When I was a child, I watched a cartoon about a group of Antarctic penguins who were tired of staying in the cold Antarctic and wanted to live on the Sunshine Coast in the south. Pen × fun × Pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 After a lot of hardships and deaths, I finally came to the Sunshine Coast in the south. But they were only fresh for two days before they wept bitterly at the pictures of the icy and snowy Antarctic.

We came to Beijing, the city of dreams, just like the hard-working penguins, thinking that they could realize their own value if they had dreams. The reality is not so rosy, and I am even more obsessed with memories.

On the day after the military training, I took the No. 1 car past the entrance of the Forbidden City, looking at the tourists who were twisting around with POSE and showing scissor hands, and I was in a trance. When there is no haze, why is the autumn sun so heavy?

I remember my uncle telling me that there was sin hidden in the sun.

I was too young to know what he was talking about. But I have a good memory and remember what he said. Now, I know what he's talking about.

Regarding the value of human survival, the imaginative Yu Yue once explained: "In Japan, smart actresses will never go to the sea immediately for the whole ** film, they must first take photos and pretend to be crazy and cute to arouse the interest of men." Then one day it was suddenly announced that he had gone to the sea. In this way, the man who is suffocated can't wait, and he will buy it as soon as the film comes out, of course, we are secretly downloading it. ”

He brushed the disobedient hair in front of his forehead without shaving, and continued: "When the man has seen enough of her **, he will spit it out if he looks at it again, and this actress suddenly announced that Lao Tzu will 'dismount' immediately." Ouch, the man thought about it, the piece of meat behind the mosaic was finally revealed, where could he wait......"

I interrupted him: "What exactly are you trying to say?" ”

"I want to explain that the value of people is slowly lived, and it can't be rectified as soon as it comes up, brother, everything is an accumulation of experience, and you have to go through a process of seeing mountains and mountains, not mountains and mountains."

"What the fuck are you bullshitting?" I don't cut it.

"Do you know why you are so tired at such a young age? Because you want to present your ** too much, too eager to do it. What John all day? Christopher, what Decembrist, what Solzhenitsyn, what Ski, ** have lived in the book for too long, full of pure love, full of hypocrisy, full of saving the world, tired? ”

Of course, I was not convinced and asked, "What about the proposal?" ”

"It's time to pick up girls, it's time to play wild, it's time to have a hangover, it's time to travel, and when it's time for you to save the world, your value will naturally appear."

After chatting together, Yu Yue and I finally parted ways.

What do you live for? I've been thinking about these questions a lot. I don't know why I was precocious than my peers, it was like a curse and an ordeal that made me perceive the message of suffering earlier than my peers, which was not a pleasant thing. Reading deepened my compassion.

Along the way, there was no shortage of people who told me that it is good to be young and have passions and ideals, but in our world, it is better to find yourself and then hide yourself.

I don't want to hide, from a person, he has been leading me, if my third aunt is always dangling in front of my eyes, then his figure is always so majestic and firm, the shadow cast in my young heart has given me incomparably detailed energy when I grow up.

My worldview, my view of love, and my values are all deeply influenced by him, and he is my uncle. The first novel I read was Mark? Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, which he gave me. At that time, I was too young to read, and I scribbled on books and drew Saint Seiya and Optimus Prime.

Is it a childhood fantasy or the heroism of this life? It all seemed to be predestined.

Mark? Twain said, "Don't give up your fantasies. When the illusion is gone, you can still live, but you are still alive and dead. His life bears out this statement.

Whenever I thought of my uncle, I couldn't hypocritically force myself to survive, and at that time I decided that the soul that pursued a sterile state was the only direction of my life.

On a hot and humid afternoon in late spring and early summer, the faint sunlight slipped into the room through the glazed tiles. The dog lay under the base of the wall and spat out its bright red tongue.

The chickens that inhabit the elm forest are startled by the huge caterpillars that have fallen, and the former becomes the belly of the latter.

The cool breeze of the bamboo forest behind the house attracts snakes and small animals that like the yin tide.

There are always landscapes in the countryside that you can't read about, and these landscapes can't be brushed aside, because they will be reflected in the mind for a lifetime, and then enter the soul, take root and multiply, and climb the walls of memory like a creeper.

That day, I went to my grandmother's house to play, and found that there was no one in the house, and my grandfather's reading glasses were on the table, and under the glasses was a worn-out book "Compendium of Materia Medica".

Out of curiosity, he flipped open the folded page and vaguely recognized a line of words: "Honeycomb, finches, urns, earthworms, whole scorpions, centipedes, dung beetles, white zombie silkworms...... Crazy walking, weeping and talking nonsense, and epilepsy, burning ash and wine. ”

I couldn't fully understand the meaning of the words, and just as he was about to continue looking down, there was a sudden "thump" sound in the attic.

I held my breath.

"Boom", another muffled sound, as if a heavy object hit the floor.

"Grandpa, grandma." Dead silence answered me.

Who will hide on it? I found the match and walked lightly up the stairs, slowly moving through the dark hallway. Striking a match, I saw in the faltering glimmer a large scarlet lock on the attic door.

I put my ear to the door and there was no sound. I knocked on the door, and the hallway was still silent, and I could almost hear the faint sound of dust drifting in the pillars of light.

Just as I was about to go downstairs, there was a louder and louder sound of chains crashing into the room, followed by a heavy, muffled thud, like the one he had seen in his nightmare, and the sound was like a heavy punch to me, making me unsteady on my feet.

In that dream, there was nothing but dark and mixed floats, then a terrifying fall, and then, an undiscernible voice rang in my ears and rushed into my head.

The voice was shouting, telling me to go and not come back.

When I was a child, I had such strange dreams more than once, and every time I woke up, I would break out in a cold sweat.

My neighbor, an old woman in her seventies, told my mother that the child's eyes are pure and easy to see things that adults can't see, and that he should be exposed to more water.

The old woman also said that her grandson could not sleep at night, and he said that there were white hands shaking in the mirror.

As I approached the attic door again, a bloody hand came out of the crack in the door.

I was almost suffocated, so I rushed down the attic, fell hard under the stairs, and got up and ran out of my grandmother's yard, despite the pain.

For the next two days, I was bedridden with a high fever. In the dream, he heard the sound coming from the deep tunnel, all the way behind me, I wanted to go forward but couldn't move, I wanted to turn but couldn't move, the sound got into his ears, like flies in a glass window that couldn't find an exit.

I struggled to wake up to see my mother anxiously wiping my sweat.

Later, when I was in elementary school, I often met a madman on the road. The long-haired madman, with his dirty face, stood far away and shouted at me, dancing like a drunken hero.

The madman smiled every time he saw me, but his pride made me pretend I didn't know him, and when he saw that I ignored him, he leaned outside the classroom and cried.

The principal called a few teachers, pinned the madman to the ground, tied him up, and took him to his grandmother's house, where he was locked up in the attic.

Before graduating from elementary school, the madman left this world.

I always thought it was a relief for him, but the process of relief was too cruel.

I used to follow others to the video hall to watch "The Ten Tortures of the Manchu Dynasty" with a learning and critical attitude, but I couldn't imagine that there were even more shocking insults in reality.

Before he went crazy, he fell in love with a girl, and the girl liked him. They met on a breezy autumn morning, in the town's only bookstore.

They read "Bitter Love" together, in which it is written that the migratory geese are lined up in the sky with the word "human", and they think that "people" should be written in the sky instead of being trampled on the ground.

The girl's mother began to insist that they should not be together, but the girl was even more stubborn than Anna Karenina, and she put scissors around her neck for the sake of love, killing herself if her parents did not agree with them being together.

That year, for the sake of his ideals, he said that he had to go to Beijing to meet with like-minded classmates and friends, and the mission was calling.

The girl said to wait for him.

When he returned home, he was no longer the same person. He was hit in the head and went insane.

No one knew what was going on in Beijing, and even if they did, they could only whisper, and fear hung over everyone's heads.

Shut up and not talk about it, which has become a dogma for self-preservation.

The girl's parents have even more reason - do you want to marry a madman and delay yourself for the rest of your life?

The girl was locked in the house and cried for several days, and finally forced to marry a contractor.

On the day of the wedding, the madman appeared in front of the wedding procession, and people tried to go up and pull him away, but he suddenly fell to the ground, foaming at the mouth.

When Grandpa, Grandma, and parents arrived, the madman had finished howling, and his twisted body was cold.

He drank pesticides and walked in pain, his nails were all scratched, revealing Bai Sensen's bones, and he had several large holes in his forehead, and blood was flowing for a long time.

Love, ideals, and life all came to naught in an instant.

Later, no one mentioned him again. When we go to the grave on the Qingming Festival, we will remember that there is a grave in the weeds of the field, where my uncle is buried.

At that time, I was still young and did not understand the stakes, and every time I went to my uncle's grave to sweep the grave, I would cry very much, shouting that my grandparents would return my uncle.

There has always been prejudice in my young mind, as if it was my family that drove my uncle crazy and then took him from me.

Grew up and understood the truth.

The truth is not necessarily more reassuring than a lie, and the truth is often more cruel and ruthless than a lie, and it is more bloody, and it cannot be looked at directly. Sometimes living in a lie is a kind of happiness.

Today, there is only one black-and-white photograph that reminds me of my uncle, who was standing on an orange tree at my grandmother's house, the late autumn sun on his face, squinting, smiling, confident, and as if everything was under control.

They are a pure "**" generation, so frankly and nakedly exposing their ideals and demands in front of the state apparatus, such courage is not the "Moro spirit" that modern people lack.

Yu Yue said: "They are irrational, naïve, and pure stupid. ”

I said, "There are fools in every generation, and it's these fools that make the world less bad." They are just too eager to change, too extreme, but please don't insult their pure white spirit. ”

Then, I held out my middle finger to him.

He returned the salute in the same gesture.