Speaking of inheritance, I immediately recalled my ancestors’ passion for the charm of plants. No jewelry is more noble than the love passed down from generation to generation, and it is more loved by a family. Below are ten essays for middle school students on the topic of inheritance that I have compiled for your reference!

One essay for middle school students on the topic of inheritance

< p> The fragrance of ink floats, seeping into every corner of the courtyard, the brushstrokes fly, and the masterpiece is completed in one go.

The study exudes a unique fragrance and stands in a corner of the courtyard. After writing the inscription, I placed the pen on the brush mountain. I smelled the refreshing fragrance of ink, straightened my back, and admired the ink pen that my grandfather had left behind. Every trace of it, looking at the neat desk, with the tools on it as complete as a shelf for sale, each stroke and inkstone can easily evoke my memories and infinite reflections.

My thoughts couldn't help but regress. My grandfather's thin but upright figure stood in front of the table, waving his sleeves and elbows, and the wolf hair soaked in ink left majestic handwriting on the rice paper. There is no inscription on my grandfather's stone inkstone. The original lines are buried in the gaps. There is no trace of carving under the simple appearance. The deep gray-black is as mysterious and beautiful as the midnight sky. Squinting his eyes slightly, he recalled that his grandfather dipped his pen in ink, licked it lightly on the stone inkstone, and touched the off-white rice paper lightly with the tip of the pen, sometimes fast and sometimes slowly, as if a human pen was harmonious. Every time he paused, mentioned, or returned to the peak, it was like that. The perfect and delicate brush strokes left sonorous ink marks, and the elegant poems were sublimated under my grandfather's pen.

Thinking of this, I couldn't help but pick up the brush again, straighten my spine, remembering my grandpa's appearance, pause the pen, carefully pull out a horizontal line, return to the peak, put the pen away, and write the next stroke. A very disgusting poem. At that time, I stood in front of the table all day long without doing any real work. I often scribbled just to cope with it, without realizing anything. When I realized the real joy of the brush, the beauty of white and black, my grandfather was about to do the same. Leave me alone.

Now that the ancients have departed on the yellow crane, I have returned to the "culture" that my grandfather insisted on throughout his life by copying his works and my mother's guidance.

An inkstone and a pen are inheritance. Family tradition and culture can only be inherited if they flow through everyone's body like blood. Calligraphy, I want to pass it on.

Essay 2 for middle school students on the topic of inheritance

Speaking of inheritance, I think of the love of my family’s predecessors for Go. This fanaticism is nobler than any rare jewelry.

When I was very young, my father often took me to sit in front of the TV and watch Go together. He would put the chessboard on the table, arrange the chess pieces, and tell me about long, tiger, flying, intervening, making eyes, etc. Basic techniques and various formations. He always loved to tell me stories about his predecessors when he was talking about chess, and I always listened with interest. When I learned that some of my predecessors had unrivaled chess skills, I felt a sense of excitement. Strong pride and responsibility, my parents' expectations and the continuation of the inheritance make me work harder.

My father always happily accompanied me to the chess academy to learn chess. When I played chess, he often watched from the sidelines and taught me how to set up the formation and how to block. When I missed a fleeting opportunity to attack, he would slap his thigh and sigh in annoyance, as if the most important thing in the world had been delayed. I originally thought this was a regret for wasting opportunities and making defensive mistakes. Later I realized that my father was disappointed with my lack of skill and skill in using it. Whenever this happens, he will always take out a small notebook and record the chess game at that time. After returning home, I would often stay up late analyzing my mistakes. The next day, he explained the correct steps to me and showed me how to deal with similar situations when experts compete. "Quick, quick, look at this move. If you use 'tiger', it will not only strengthen the connection between the two chess pieces, but also threaten the opponent. Your 'chang' is likely to be penetrated by the opponent!" My father's explanations always help me. Better understanding of chess players' intentions has greatly helped me improve my chess skills.

As I spend more and more time with Go, I feel the charm of Go more and more. In order to better inherit Go, I often find some players online to play chess to improve my actual combat experience. When I was alone and deeply trapped in a siege, I frowned and felt anxious; when I fought my way out of the siege, I breathed a sigh of relief and experienced the joy of surviving the disaster; when I took advantage of the enemy's unpreparedness to launch a surprise attack, I I feel excited in my heart; but when my strategy fails and the situation is over, I will be very sad. The beauty of Go does not lie in itself, but in its connotation. Go is rigorous and full of strategy. It is not uncommon in Go to make one wrong move and lose the whole game. Only by using all your wisdom can you win!

It is the inheritance of Go between my father and me, and the beauty of Go has been integrated into my soul. This obsession with tradition has been passed down to me from my ancestors, and I want to pass it on.

Essay 3 for middle school students on the topic of inheritance

"Poetry is the most authentic way to express emotions." I often tell my poetry friends this way.

What I love most is playing Fei Hua Ling with my fellow poets. Every time I want to answer a poem, I always have bright eyes, straighten my back, and blurt out a few lines I have never heard before. Poetry, looking at their approving eyes, I felt happy and smiled.

When talking about poetry, I can always think of my grandma. Her passion for poetry, which cannot be replaced by anything else, always inspires and infects me, and brings to mind the truest expression of emotion. The poems are engraved in my mind, which must be the reason why I passed them on.

"Poetry is the most authentic way to express emotions," my grandma told me every day. Grandma has always loved poetry all her life. When she was a child, I would always hold her hand and say: "Grandma, let's go read poetry." Grandma stood up with a leap, her eyes were shining and she said "Okay" eagerly. The ground pulled me to the back garden. She would always stand in the garden and recite a few words from time to time: "The falling red is a heartless thing, but it turns into spring mud to protect the flowers; when the mountain flowers are in full bloom, she will laugh in the bush." ??Every time, my grandma would be moved by the scene and stand there. For a long time, I thought about these lines of poetry.

As time went by, I gradually fell in love with poetry. But gradually, my grandma's health became worse day by day, but she still tremblingly walked to the backyard on crutches to recite poems and enjoy flowers. She told me: "People can fall, but poetry cannot." < /p>

My grandma always holds a booklet in her hand and opens the yellowed paper. The crisp sound tells me how long it has been there, and the neat words tell me how much the owner cherishes it. Grandma solemnly gave the booklet to me, held my wrist and said: "Child, these are all poems written by me. Today I pass them on to you. You must always remember that poetry is an expression of expression." The truest form of emotion, you...must pass it on."

Grandma passed away after all, leaving only one sentence and the book of poems copied by her own hands, nothing changed. , the poem is still reciting, but the person reciting the poem has been replaced by me. Reciting the poem that I have recited countless times, I will always think about how to use it when I reach the age of my grandma. To pass on poetry, no matter what method, I will tell the younger generations with shining eyes and straight back, "Poetry has always been the most important way to express emotions."

Poetry will always have no barriers. Focusing on the way to express emotions, our seriousness and persistence in poetry are the best expression of poetry. Poetry inherits the blood of our family and our spirit. It is a kind of culture, and it is also a different kind of human inheritance.

Composition 4 for middle school students on the topic of inheritance

The Chinese studies teacher in elementary school was a difficult person to understand.

He is always kind to us, caring and protective of us. He is always the first to care when someone is uncomfortable. He has a thin face and a thin body, and is tireless wearing glasses that he broke while playing with his classmates. Every class is on the floor.

He is the teacher we fear most. Not only did he often talk about truths that we didn't understand, but he also spoke with a serious expression and an unsmiling expression. He also didn't allow others to gossip at this time. He talked about traditional Chinese culture over and over again, regardless of whether anyone was listening in the audience. He asks us to write about our feelings, whether we understand them or not. He asked us to memorize classics. If we couldn't memorize them, we would copy them. Looking at our resentful eyes, he would always become cruel and show an attitude of determination that he had never seen before: This is the root of Chinese culture and must be carried forward.

In the Chinese class on Children’s Day, the children who had been laughing all day entered his class sadly. He still taught his lectures, and every word, every stroke, every stroke was as usual, he mobilized his whole body. He asked everyone about Confucius's consistent teaching. No one answered, so he didn't take it seriously and continued to talk. Speaking of Laozi and Zhuangzi, I can't help but get emotional: "Nowadays, Western philosophy has many categories, such as metaphysics, cosmology, etc., but Chinese philosophy follows Laozi." The words are concise and concise, and the meaning is subtle, turning philosophy into a unified whole that governs everything and teaches us how to behave. This principle, if students learn this, will be very helpful in the future. Regardless of whether he responded or not, he left a recitation assignment on the blackboard. I couldn't help but raise my hand to call him, and he turned around and called me. I asked: "I, don't you think what you taught is too professional and too difficult? If we can't understand, what's the point of memorizing it?" The teacher slowly put down his hand, sighed, hesitated, and suddenly looked at me again. Be determined, finish your homework, and then gently throw the chalk back into the chalk box.

He looked at us calmly: "When I was in elementary school, I also had a Chinese studies teacher. He also taught us Chinese studies every day. He always taught us seriously during class. Every time, he always taught us Chinese studies. They keep telling us that this is the essence of Chinese culture left over thousands of years. Without these, we will forget in the future, forget Confucius’s loyalty and forgiveness, Lao Tzu’s knowledge of whites and keeping of blacks, and Gongsun Longzi’s firmness. On the other hand, you can no longer appreciate the height of the human spirit, nor can you appreciate the countless thoughts on wisdom that humans have produced over the years. I couldn't understand it at the time, and I didn't memorize it. Now it's much more difficult to memorize it. He paused and said, "Chinese culture is so lovely, go and read more! After reading Laozi's books, your life will not be empty and confused. The pursuit of the Tao will always be in your heart. Now, if you memorize the records, you will understand everything." , I have a longing for the ancient and modern spiritual knowledge, go and pass these on, and give future generations a chance to look up to you." After saying that, he turned around again, as if he was wiping the blackboard in vain. He was writing on the blackboard, but when he walked off the podium, there were two more tears on his face that had just choked with sobs.

The next day, he did not check the recitation, nor did he check it again, but everyone memorized all his homework.

Five years later, I went back to my alma mater to see him.

Before entering the classroom, I heard a familiar voice echoing. He was no longer young, and his black hair had quietly turned the color of snow, and his knife-carved face had a few wrinkles, but his passion was still there and he was still speaking passionately. , the people in the audience were as silent as we were back then. Suddenly, he saw me and asked me to give a lecture. I walked up to the stage and said as passionately as he did back then: "Human life is very long and very short, very strong and very fragile. Some people say that human beings are just like reeds that can think. Come to experience it, if human beings cannot think, then What can we do? Ancient Chinese philosophy is grand and profound. It is a reflection on thinking and wisdom. Philosophy is the advice given to us by people whose bodies are already dying or who have passed away. Let’s listen to the voice of culture. !" I looked at the crowd in the audience and him with a smile on his face, and there seemed to be a burning passion in my heart.

That is the fire of Chinese studies, and the fire of traditional Chinese studies is passed down from generation to generation.

Essay Five for Middle School Students on the Topic of Inheritance

Over the past five thousand years of China, countless civilizations have disappeared in the long river of history, but only food culture has endured...

"Son, this steamed fish has been my favorite since I was a child." He picked up the fresh and plump seabass, threw it to the ground, and after the fish died, scraped off the scales with a knife. "Well, this is the hardest part to scrape." He pointed out the fish scales under the fins to you, and then scraped them off skillfully. "When I was young, my family was poor, so your aunt and I would go fishing in the river next to the house." He cut open the belly of the fish with scissors, hollowed out the internal organs, peeled off the black membrane covering the belly, pulled out the gills and rinsed repeatedly. Until there is no trace of blood.

"The fish there are so many and fat that you can catch them one by one. One time, my aunt even fell into the water." You smiled and watched him take out a small pinch of refined salt and rub it on the fish with his hands. Stuff the green onions and golden roe into the belly of the fish. "I've said it so many times, but it doesn't bother me."

He smiled, poured the oil into the pot, grabbed a handful of full-sized Sichuan peppercorns and sprinkled it in. Accompanied by the "crackling" sound, the inherent numbing flavor of Sichuan pepper seeps into the oil. "This is your grandma's recipe." He took out the steamed fish, poured it with peppercorn oil, and poured in the steamed fish soy sauce. The aroma suddenly filled the kitchen.

"Your grandma often said that eating fish makes you a human being. If you eat from the head of the fish, you must be a novice in eating fish; if you eat from the tail of the fish, you will probably live a frugal life; if you eat from the belly of the fish, you must have experienced a lot. A well-informed old man who is full of fish meat, your grandma loves fish tails the most..." He suddenly fell silent. You know, he misses home, the river, and the old man who has been cooking all his life. You pat his shoulder and put a piece of fish into his bowl. "Let's eat." "Yeah."

The steamed fish is as delicious as ever: the oil in the belly of the fish is milky yellow, fat but not greasy; the meat of the fish tail is tender and light; the body of the fish is elastic and accompanied by The numbness of the peppercorn oil gives people a feeling of pleasure between the lips and teeth; the fish roe is golden in color and has distinct particles. Dip it in the rich sauce for a divine treat.

You smacked your lips, savoring the taste of home. Steamed fish is not only a dish, but also an emotion, a key to awakening people's deepest memories. No matter where you are, when your tongue touches this taste, you will know that you are home.

You suddenly think that maybe one day, you will be like him, making a dish for your children that you have cooked countless times, and telling the story that you have heard countless times...

Essay 6 for middle school students on the topic of inheritance

A bright crystal lamp with a little bit of colorful light hangs high on the wavy ceiling above the head. It is not surrounded by too many luxurious decorations but is surrounded by antiques. Surrounded by woodwork. The family was chatting and laughing while waiting for the carefully selected delicacies to be served. Today everyone took time to have a meal together to make up for the atmosphere of reunion that should have been enjoyed every day.

At the dinner table, I picked up the chopsticks and tasted them carefully, filled with a satisfied smile. As we were eating and chatting, my eyes inadvertently glanced at my father, and I saw his thick black eyebrows furrowed and his eyes staring at me closely, and he raised his chin and pursed his lips towards me. He looked quite amidst the noise of the crowd. Because he was irritated, he asked, "Why are you doing the same old thing again? How many times have I told you that you must hold the bowl with your hands when eating, and you can't talk!!!" My father was probably because he didn't show anger in public. He picked up the small wine glass, took a sip of strong wine, picked up a peanut with chopsticks and threw it into his mouth. This was often a sign that he was worried. Sure enough, my father shook his head slightly and sighed in a voice that was not loud enough for others to hear: "Hey, when will I grow up? When will I have a longer memory?"

I thought it was because I didn't have enough memory. My father probably wouldn't take a mistake too seriously, but I don't know that this time he hit his father's bottom line.

When I got home, I sat on the carpet and listened quietly to my father's teachings: "Mencius' "Li Lou Shang" said: "The wisdom of Li Lou is the cleverness of the public and the son. Without rules, there is no square circle." If the moment is not straight, it cannot be square; if the gauge is not straight, it cannot be round. "Being obedient is not only when eating, but also in everything you do." That night it started to drizzle outside the window, and my father's words were like the falling raindrops, constantly waking up my soul. . At this time, he passed on the family tradition of "obeying the rules" to me.

From then on, I would think of my father’s words every time I ate and always pay attention to my behavior.

A few years ago, my mother and I went out for a dinner and heard a child "playing music" while eating. I couldn't help but frown. The sound ruined the mood of the meal. I was very grateful when I remembered my father's teachings. He taught me that obeying rules is more out of consideration for others. Although these rules are small, they can always affect others invisibly. People always think that details will not affect anything, and there is no need to care about them. In fact, it is just right. on the contrary. One missing nut will lead to the failure of a spacecraft launch; one missing steel bar will cause the collapse of a building; one missing good family tradition will make a person's life less perfect.

"Five inches measures the size of the world." The sky is big, the earth is vast, and the family lineage will last forever because it can be passed down.

Composition 7 for middle school students on the topic of inheritance

Take the book and say thank you. That is a ceremony.

Turning over the yellowed title page, what comes into view is a mind map with a clear structure and complete context. However, if you look closely at the notes of each branch, they are not the same. Because it was passed down from the hands of previous junior high school students.

The senior student standing in front of me has passed the first important test in her life. She showed others with a rather serious face: "This notebook has been handed down from generation to generation from the hands of the seniors. You must cherish it!" She couldn't help but have such a picture in her mind: the senior sister and this time. I am similar, standing in front of the elders, listening and obeying the instructions. She took it with both hands, with the highest respect and the most sincere attitude. However, I don't know the meaning behind this "biography".

After being its owner for two weeks, I read the contents more and more lazily, so I left it still on the bed and let the footers rise and fall in the wind. The scene was quite like petals about to wither, falling piece by piece.

Since entering the third grade of junior high school, life has been hard. When I was in a daze, I accidentally found a line of delicate small words in my notes - the edge of a sword comes from sharpening, and the fragrance of plum blossoms comes from the bitter cold. I seemed to understand the meaning of "pass". And what she calls cherishing is persistence.

I picked up my notes again and carefully studied the key points and comments above word by word. I actually had the slightest impulse to leave a circled comment in the blank space next to it, so as to "pass" something to future generations. It turns out that this is how this notebook was born: one person summarized it, two people added it, three people revised it, four people refined it... The experience of the predecessors is passed down here. However, the material legacy is not enough to make people think deeply. What has significantly improved my performance is a motivation and a spirit that is passed down from generation to generation.

Under the clusters of locust trees, many generations of students have warned the younger generations to study hard in the form of inherited notes; in the small words on the page, there are so many famous quotes that are vividly remembered and become the motto for the younger generations to strive for. Red and blue pen and ink, different handwriting. But what remains unchanged is everyone’s beliefs and dreams, as well as the actions they take to achieve this!

Perhaps, one day, my handwriting will continue to be passed on to the next school girl. I want to tell her that this cherishment and this inheritance should be kept in her heart forever.

Essay 8 for middle school students on the topic of inheritance

Speaking of inheritance, I will think of an amiable old man. His life experience is very ordinary, and his appearance is also very ordinary, but in my eyes, what he passed on to me is not only a craft but also a belief.

On the first evening when I first moved into my new home, the sky was clear and clear. The sunset in the sky is like jumping brilliance, floating from the horizon. At this time, a deep voice broke the tranquility of the evening: "Grinding scissors----" The voice became smaller and smaller, but the shock it gave me could not dissipate for a long time. In such a modern city, will anyone still inherit this ancient but disappearing craft?

In the following days, this voice always came as expected. Whenever I hear this profound and vicissitudes of voice, I always feel a sense of enrichment and comfort: It turns out that in our modern city, there is still a person who insists on passing on that ancient industry.

One evening, the scissors at home happened to be blunt. I rushed downstairs as soon as I heard his familiar voice. I was greeted by a kind old man who came pushing a "Shanghai Forever" and said, "Children, do you want to sharpen your scissors?" After saying that, he took the scissors from me and looked at them carefully. Kindly said: "You need someone so dull to sharpen it?", I said embarrassedly: "My scissors have been used for several years." I saw him taking the scissors to a flat coarse grinding wheel and grinding them off first. After years of rust, polish it carefully with a brick grinder. Finally, use a small hammer to tap on the anvil, from the tip of the scissors to the blade to the bolt. At this time, the scissors were gleaming with cold light and extremely sharp. Looking at the old man's meticulous expression and focused eyes, I was filled with doubts: How did he learn this soon-to-be-lost craft? Why did he choose this profession to pass on.

The old man saw that I refused to leave for a long time, and kept watching him intently. After the old man finished his work, he told me an unknown history: His ancestors were all scissors grinders. Yes, sharpening scissors is a technical job, and people who knew this skill in that era were very respected in the county. Before his ancestor died, his only wish was for future generations to learn this craft so that they would not have to worry about having enough to eat and clothing to wear.

However, with the development of modernization and the emergence of more and more machines, this family that relied on craftsmanship has declined. He suddenly stopped, and the silence was as if we were the only ones left in the world. After a long time, he slowly said: "Let me teach you this skill, because I am also fast..." There was silence again.

In this way, I became the old man's "apprentice". He talked about this craft with great interest, and the traces of time on his face could not conceal the joy from the heart. He demonstrated the tedious details for me over and over again, remembering that "grinding scissors is actually more boring, and it's boring." Standing there for several hours, polishing over and over again on the edge of the rough grinding wheel, I will also feel anxious, afraid of not doing it well. Concentrating on doing something sounds good, but it is difficult to practice, and the credit and fortune of life lie in persistence. "Present." The old man continued to tell me: "Sharpen your tools day after day, practice yourself, and eventually become a craftsman who not only knows how to do your craft, but also knows why you do it. After all, the craftsman spirit is just this sentence: Give time. Give life, not time to life." I listened attentively and kept the above words in mind. The old man's eyes radiated brightly, because he knew that this craft had been passed down.

After listening to the old man’s teachings, I faced the night sky with a lot of thoughts. In this impetuous society, modern people no longer have the patience to work hard on the ground. However, this old man is able to stick to his simple faith because of the instructions of his predecessors, which is really worthy of admiration. I have strengthened my belief: to pass on this craft. Because I not only learned this craft from the old man, but also inherited many qualities of craftsmanship from him.

Whenever it is quiet at night, I can always think of the old man and his squeaking Shanghai Forever. The old man's instructions have left a deep impression on me.

The sound of "squeak, squeak, squeak ---" has been echoing in my mind, and that is the sound of inheritance. This sound is unforgettable and will never be forgotten.

Composition 9 for middle school students on the topic of inheritance

A little warm yellow light shines through the window into the otherwise dark night, conveying a touch of warmth. Holding the bamboo leaves I just bought in my hand, I stepped into my house facing the fragrance of glutinous rice floating through the neighborhood.

There is peace and joy at home. The whole family gathered together and sat in front of the TV to watch the fierce dragon boat race. I carried the bamboo leaves into the kitchen, washed them, and blanched them in water. I brought the fragrant bamboo leaves, snow-white glutinous rice, and various fillings to the square wooden table in front of the TV. On the square table, various fillings were placed around, and the light green bamboo leaves and glutinous rice soaked in water were placed in the middle as if they had a halo of protagonists. What is different is that in addition to the common hemp rope on the table, there are also needles of size 14. Next comes the rice dumplings that everyone looks forward to the most during the Dragon Boat Festival every year.

After everything was ready, everyone sat around the square table together with my cousin Jin, who had just turned five. This was Jin's first time making rice dumplings, so I taught him: "Pick up a bamboo leaf and bend it close to 1/3 of the wide end into a cone shape, and put a little glutinous rice in it..." Jin is very smart. I didn't lose interest because of the words I didn't understand like I used to do. I just followed the cat and the tiger next to me. The elders in the family are all good at making delicious food. They make various styles of rice dumplings using the skills they learned from their grandparents but have long been familiar with and ingrained in their bones. I once asked them why they were so serious about making rice dumplings, and what impressed me the most was the sentence, "This is the time when you are closest to your grandparents." I continued to lose sight of the traffic policeman's movements, but drifted away into the distance. : When I first learned how to make rice dumplings many years ago, I leaned on my father’s arms and she taught me step by step how to make triangular rice dumplings, my grandma’s favorite style; I listened to him tell the story of being beaten for being naughty when he was learning how to make rice dumplings...

"Sister Feifei, what happens next?" The voice of a child broke my thoughts. I looked at Jin and smiled helplessly, and handed him a needle: "Put this needle into the corner of the rice dumpling, put the end of the bamboo leaf into the nose of the needle, and then pull it out and the rice dumpling is wrapped." ." After finishing, Jin held the corner of my clothes with his little hands and showed off to me the rice dumplings he wrapped. I looked at Jin, and in a daze, he seemed to overlap with me in the past, so I smiled and touched his head again.

Amidst the laughter and laughter, the wrapped rice dumplings were sent to the steamer. Soon, bursts of fragrance came from the house. After the rice dumplings were brought to the table, the whole family opened the rice dumplings and tasted them. A sweet smell immediately filled the room. This fragrance is not only the taste of rice dumplings, but also the sweet taste of family that is melted into the bones.

Composition 10 for middle school students on the topic of inheritance

Standing quietly on the Hulunbuir grassland that I have long admired, watching the sunset gradually dye the sky red, looking not far away, a lonely sound The distant and desolate sound of the morinouqin echoes in the vast grassland, lingering in my heart for a long time...

Another desolate autumn, the wind carries the fallen leaves, rustling in the ears, and in the dust, A wisp of piano music, like crying and complaining, was carried to my ears by the wind.

Looking around, I saw a young man wearing a robe and a high hat, sitting alone on a bench by the roadside, holding a morin fiddle. The middle of the trapezoidal body of the fiddle was slightly sunken like a horse's face, curled up. The head of the violin is carefully carved like a horse's head. The man's cheekbones are high and his eye sockets are sunken, making him look like a national man on horseback.

I don’t know where the love comes from, but I am deeply in love. With every friction between the bow and the string, every time the young man sang softly, I seemed to be able to hear the resentment and remoteness in the music. Some people say that the melody of a morinouqur is far more expressive than the colors of the painter and the language of the poet. To me, this seems to be true.

The young man never stopped holding the bow in his hand. Instead, as the music gradually reached its climax, his emotions became even more exciting. The love was so deep that tears could not help but well up in the eyes.

"This song is called "Yun Lake", and it is the one that my father plays most often. After the song was played, the young man couldn't calm down his excitement and started talking to people." When I was a child, I sat cross-legged. In front of my father's knees, he drew his bow and played an ancient piece of music that kept cutting. A distant picture unfolded in front of me, with the Qiang flute, willows, Hujia and morinouqin. This is my first memory. At that time, I seemed to have a unique affinity for this musical instrument that belongs to the grassland - the matouqin. "As he spoke, he stroked the body of the instrument. The reddish-brown body of the instrument shone with luster. He said that this was the unique brilliance of being touched by hands and moistened with sweat for decades. "Abba will also tell me music. Behind the story, he said that the blue Yun Lake also records the glorious past - how many knights in the ruins, the scattered hoofbeats knocking on the desert wind; who in the flames of war is bending his bow to shoot the big eagle in the shadow of swords and swords; leaving that The apricot blossoms and spring rain in the south of the Yangtze River always favor the bohemian horseback grassland. "As he spoke, I seemed to see the vast grassland and the lonely smoke in the desert in his eyes... "Later, when my father was old and dying, he hugged me and the child with the broken string of the piano, and I left. , you must reconnect the strings, this string, this vein, this emotion, cannot be broken. 'I watched him leave peacefully and bury him on the grassland. I will continue to play this fiddle..."

Perhaps, the matouqin is really a family bond, a national connection and a piece of history. A ray of lingering feelings...

Amidst the faint sound of the piano, I closed my eyes and meditated, and my heart gradually rose with the weeping voice.

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