Miao Qing's death shook the entire art world. So, the Provincial Painters Association, a writer? The county people's congress, the county government, as well as the cultural center, and some literary freedom groups, from Tiannan to Haibei, came to the Nanhu Square in Wencheng to mourn the famous painter. The Wen county government mobilized police forces to maintain order.

The people who participated in the memorial service, spoke freely, from three words and two words to a long article of regret, and the words in the words were all full of nostalgia and reverence for Miao Qing.

At the moment of the free speech, a female painter with white hair like silver said in her speech: "My peers, my friends, we are in the same post, we have painted together for several spring and autumn periods, and there is a poem that can represent our relationship: Lang said that he had divided Bao Shujin, who could distinguish the boya qin, the traffic through the ages was as good as a ghost, and the lake and sea hung a heart. ”

She burst into tears, and was helped off the stage by the staff, full of vicissitudes!

On the assembly platform surrounded by flowers, Miao Qing's portrait hangs in the center, and in that shallow smile, it seems to talk about the vicissitudes of the world and the fragrance of acacia flowers.

Thousands of feet of white silk, tied around the shed, the green yarn is spreading, stretching the feelings, from the gate of the villa, extending to the square, all the people who come to mourn, all walk up to the stage to say a few words.

An old male poet who wore glasses and looked like a scholar said on the stage: "I don't know if the locust flowers on the road / the world / are the same/—an angle/—the fragrance of locust flowers / ears, I heard the long locust flowers/sniffed the fragrance of locust flowers/the velvety lips/ate locust flowers as food/emitted in the stomach and intestines/the wind blew the locust flowers/the cloud temples, embedded with locust flowers as decorations/— The body is as tough as a locust tree/The rice paper full of feelings/There is a white bloom/Purple open/Red engraving/All the clothes of the locust tree/The tender brush/The hall of locust flowers/Who sang the cloud children's song that reflects the sky/It is the laughter of the Huaixian Fuzheng/....... ”

He took off his eyes and cried, his hand gently wiped his tears, wiping his love and affection for death: "Our teachers and friends, my peers, borrow the wind of the South Lake to blow the cloud chariot and send you to the palace of the setting sun..." ”

He bowed three times. Facing Miao Qing, he couldn't cry, and walked off the stage step by step, as many people as there were people in the audience, there were as many cries.

In the wake's shed, the three beauties of the Nakamura branch came. He Huang Zhongyi and Liu Yang from the East Village came, Meng Ge Meng Lingjun from the Lower Village came, and Wu Qing came, and they were all in the ranks of the families of the deceased.

Huang Zhongyu came to the front desk and said: "The painter of the peasants has painted the era in the hearts of the peasants, and the pen is like the optimus prime on the mountain in our hometown, facing the wind and rain. In that Optimus Prime, there are fields. There are 10,000 stone grains, there are green mountains and Buddha wind, and there is the hope of farmers to run for the better. Of course, it can also heal people's wounds, because doctors are trained under the brush, and they go into thousands of households to deliver health. This is more important than anything else, my old painter sister. ”

The sky over South Lake is blue. The wind warmed the sun, blowing the sweaty faces of the mourners, and blowing the reeds of the South Lake.

Miao Er stepped forward, stood in front of the microphone, thought for a long time, and said, "My grandmother's name is Miao Qing. I was four or five years old. From that time on, my grandmother raised me, and when I sang nursery rhymes to school, my grandmother carried me on her back, just like my father when I was a child. Someone will ask. How do you know the way, because my grandmother often tells me about it. I asked: Why didn't my father carry me? Grandma said: Your father is going to work, he is going to seek liberation for mankind, I don't seem to understand, I only know now, my parents are busy in the government. Grandma said, "Your dad did the same when he was a child, and sometimes, he even rode it on my neck."

"At that time, my grandmother asked me: What do you want to do when you grow up? I said: Grow up to be a painter. Grandma said infinitely affectionately: Your grandfather died of illness in that special era. I asked: Why don't you go to the doctor, and my grandmother said: People have gone to fight, and there are no doctors! I said, "I'm going to be a doctor." Grandma smiled. Say: Doctors are also painters. Syringes and scalpels are good brushes. Afterward. I finally grew up, I finally became a doctor. ”

Think of doctors. Miao'er's tears flowed like a waterfall. She wants Zhang Bo. Zhang Bo is there. She didn't know what to say. Is there Zhang Bo in the venue of 10,000 people, she is also a double doctor trained by her grandmother, a doctor who sees patients, and a doctor of human souls.

The grief in Miao'er's heart. Like the water of the South Lake—there are so much. Tears in her eyes. It is the aura and essence that flows out of the body, it is the blood, and it is the sorrow and longing, she can't believe it, grandma is lost, Zhang Bo, have you disappeared too, have you followed your wife Xu Rong away, but the one lying in the morgue is not you.

She remembered a day in April, on the third day after the death of Zhang Bo's wife Xu Rong, he, Lu Zhi, Qi Shu, Wang Yun and Hu Lick went to Zhangjialin to do a belated memorial. At that time, she had the idea that I was the Zhang family in her heart, but she didn't dare to say it, Lei Chi didn't dare to go more, I was afraid that the more it would be. He has a son and a wife, and he has that innocent little grandson, and the youngest grandson, Zhang Di, also recited a poem. She burst into tears into the microphone and said like Little Di: "Grandma, I have a poem to dedicate to you, you are the April day of the world:

"I said, 'Thou art the April day of the earth;

The sound of laughter lit up the winds on all sides; Brisk

Dancing and changing in the spring light.

You are the clouds in the early days of April,

The yellow wind blows the softness of the wind, and the stars are there

Inadvertently flashed, drizzling rain fell in front of the flowers.

Miao Er seemed to see Zhang Bo coming, but she knew that she hadn't come, and said silently in her heart: I brought mourning and mourning for you and everyone in the Zhang family, you listen, Zhang Bo, I am repeating Xiao Di's voice:

"That light, that Ting, you are Xianyan.

You wear the crown of flowers, you are

Innocent, solemn, you are the moon of the night.

The goose yellow after the snow melts, you like; fresh

The first bud of green, you are; Soft and joyful

Floating in the water is the white lotus you dream of.

Miao Er continued to cry, continued to miss, and told her grandmother in her heart that you have a poor grandson; She also praised her grandmother like that from her little family.

You are the blossom of the tree, the swallow

In the mud between the beams — one you are love, is warm,

It is the hope that you are the April day of the world!

At this time, Miao Er couldn't see anything in front of her, and her eyes were covered with tears. In the square where the crowd squirmed, the sun turned into countless sad tears, and with the wind of the South Lake, she blew open her long eyelashes, so that her eyes could explore the new sight that had not yet arrived, and Zhang Bo's leaping heart—to pay tribute to his grandmother, to pay tribute to his painter sister, this is the beauty of Miao Qing's death, the poem that has not been forgotten.

The memorial service is still going on, people are reluctant to leave, for this celebrity, the name in the hearts of ordinary people, the noble people in the hearts of farmers, the good people in the art world, the upright people, the ordinary people in life, and the people who have escaped from the low-level tastes to stay together for a while, even if they stay until the dark moon and the rabbit rises, even if they get the dawn of the east, the sun and the moon take turns, and the sky is desolate and re-enlightened.

(To be continued)(To be continued......