Changyun Village, a name that is not poetic at all, is located in a small corner of the mountains of Guizhou, quiet and peaceful, and has no quarrel with the world, and behind this serenity is backwardness, poverty and suffering. Pen & Fun & Pavilion www.biquge.info

The female teacher from the big city has been trying to do it, just to take the children to break free from the fate of the mountains, to see the vast sky outside, she will tell these children new things, new things, they have never heard of it, teach them to sing, dance, and aspire.

Every month, she would save a pitiful salary, spend hours running to the county seat outside the mountains, buy extracurricular books for children who study hard, and sponsor several children in the village to go to middle and high schools in the town and county. After school, she would climb mountains and mountains to send the children home, one by one, and potatoes, porridge, and vegetables were her home-cooked dishes.

When she first came to the city, the villagers of Changyun Village did not believe that she could last a month in this poor place.

They were wrong, this woman from the city held out for five years, five years, how many five years are there in a person's life, this woman buried her youth in this dilapidated village, and finally buried her too.

When she fell, the whole village was mobilized, and the adults wrapped her in a brand new quilt, begging her to lie on the bed board in peace and warmth, and carried her to the township, and the 45 children in the school cried and shouted and ran behind the adults for half an hour, crying heartbreakingly, and staggering, until she was sent to the tractor, they still dragged their immature but tough legs to follow the tractor, fell and got up, and refused to stop no matter how the adults persuaded them. The cry looked so helpless and hesitant in the secluded mountains, and the innocent eyes were filled with a kind of despair for the future.

The villagers pooled the money and hired a bus to go to the county hospital, and the children finally stopped, opened their throats and shouted Teacher Su, crying all over the place.

Teacher Su once told them that she would watch them go to high school, college, and out of the mountains, but she couldn't wait for that day.

She was buried at the top of the hill behind the village, and she used to run to that place, sitting alone on the rocks at the top of the hill, singing a song with that guitar, and looking into the distance with her watery eyes.

Here, someone once taught her the song

She left, leaving behind a photograph, an envelope, a guitar.

The envelope was left for Ye Chen, and the date was June 28th.

No one knows where she came from, whether she has relatives or not, the villagers said that she would go out for half a month every summer vacation, and at other times she never even went out of the mountains during the Chinese New Year, and no one came to see her.

On the day of her burial, it was quite beautiful, and the villagers in the neighboring villages came to see her off, and those children who went out of the mountains and went to junior high school in the town and county were all called back by the adults in the family. The whole village, dressed in sackcloth, young and old, knelt down in front of the grave and kowtowed three times.

In five years, more than 100 children knelt in front of the grave, crying so that their eyes were red and their voices were hoarse, and no one could pull them away.

That afternoon, the sun was shining brightly, but it was drizzling. Ye Chen sat in front of the lonely grave bag for a night, holding the photo in his hand and an urn in his arms.

The next day, Ye Chen left, holding the urn in his arms and carrying a guitar behind him, which was the last thing Su Yue left.

On the morning of his departure, everyone in the village was sent to the entrance of the village, and the villagers sent her a second trip, half of her ashes in a box.

In the letter, she said that half of it would be buried forever in the village and half would be sprinkled in Namtso, Tibet.

The children cried silently, Ye Chen quietly said to them don't cry, Teacher Su is gone and me.

He sat behind the bumpy tractor, looking at the distant Changyun Village, and his eyes were fogped with tears.

On the third day, he followed a group of travelers to Namtso, a heavenly lake in Tibet, where the sky is very blue, the water is very clear, and it is as pure and beautiful as heaven as far as the eye can see.

There are a few tourists in this beautiful lake, laughing, chasing and running, only one person, holding something wrapped in black cloth, wearing sunglasses, carrying a guitar, standing by the lake, one stop is an hour or two, silent.

The travelers who came with him all thought that this person was so strange, but they inexplicably felt a kind of sadness from that back.

The man took a few steps into the lake, which soaked his shoes and trouser legs, and he took off his sunglasses and lifted the black cloth in his arms. The breeze was gentle in the lake, and the black cloth was like a kite with a broken string, swaying, and finally landed in the middle of the lake.

As soon as he grasped it, the white powder shimmered in the sun's rays, drifted gently on the surface of the lake with the wind, sank and disappeared.

After sprinkling, he took out the guitar on his back, stroked the strings gently, and laughed softly: "You left in a hurry, and you didn't come to wait for me to sing you another song." ”

The fingers are plucked, and the sound of the piano floats.

"You said you loved lilacs

Because your name is what it is

What a melancholy flower,

O sentimental man,

When the flowers wither,

When the picture freezes,

What a delicate flower,

But he can't hide from the wind and rain,

A life of drifting and shaking,

What a beautiful weaving dream

You're in a hurry to go,

Leave me to worry about for the rest of my life

How beautiful you long for the flowers that bloom in front of the grave,

Look at the mountains and fields, do you still feel lonely?

Listen to someone singing your favorite song,

How much complexity is in the world, and there is no need to worry about it anymore.

The yard is full of lilacs, full of beautiful purple flowers,

I am here with her and protect her for the rest of my life

……..

He sang until the end of the song in a hoarse voice, and he could not cry for a long time.

The sad song floated over the heavenly lake, as if it was overtaking a departed soul and seeing her off.

By the Tianhu Lake, the travelers looked at the man's back, listened to the singing, and were stunned, their eyes moist.

……….

Lhasa, the Potala Palace, here is the super holy place of countless people, thousands of pilgrims come here every day, prostrate step by step, and pray sincerely.

Among these pilgrims, a man knelt down and kowtowed to the stone steps for each time he ascended the steps.

In the solemn temple, the Buddha sings and the prayer wheel hums to calm people's hearts.

The man bowed three times reverently to the Buddha statue, closed his eyes and made a wish.

"At that moment, I raised the wind horse, not to beg for blessings, but to wait for your arrival

That day, I closed my eyes in the incense mist of the scripture hall and suddenly heard the mantra in your chant

On that day, the mani pile was erected, not for the cultivation of virtue, but for the stones of the heart lake

That night, I listened to Sanskrit singing for a night, not for enlightenment, but for a trace of your breath

That month I shook all the prayer cylinders not for excess, but for touching your fingertips

That year, I kowtowed and crawled on the mountain road, not for the audience, but for the warmth of you

In that life, I turned mountains and rivers and pagodas, not for the sake of cultivating the next life, but just to meet you on the way

At that moment, I soared into an immortal, not for immortality, but for your peace and joy."

(PS: Tomorrow is a new week, and the talented man is here to ask for tips, recommended tickets, and monthly passes, thank you.) (To be continued.) )