Chapter 356

449 chapters, the shadows of those big red flowers

449 chapters, the shadows of those big red flowers

――――A branch of red apricot extending over the wall (Twenty-two)

The night was still, my heart also still. In this still night, I dreamed of a good story――――

I seem to recall once sitting in a small boat passing a small river; on both banks grew mixed thickets of trees of varying heights, and on those thickets it seemed various colorful flowers were blooming. Actually whether those were flowers, or clouds and rosy light in the sky, or mist drifting above the thickets in the water, or…… I don't know. In the vapor of this river's water, there was also mixed fragrance.

This fragrance likely drifted from those mixed thickets, so I concluded that there must be flowers in those thickets.

Otherwise, where would this fragrance come from? Besides the mixed thickets of varying heights, the riverbank also had various crops. Therefore I concluded that the season I saw was probably spring or summer, definitely not autumn, let alone winter.

Because the crops I saw on the riverbank were lush, the trees were green, the flowers red, the water clear, and the mountains beautiful.................

Of course I was still seeing the riverbank scenery; no, to be more precise, I was still beside the mixed tree thicket, or beside the luxuriant crops beside the mixed tree thicket, and I also saw many wildflowers, chickens, dogs, and the pigs penned in the fence beside the thatched hut.....

That thatched hut, though small—no, the word 'though' should be changed to 'low'. 'Low thatched eaves, on the creek green grass, in drunkenness the Wu dialect sounds charm each other fine, white whose family old man and old woman.'

Who am I asking? I am asking about the dream. Or am I asking about the stars that day obscured by the Wu Yun? Or am I asking about the stars not obscured by the Wu Yun?

I don't know, I don't know, which is the most Brightness, which is the brightest? My heart……

At this time, I also saw beside the low thatched cottage on the riverbank: "The eldest son weeds beans east of the stream, the middle son is weaving chicken coops; I most like the youngest son, good-for-nothing, lying at the stream's head, shelling lotus pods."

At this season, it must be midsummer. Otherwise, where would the lotus pods come from?

At this time, my thoughts were confused. In my confused thoughts, I also saw a scene similar to what Mr. Lu Xun had seen back then——thatched cottages, pagodas, clumps of short trees, farmers, dogs, chickens, village girls…… Those village girls were very pretty. They dressed fashionably, even dyed their hair yellow; they were not working, but strolling slowly along the riverbank. It looks like they are waiting for their lovers in dreams—whom they wait for, youthful talk…… Do you care? Yes, I don't care.........

On that riverbank, besides the aforementioned all kinds of messed-up stuff, there are monks, fake monks. At a glance you can tell they're fake—those who wear long robes to deceive people; nowadays there are too many fake monks, and even among the real monks, how many aren't deceiving?

I also saw on the riverbank people wearing green raincoats and bamboo hats, fishing in the light wind and fine rain. These idle people are all those who have become wealthy; they are the wealthy who ride the high-end 'Bluebird'. They are not here to fish, but to adjust their moods, holding a fishing rod in one hand and a phone in the other, appearing to be remote‑controlling and directing……

Sky, clouds, clumps of short trees, green bamboo, village girls, old men, old women; men weeding at noon with sweat dripping onto the soil, bosses who haven't returned home in the light wind and fine rain, fake monks in long robes coming out to swindle, children lying by the stream amid thin lotus pods, dogs, chickens…… all kinds of messed-up things, all jumbled together, are reflected in the emerald‑clear river water. Is this the riverside scene seen in the hazy mist? Is this the good story I dreamed of?

In my dream I saw things, too simple. Some are hardly things at all, for example those fake monks in long robes swindling everywhere.

But in this world, those who deceive while wearing long robes—what more could be said of fake monks? In the hazy mist, under the dim starlight, in the light wind and fine rain, I saw these things; some are beautiful, also substantial—for example the clumps of short trees by the river, or the fragrance drifting from the love‑trees, and the small thatched cottages on the riverbank with their green bamboo…… Those who weed at noon with sweat dripping onto the soil—of course, the beauty of this world goes far beyond just those who weed at noon, sweat dripping onto the soil.

The angler who remote‑controls and directs in the light wind and fine rain is not beautiful, ah. Let's not talk about these. This world, alas—'People cannot say everything. What they see, they never tire of seeing. What they hear, they never tire of hearing. What has happened will happen again; what has been done will be done again……'

The good story I am dreaming now is also like this_________

In the water, the blue sky's foundation, all things interlace above, weaving into a good story, a vivid story. I too am a phrase in that good story—what kind of phrase? Praiseworthy? Derogatory? Neutral? Ah Q–style? Or perhaps it is neither praiseworthy nor derogatory, a little punctuation mark of non‑praise and non‑blame?

………………………………………………………………………………………..

Water is vivid, rivers and lakes are unfolding. No, because my view is blocked by the things before me, I cannot see distant scenery; one should say the sea is unfolding. What I see, others have already seen; what I have said, others have already said. I am merely following others, just repeating a sentence after them.

I originally had no self, or lacked a self, living in others' selves, living in others' selves, in others' will. I also cannot have a self; whoever has a self possesses angles. My angles have long been worn away by life. Where did I drag myself to?

Just now I said rivers and lakes were unfolding, but actually it should be said that the sea is unfolding. I can't speak. It's because I can't speak, I'm not smooth, I don't have one face for the front and another for the back. I don't say nice words to people's faces…………………………………..

Serves you right! What does 'serves you right' mean? It means one deserves what happens while alive.

The sea is unfolding; the stories of rivers and lakes have beginnings and ends. In the world there is no river whose source's source cannot be found, and the endings of all rivers in the world are the same. Regardless of width or length, big or small, they all flow into the sea, just like people in the world—whether you are tall, short, fat, thin, rich, poor, or black, white, ugly, handsome, good-for-nothing, scoundrel dogs…… the ending is the same......

So, while you are young, you ought to strive, you ought to replace that deceitful long robe with a kind face. No, one should say replace it with a kind heart. Come on, you future person of a kind heart!

Ah, person of a kind heart, as you walk along, you will see many beautiful landscapes……..

Ah, the morning light has already poured into my eyes; this is the message of sunlight. My eyes have already touched sunlight; I will walk forward along the sunlight, forward, forward……

In the hazy mist, I saw the village girl by the riverbank; she lifted her dark eyes and looked at me for a while from the brightness……..

At this time I also saw several slender One‑zhang red plants growing under the dead tree by the riverbank. That blooming, beautiful, fragrance‑wafting One‑zhang red must have been planted by that dark‑eyed girl, right?

Why does the girl plant One‑zhang red? Because she loves beauty? Loves the beauty of loneliness? Loves the beauty of beauty? Or loves the world's beauty? The beauty of the world's beauty?

The One‑zhang red bears big red flowers, speckled‑red big red flowers. The flowers of the One‑zhang red are very beautiful. The shadows of those big red flowers float in the water, now breaking apart, now stretching out—threads of rouge‑tinged water that dye the clear, clear little river into layers of rosy clouds, thread after thread of fragrance that makes people's hearts become intoxicated……. Thatch huts, dogs, pagodas, village girls, lovely village girls, clouds in the sky…… also float about. The big red flowers are pulled out strand by strand; at this moment it is……………………………………………………………………

(Heart tied to the disaster area, emotion tied to the disaster area: May peace, courage, confidence, and strength be with the people of the disaster area, accompany them!)