Long summer.

Night was falling slowly. I set up a deck chair in the small courtyard, a cup of tea or a bottle of beer, and naturally a cigarette is indispensable. There was still a lingering light in the night, perhaps from the dense stars. The outline of the flat top of the white deer original knife cut is just like a woodcut that is so simple that there is only dark ink and light ink. I simply turned off all the lights in the room, feeling the affinity between the sky and the leylines, and occasionally I could see a wisp of ghost fire fluttering by.

On a night with a fine or full moon, the sight is enchanting. I sat on the chaise longue and watched the round moon float above the east plain, and then gradually rise, calmly moving step by step in front of me, like a fairy gently shaking the lotus step, and then step by step towards the west of the original slope, until it disappeared behind the roof ridge in the west.

One night, looking at the misty plain slope under the moonlight, I was idle for Liu Bang 2,000 years ago. After he got out of the Hongmen banquet, what shortcut did he take to escape back to the camp in front of me? Emperor Wen of the Han Dynasty was buried on the north slope of Bailuyuan, only sixteen or seventeen miles away from my village. The history of Emperor Wen's mausoleum is called Baling, which is clearly named after Bashui. This is located in the eastern suburbs of Chang'an, which has been named after the white deer since the Zhou Dynasty, and has gradually been replaced by "Baling Plain", "Baling" and "Bashang". Liu Bang's garrison is on this plain, far away from Hongmen at the foot of Lishan Mountain on the north bank of Bashui, and the small village where my ancestral home is located. Maybe he escaped from that banquet where his life was hanging by a thread, and on that terrifying night when the wind was high and the moon was dark, Liu Bang panicked and crossed the Lishan Mountain, waded across the Bahe River, and climbed the original slope from the pigsty of a certain family in my village to the top of the original mountain, and then sighed. No matter how embarrassing this escape was, it did not affect his later creation of the Han family.

Wang Changling, a poet of the Tang Dynasty, was originally from the city of Xi'an, and lived in seclusion in Ziyang Village, also known as Zhiyang Village, in Bailuyuan before his debut. Shimohara went fishing in the Ba River, cut leeks in the vegetable furrow, drank and wrote poems with visiting literary friends and poets, and mostly used this plain and the Ba Shui under the original as the background of the narrative lyricism. I have checked the information and tried to verify the site of Ziyang Village, but there is no trace.

When I read a collection of poems by "Poets of the Past Dynasties Yongba Bridge", I was very surprised, in addition to the well-known "every year willow color, Baling hurts farewell" refers to the Baqiao, the water of the Bahe River, and the original of Bailu (or Baling), there are hundreds of poets and saints Wang Shikui have left swan songs and soloists.

Pampered and humiliated and unhappy,

Let him run his own camp in the city.

Looking for the east of the autumn city alone,

The white deer original head letter horse line.

This is Bai Juyi's seven unique songs. It is one of the many poems on the theme of this origin and the water under the plain. It is the most frank song, and it is also the most popular and easy to remember. At a glance, it can be seen that the white poet was annoyed by the filth of the fly camp dog in the Chang'an officialdom, and he was tired of making trouble, lost his appetite, and wanted to vomit. But he finally couldn't vomit out his throat, maybe he didn't bother to say or vomit, so he simply rode to Bailu Plain.

What filth can drown the filth of this original named after the white deer, I am sure that there will be none.

I lived in this ancestral house for two years. Boil your own water and make tea. Roll out the chopped noodles in the city and cook them. A reclining chair in the summer and a stove in the winter. In the evening, go for a walk on the beach of Bahe River or the original slope meadow. Sleep until you wake up. Of course, every time a short story or an essay is written, that kind of pleasure is believed to be not much worse than Bai Juyi's state of mind on the horse. It is the days of the original two years, which are the years with the most words of writing in the past eight years, not to mention the advantages and disadvantages.

The more I became more stubborn, the more I entered the writing, and the better I entered the movement of my life.

December 11, 2003 in Erfuzhuang