In the early winter morning, I picked up a yellow leaf on the roadside, which was dark yellow, incomplete and powerful. Sandwiched in Chen Nianxi's Dust, I think this yellow leaf matches his book best. The withered and brown veins become clearer after the chlorophyll fades, just as life is more real after the noise of the world disappears. This is the feeling that Chen Nianxi's book gives people.
? In the postscript, he wrote, "Like all my poems, I wrote it because I had something to say. Words are like an export, a release, telling the sadness and happiness of the world, the subtlety of fate ... The past turns into dust, and writing down these dust is a little explanation for yourself and time. In essence, all literature is an elegy. Retaining the sunset in the west also retains the sediment in the east. " He recorded his life in words, and also recorded his life.
? In the article, every time I finish reading a chapter, I will have a meal to calm my frightened soul. When the reality of life comes with misfortune, it is always necessary to take a breath, but most of the characters in the text don't have such an opportunity. One second, they are still alive in a colorful world, and the next second, they are like dust seen and invisible, which disappears unreasonably in the boundless land. What kind of haste and unprovoked reasons often make you even wonder if they ever existed.
? Chen Nianxi's book is a record of a group of people, a record of life and an era. He comes from the bottom of society, and what he describes is mostly himself or people related to his life, his family, relatives, friends or workmates. Like the author, they are all people from the bottom of society and live an ordinary life. Among them, there are thousands of people. They have their own ideals and their own happiness. They may have been very beautiful and humble, but more often they are drowned in the tide of society. For the description of death, it is always easy for the author's pen. The end of life is no longer a lament, but just a phenomenon, perhaps a result, or even a small compensation. When life can be measured by price, then the value of life is negligible. These people who make a living in the mine, between the sound of guns and the explosion, are desperate, they rush, they play songs, and they are also suffering. This group of people has their own sorrows. Their sorrows do not come from a certain factor, because they don't need a reason. Sadness and helplessness are originally a part of life, just as you were just hit by the wild wolf of fate in the boat of life. For no reason, it is like running water, more like falling flowers. The misfortune of life is even more impermanent in Chen Nianxi's works. Everything seems to be more like a flickering lantern, with or without it, hidden or obvious. Perhaps this is the life itself.
? Chen Nianxi is a miner. In his life, electro-optic Shi Huo is an unusual sight. In an instant, Yin and Yang may be separated. It is a day of licking blood on the knife edge. But at the end of his pen, what flowed out was not pain, but smooth and tense words. These words did not have too tragic scenes, nor did they have strong love and hate, and they did not need to use spirits to assist the pharynx. His writing is neither supercilious nor supercilious, and always exudes a faint warmth, which seems to have a warm feeling. He seems to be telling other people's stories, quiet, calm and warm. In fact, he is the story itself. The story is not gorgeous, nor strong, but simply records everything, like flowing water. Perhaps all the misfortunes we see in the book are just the author's life itself in the author's view. The author's pen is not over-exaggerated. He keeps life as it is-sadness and joy are all part of life, life and death are a distance, and the author is just recording a kind of life. For the author, the so-called hope is just a boring comfort in life.
The characters in the book are various and have their own stories. Their stories are not all magnificent and touching. These characters are as simple as being around us, real and existing. Everyone is a part of this world and a speck of dust. As the author wrote in the preface, "What is life like? My feeling is that except for the long, ubiquitous wind, the rest are dust, and we are jumping in it and trying to stand firm, but more often we stagger and can't help ourselves. Our ancestors are, we are, and future generations will be. " The author has his own taste and observation of life and the world. The characters and life in the book are actually around us, and they are not far away from us, but we just don't pay attention. This is life.