In the eyes of outsiders like me, Shanghai is an old book with the most vicissitudes and beauty in the history of Chinese cities, containing thousands of stories and countless thoughts. Every old alley here is a famous saying that can be constantly annotated. The footnotes are layered, but they are unfamiliar to me. There is a place that seems to be familiar in my memory, that is Sichuan North Road. This road has left the footprints of many historical celebrities, among which the most difficult to erase is undoubtedly Mr. Lu Xun.
At the end of 2017, at the 60th anniversary celebration of a literary magazine, it was such a busy moment that I really wanted to go out for a walk alone. One morning when I had free time, I went straight to Sichuan North Road after breakfast to visit the tomb of Mr. Lu Xun in the former Hongkou Park.
The weather was fine and it was a weekend, so there were many people doing morning exercises in the garden. There is a fruit stall at the entrance, and crocheted fragrant tassels of apples, oranges, strawberries, etc. line the World Writers Square. Men and women shuttled between them, dancing in unison to a lively beat. When their bodies get hot, most people take off their coats. I tried my best to avoid the dancers and walked into the square. The bronze statues of literary giants are full-length figures, either sitting or standing. Tolstoy is holding a cane in his right hand. At this time, the cane is hung on a bodybuilder's backpack, making him look desolate and running away. Shakespeare and Dickens held quills, which became natural hooks and were decorated with brightly colored light down jackets. Only Balzac, whose sleeves are "hidden", makes it difficult for people to attach themselves to them, so the statue becomes a smooth poem.
After walking out of the World Literary Plaza, there is a restaurant selling breakfast. People waiting are lined up from inside to outside the door. Thinking about Xiao Hong who was in this area many years ago, one day while buying breakfast, she discovered that the paper wrapping the fried dough sticks was actually the original manuscript of a translation of Mr. Lu Xun's work. Xiao Hong told Lu Xun in shock, but the husband was indifferent and joked: "I'm satisfied. I can actually wrap fried dough sticks, which shows that it has some uses." I don't know what the breakfast shop here now uses to wrap fried dough sticks, and it can still wrap up the fried dough sticks like the clouds are shining. The beautiful literary things?
Walking around the restaurant, there was an even bigger crowd. The sounds from all directions gathered together and became extremely noisy, annihilating the natural birdsong. As the long scroll of secular life gradually opened, I also appreciated the plant scenery on the background. The maple tree is in its most beautiful season, with its colorful leaves covered in red, red and yellow, shining brightly in the sunlight, making it look full of passion. The cold-resistant rhododendrons are blooming, and the red and pink flowers, in the eyes of me, a northerner who has just experienced the snow in Harbin in December, are undoubtedly the missed spring days on the calendar card, revealing the news of spring.
Lu Xun’s tomb is easy to find. It is in the northwest corner of the park and there are signs leading there on any corridor. The square in front of the tomb is relatively open. The first thing you see is the statue of Lu Xun standing on the rectangular lawn. He is sitting on a wicker chair, holding a book in his left hand and resting on the armrest with his right hand, silently looking at the people passing by. The statue has a tall base, and the grass is surrounded by dense holly as a natural fence, so the cemetery looks solemn and solemn. But the base is too high, and the statue sitting on it is like a shadow blocking the front of Lu Xun's tomb. In other words, whether Lu Xun is willing or not, he has to face his superior figure every day.
On the stone roads on both sides of the cemetery, camphor trees, magnolia grandiflora and cypress trees are planted with tall branches and thick branches. I picked off a leaf of Magnolia grandiflora, carried it to Mr. Lu Xun's resting place, and placed it gently on the tomb railing, just like a flower. In my reading impression, Lu Xun didn't write much about flowers. In "From Baicao Garden to Sanwei Bookstore" and "Autumn Night", he wrote about flowers such as wintersweet, either mentioning them briefly or describing them. I can't even name the flowers. What he wrote most vividly was the circle of red and white nameless flowers on Yu'er's grave at the end of "Medicine".
Compared to Lu Xun's essays, I prefer his novels, especially "New Stories". Among them, "Forging a Sword" is thrilling. I read this short story as a history book. Lu Xun was a superb character sculptor. The characters in his novels seemed to be forged from bronze, and they would have deep echoes when struck.
Moreover, these characters are filled with a moving light - a sad poetic light, such as "Kong Yiji", "The True Story of Ah Q", "Trouble", "Medicine", "Sorrow", "Tomorrow" and other classic chapters, which are the writers' most famous works. When the pen is dipped in my own life blood and dissolves the barriers in my heart, the ghosts of pure beauty are sown in the late spring mist. They are full of symbolism with muscles and bones. The sculptures on the World Writers Square in Lu Xun Park would be very suitable if they were replaced by Ah Q, Kong Yiji, Sister-in-law Shan, Jiujin Old Lady, Meijianchi, and Lu Weifu - which of these people are not masters of weight-bearing!
Lu Xun’s tomb is made of fine granite butts and is inlaid with the same shape. It looks like an old gray book, half buried and half unearthed. Because it is a single tomb in the garden, it looks prominent and lonely. In fact, both Zhu An, Lu Xun's first wife, and Xiao Hong, who admired Lu Xun immensely, expressed their desire to be buried beside Lu Xun in their last words. Unfortunately, they failed to do so - how could they do so? Lu Xun once explained in an article that he should "quickly collect the coffin, bury it, and pull it down." He also expressed in "Miscellaneous Talks after Illness" that he doesn't like to be memorialized or elegiac couplets. If you have spare money to buy paper, ink and white cloth, it is better to choose Several unofficial histories of the Ming and Qing dynasties came to print. These are by no means pretentious and are in line with his temperament.
It was not quiet in front of Lu Xun's tomb. Under the stone pole flower corridors on the left and right sides, on one side were two men practicing fighting, fisting each other; on the other side were three aunts, chatting about something. I took off my hat and bowed deeply three times to this deserted tomb. I was silent for a long time, then turned around and left. I think Lu Xun was buried in this downtown garden. Even though it was dotted with green trees and grass, the spring flowers and the autumn moon reflected each other, and the wind, rain, thunder and lightning served as an eternal calendar, in the end, there was no one missing the peace and quiet that one should enjoy after he died, so I don’t know about him. Is it really at rest?
When leaving the cemetery, suddenly there was a strong wind, stirring up the fallen leaves and dust on the ground and flying in the air. All the trees in the park became drummers at this time, matching the sound of the wind and roaring like a sea wave, annihilating the noisy human voices. Looking back, I saw that the magnolia leaf I dedicated to Mr. Lu Xun was gone. I seemed to hear his slightly sarcastic laughter: admiration and nostalgia are just a wind, let it go!