memories are lifelong, even longer. Even if the memory itself dies, it is still like green mountains and white clouds. Every process on the way, even at the end of the details, is full of traces of attachment and missing. Hills belong to this kind of memory. In my youth life, the typical Plato is irreplaceable. I will take him forward until death and eternal life. Singing a concert leads my heart, and I will be numb. There is no doubt that there is a little bright color in the night, just like a hill. When he lacks fantasy, consciousness and is numb by the pain of secular torture, he will calmly come back, stand by and watch the road I must pass, wait for me to pass by, give some comfort to the struggling wounds, believe in the existence of pure love and beauty, and believe that there are clean and bloodless feelings in the world.
Girls don't drink, so the wandering of youth is less shrouded in wine, which is somewhat different from the gloomy and heavy singing. Drink until two o'clock in the morning, and only light and shadow are chasing back and forth in the empty street. An empty street is like an ill-fitting suit, and an empty heart is floating in the air. Child invitation: Find a peaceful town for a few days during the holiday, feel it, feel it. What kind of day is it after dawn in a cloudy sky? !
[Flowers are drunk, leaves are crazy, and black tiles and white walls hide in dreams]
Teacher Wen reminds: Be careful not to draw too much.
For an instant, I found myself really a little dull. Numbness comes from the depths of the bone marrow and vaguely begins to devour all consciousness.
It's raining, and it's extremely heavy. After the rain turned small, I suddenly wanted to go out, so I dropped my brush, packed my luggage and walked with the rain to find peace without fatigue.
Holding three tickets in my hand, the destination is different, the time is different, and the noise coming and going is noisy in my ear. I hesitated several times, chose the place closest to my mood, and set off in the rainy evening. On the way, the elder across the street said: There is an ancient town in Jiashan, which is called Xitang.
It's still raining. I see myself through the rain, clear and fuzzy. The inverted image through the window is a newly excavated porcelain tile.
The ancient Jiangnan was beautiful, the Song Jiangnan was prosperous, the Ming Jiangnan was graceful and graceful, and the Qing Jiangnan was romantic and full of weather. Jiangnan, represented by Xitang in the Spring and Autumn Period, Five Dynasties, Ten Countries and Three Kingdoms, the Southern Jin Dynasty, the late Yuan Dynasty and the early Ming Dynasty, crossed history with its peerless charm, blocked the world of mortals with a cage of smoke and rain, and clearly approached me with a strange visitor.
Outside the courtyard, beside the bridge corridor, all kinds of flowers are quietly combing in the misty rain with a slightly cooler spring. At this time, it is the moment when the misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River is wantonly vented. The mist in the town is like gauze, the powder walls on both sides of the river are towering, the reflection of the tile houses, the fishing boats sing late, the lights are brilliant and the wine is overflowing. The whole ancient water town is picturesque everywhere, as if it were in Taoyuan, Yuen Long and a paradise on earth.
Shuttling through the waterfront promenade in the ancient town, light and shadow lingered on the walls, colonnades and leaves. Tourists everywhere marvel at Jiangnan, with red lanterns winding on the promenade, and the Yue Opera on the stage opposite the rest garden is quiet and graceful, vaguely reminiscent of the prosperity and past of Jiangnan in the past.
Ask the owner of the lacquer garden: What are the characteristics of Xitang, the six ancient towns in the south of the Yangtze River? The host replied: Hutong. If water is the soul of Xitang and the promenade is the ethereal of Xitang, then Hutong records Xitang and is the memory of Xitang. It seems that through this hutong, you can find not only history, but also endless troubles in this world. This alley has a supernatural temperament that can't be compared with the heart-piercing alley in the alley.
The owner of the paint garden took me through one alley after another, and the other exit of the alley was like another exit of the soul, and inadvertently came to another unpredictable endpoint, another world. Especially at night, through the hutong, the winding corridor, flickering red lanterns echo the dark night, the satin water color and blue starlight make people feel relaxed and can't help it.
I think I can hear the morning bell and the evening drum in the house behind the temple. Unexpectedly, this temple built in the Ming Dynasty is dedicated to the statue of Guan Di, and it is just a lively place for blessing and temple fairs. Although there is no ethereal sound, there are still some voices of green cedar that can comfort you a little.
At night, the wind is surging, the back window looks at the black tile and white wall, the leaves rustle, the ink is fleeting, and my heart is empty.
[There is a saying that only thick, inaction and frankness]
The ancient town is simple in folk customs. After a few days of sightseeing, most of the small shops here are familiar with each other. They looked around as if they were old friends for a long time. When they are tired, they will take a nap in the garden. It is rare for the boss next door to go out to the paint garden for the first time and invite him for a drink.
On the second day in Xitang, I happened to meet Zhou Gongtai, deputy director of Changshu Museum. He went to Xitang to collect antiques and met several famous folk collectors in Jiangsu and Zhejiang: Song Li, owner of Dunhou Hall, Zhu Ming, director of Button Museum, owner of Tangsheng Teahouse, owner of Qiyuan Garden, and Sandao in Xitang. And enjoyed several treasures: Ming and Qing furniture, blue and white porcelain, Peach Blossom Beauty and Four Treasures of the Study. Out of my love for calligraphy and painting, I was most attracted by several inkstones in Dunhou Tang Dynasty, including purple-green Guangdong inkstone, Yan Tao inkstone, Songhua inkstone, loose-yellow muddy inkstone, mung bean, eel yellow, rose purple, fish-belly white, crab shell blue and other colors, lux, Yunlong, Suzaku, waterfowl, lotus and other patterns, as well as ink rain and melon pulp. My brothers explained the difference between true and false one by one, and explained every detail. I'm a novice, I've never heard of it, but I'm still a little dumbfounded at first glance.
There is a couplet on the Dunhou Temple: There is a saying that there is only thickness, inaction and frankness; Is the representative of Xitang people. Envy their life, find and build their own ideals in the beautiful scenery, and it is this freehand life that makes them humble and soft.
The place to stay happens to be the parents' home of Dunhou Soup. According to his genealogy, Song Li's eldest brother should be the17th generation descendant of Li Shimin of Emperor Taizong. Old people like me very much. They gossip about Xitang and the past under the loquat tree at home in the morning, fry some dishes for me at noon, and wait for me, a prodigal son who is still wanting more, to stomp back from the sleeping bluestone at night. When we leave, we cannot leave without two old people. Three or five antique friends smiled and said: Xitang and his party are equivalent to groping for antiques for five years; However, I think that a few days of intimate friends in Xitang can be better than five years of acquaintance in Shanghai.
In the days of Xitang, misty rain and simplicity slowly cured my fatigue and numbness. I read poetry books in Liu Yin and talked with my brothers about the Tang, Song, Ming and Qing Dynasties. The drizzle and smoke outside the window make me want to bury myself completely.
[Shahetang is chilly in spring, and tourists come back slowly]
Numbness and fatigue gradually precipitated under the comfort of Xitang. Listening to ancient songs and tasting green tea, I saw that the flowers in the corner were more gorgeous than the day before. Teacher Wen asked me if I was in put in order. I was afraid that I would be washed away by the world.
Sitting on the shore watching tourists come and go, thinking of the house where I lived the year I graduated. The shopkeeper is an old man in his eighties. Old people often sit in front of the door all day, watching people come and go, thinking about things coming and going; Think of a young morning or night, facing the sky, lake, breeze and white clouds; Think of teenagers in the only way, full of songs in the busy flower season; Think about the beach where the tides rise and fall and the moon rises and falls ... The past is covered with cobwebs and dust, and some old things that were never mentioned more than ten years ago are clearly visible in the dream; I like Guangling San in Guqin music. I often listen to it for a long time, but I am not satisfied with its legendary ending. On the other hand, on the fourth and fifth days, there were fewer tourists, as if a feast was over. However, after the decrease of tourists, the seven-point authentic flavor of Xitang floated on the lake, and the atmosphere of tea houses and restaurants was obviously permeated. The' three flavors of true fire' in Jiangnan was shaken to the fullest by the cool rain.
Life is irresistible, and life is loving, especially Xitang and his party. Silently through the endless night, frivolous drunk, talking about tea drinking in Wei and Jin Dynasties, lonely kissing the tears of flowers, writing quietly, sleepless facing the smoke ... Now, in this corner of the south of the Yangtze River, the clear past of the Tang and Song Dynasties is hidden in the curtains of blue calico, and the world is like a cage of misty rain outside the curtains, and the hubbub is really as big as historical solidification and stillness.
For me, Xitang is what life wants, a dreamlike mythical world, uncontroversial, pure and pollution-free, like an ideal that once existed, which makes people breathe fresh air in a chaotic world and re-believe in the existence of myths and dreams in the world. Xitang is the water of the soul, and the wind comes from Taihu Lake. Taihu Lake, a delicate nerve ending, soothed my endless troubles in the world of mortals and made me calm and happy again after my troubles turned into mistakes.
Jiangnan, having tasted the beautiful, prosperous, romantic and prosperous troubled times, has taken off its heavy makeup. At night, she is just a baby who longs for peace and enjoys a good sleep. The ethereal voice, cool breeze and elegant music suddenly feel nothing but the emptiness in my heart after the shadow of the old emerald green shirt hits. I think, Jiang Baishi's melancholy is also the shallow spring coldness of Jiangnan youth when they are old. It can only be the faint feeling that the curtain is silent and the moon is low, and the old love is only a crimson word.
Jiangnan is old, lovesickness is old, and my mind is only in Jiangnan.