Hold the fountain of life in my hand,

I just think it's fresh,

It is a strong liquor, a fresh foam,

Inject me into my rush, my work, my adventure.

It seems that the garden that the predecessors have never visited

It's going to be in front of me.

But now, suddenly facing the grave,

I looked back at the past with cold eyes,

I saw the joy and sorrow of its twists and turns

all disappeared into an eternal desert,

That's when I realized all my efforts

But it's done with an ordinary life.

- Mudan

Reminiscing about the afternoon bridge in the past, there were many heroes sitting on the bridge. The long ditch flows silently. In the sparse shadow of the apricot blossoms, the flute is played until dawn.

More than 20 years have been like a dream, although this body is shocking. Idle in the small pavilion to see the new sunshine. How many things have happened in ancient and modern times, and the fishery sang three watches.

- Chen and Yi

The young man listened to the rain song upstairs, and the red candles were dim. In the middle of the boat, the river is wide and the clouds are low, and the broken geese are called the west wind.

Now listening to the rain monk's house, the temples have stars. The joys and sorrows are always ruthless, and the pre-step drips until dawn.

- Jiang Jie

Confucius swam in Kuang, and the Song people surrounded him for several turns, and the strings never stopped.

- "Zhuangzi Autumn Water"

The spring is dry, the fish phase is on land, the phase is wet, and the foam is wet, it is better to forget each other in the rivers and lakes.

- "Zhuangzi: The Great Master"

It seems that he has become accustomed to going back to his grandparents' home in the countryside for the New Year, and there is nowhere else to go, and his grandparents are long gone. It's a luxury to be able to find a place to go back to during the Chinese New Year. The old man is here, and the home is always like a home. The uncles on the grandparents' side haven't gotten together for years, and they're all going their separate ways. Our old house is probably standing alone in the field at this moment, and the endless cold wind envelops the tiny particles left over from the burning firecrackers, and constantly slaps on the wooden door that has not been reopened for years.

Actually, we were supposed to be at home this year. According to the original plan, we should move at the end of the year. But it seems that neither I nor my parents are very attentive, procrastinating, and it didn't work out after all. The house was much larger than the current three-bedroom apartment, with three bedrooms and a study, as well as two bathrooms. But what about moving in? It's empty, and there's a room I don't know what to do. When I bought it, I was going to let him and I have a room by ourselves. "A room that belongs only to me", the eldest brother seems to have discussed this topic with his sister, I didn't understand it at the time, it seems to have something to do with literature, I don't know, but I feel that this sentence is very tempting. I'm tired of sharing a bed, a headlight, and I don't want to hear someone climb up and down overhead, especially when I want to be alone. I want a place where I don't do anything I want, where I can throw my socks around, throw my schoolbag on the floor, make a mess in my desk, and stuff my wardrobe with clothes. No one can see it, and no one will come to clean it up for me. I want to tell everyone that I have grown up, that I am independent, that I can live on my own, that I have the right to lock out unrelated people, that I don't need anyone to stay with me, to spy on me, and to report to my parents.

But I didn't mean to make this person disappear.

I'm so scared to move. Probably Mom and Dad knew, so they kept procrastinating for me. The new house is not only "a room for yourself", but also a "room for no one". It was like a huge picture frame stuck to the wall, empty of it, indifferently reminding me of what was destined to be unchangeable.

There are few people, the house is large, and the silent darkness seems to climb and spread little by little, gradually swallowing up the people hiding in the corners. Every time I go back to my grandparents' house, I feel this way. They built the new house very big, probably hoping that we would come back more. Also, they have four children, and if they all come back, the New Year will always be lively. This large room has two floors, two rooms on the first floor, one of which is air-conditioned, and three rooms on the second floor and a bathroom with a toilet, so that everyone can stay comfortably in the family, even though everyone does not spend more than ten days a year.

When it was only the two of them at home, how did the two old men stay in such a big room? I do not know. Just step by step up the steps to the second floor. My aunt's house will not come back this year, and my grandfather told me that there is an empty room upstairs and that I can live alone. Needless to say, I knew it was the room at the top of the stairs on the second floor, it was very long, and at the end was a window, and there was always orange sunlight pouring in, like a thin curtain blown by the wind. In front of the window was an old desk-like desk, with a lot of paint peeling off from the corners and corners, and a layer of glass was vaguely laid on the table. To its left is a small bed. It is said that the house was built when we were just born, and my grandfather thought that we had two children in our family, and it would be better to have a separate room when we grew up and came back. He thought about it ten years from now, but he didn't think that every family would be one now. But I also have the privilege of being able to occupy a room alone without any reason. It stands to reason that it should be given to my brother. He's in college, and he's about to go to graduate school. But my grandfather still told me that the room was mine, and that he wanted to give me what he thought was the best, and no one could shake that.

I slowly looked around for a week. There was no one in every room, all the beds were neatly packed, and the extra folding beds were piled with red or green embroidered quilts unique to the countryside, which were strict and solid, giving people a sense of security and at the same time filled with the atmosphere of dusty for many days, probably like straw or a pile of grain? That's how my sister described it, but both of us grew up in the city and never smelled it.

My brother is not there. My sister wasn't there. My grandmother told me that they had gone across the river. On the other side was a small grove, and now the branches and leaves of the trees had probably faded clean. Laid among the fallen leaves are a row of solid graves, some of which are bunker-like mounds, others are neatly built with masonry and stone to become impregnable fortresses. Probably the only thing in the world is death, which is certain and unchangeable. Today is the thirtieth year of the Chinese New Year's Eve, and I want to visit my ancestors, bring a word or two of blessings, and give them money for the New Year. It's a bit strange to think about the fact that the younger generation sends New Year's money to the elders. But one day we will receive it ourselves. In a large house with dim lighting, tall elders give the children New Year's money; When they move to the low castle, it will be our turn to give them no longer children, even if we will slowly forget some names that are too far away.

But what about the peers? And what about my grandparents? It seems like I haven't been to see them in a long time - maybe never, I don't remember exactly. Is it because I don't want to go? Or did my parents not take me? Or is it "too busy"? Nice excuse. I seem to be very busy, although I don't know what I've been busy with for the past three years.

But there's always someone to do it for you. They silently helped me do what I was supposed to do. All I have to do is sit down, lie down, obediently, and let them see that Wei Wei is still healthy, that's enough. The meaning of my existence is not to cause trouble, and to live well.

I didn't go out to find my brother and sister, and I didn't go downstairs to greet the adults - I didn't know what to say. I was alone in my cramped room, the dim daylight flickering under the curtains. Staying in the cold, in the countryside they are accustomed to growing from under their feet every winter day. I let out a long yawn and sleepwalked as I looked at every bit of the room, from the two cobwebs that remained on the ceiling to the bugs in the corners that never took off. I watched it for a long, long time, and thought I could watch it for as long as I wanted, long enough to imagine a cowering spider crawling from the corner of a wall to the roof.

But I got up, and walked around the second floor again, like a king who patrols his realm in the early morning twilight. I didn't want to look for anything, and I didn't find anything until I saw a book on the table from my brother's family's room. Selected Literary Works of the Chinese Dynasties. I took it back to my room, leaned on the bed and looked through the quilts piled up like a hill. The first song I turned to is called "Bitter Cold Xing", and the author is Cao Cao. When I was in the first year of junior high school, we studied "Watching the Sea" and "Turtle Although Shou", and I also knew "Tanka Xing", and this poem was the first time I had heard of it. [1]

Go north to Taihang Mountain, it is difficult He Weiwei! The sheep intestines are bent, and the wheels are destroyed.

The trees are gloomy, and the north wind is sad. The bear squatted at me, and the tiger and leopard cried in the middle of the road.

There are few people in the valley, and the snow falls on He Feifei! Stretch your neck and sigh, and travel far away.

My heart is so depressed that I want to return to the east. The bridge is deep in water, and the middle road is wandering.

Confused and lost, there is no shelter in the twilight. The day of travel is far away, and the people and horses are hungry at the same time.

Carry the bag to get paid, and the axe and ice are held as minc. The poem "Dongshan" makes me mourn. [2]

It doesn't seem to be similar to the previous ambitious poems, but it's very bleak to read. To put it bluntly, I was even colder, so cold that I wanted to spread out the futon behind me, retract it, and clump it together. But maybe it doesn't work, I know that neither the jacket nor the quilt can generate heat, they are not a source of heat. It's too cold in the countryside.

Taihang Mountain is also very cold. It's in the north, I know. In the "Problem Solving", it is said that this poem was written on Cao Cao's way to conquer Gao Gan. Yangjiban, annotated to refer to the road from Qinyang to Jincheng via Tianjingguan. Saka, slope. Twists and turns. I guess the road got its name from the twisting and turning of a sheep's intestines. If I go now, I'm afraid that I will not only be frozen and hungry like Cao Cao on Taihang Mountain, but I will also vomit unconscious on the winding mountain road. The most terrible thing about driving is that you want to vomit, but the car is bumpy and can't stop, the smell of gasoline is pervasive into the body, and people can't stick their heads out of the window, so they can only find something to follow. But not all bags are airtight, and if you spit out, you may find something dripping onto your shoes, and a cart of fishy smell. A nightmare that I can't control my stomach and I can't control my disgusting behavior of others. Did Cao Cao get motion sickness? Probably not. But he was nothing more than walking halfway and wanting to go back. When it gets dark, I can't find a place to live, and I have to go up the mountain to cut wood, dig ice and get water, and everyone will be homesick. It's just that he can't stop.

There are also notes in the last few sentences, so I didn't read them anymore and flipped a few pages back.

The autumn wind is bleak and the weather is cool, and the grass and trees shake and fall into frost.

The group of swallows resigned to the south of the wild goose, and read the gentleman's thoughts and broken intestines.

Thinking about returning to your hometown, what is drowning and sending to others?

The cheap concubine kept the empty room, and she didn't dare to forget it, and she didn't feel that her clothes were stained with tears.

The strings of the piano are cleared, and the short song cannot be long.

The bright moon shines on my bed, and the stars and Han flow west at night.

Morning glory and weaver girls look at each other from afar, why should you live up to the river beam? [3]

Really well written. The note under the title also says that this is the earliest surviving seven-character poem in the history of Chinese literature, and the poet also wrote an important essay that opened up the atmosphere of literary criticism. But I don't like this man, and we haven't seen any of his works in class before, except that he is called "Sancao" along with his father and younger brother - there seems to be a "Seven Sons", and I only know that one of them is Kong Rong, who has made pears, and when I was a child, I always heard his name as "dinosaur". "Dinosaurs make pears", it seems that there is nothing remarkable, and no matter how big the pears are, they are also one by one.

It seems that since listening to the teacher tell their story, this person is a bad brother in my memory. Neither his father's talent nor his younger brother's talent. Jealous of his brother, afraid of his brother, regardless of his brotherhood, he was bent on putting him to death. Ruthless, mean, and unkind, I hate him, totally hateful.

But he wrote very good poetry. This "Yan Ge Xing" is much more wonderful than the "Seven Steps Poem" that we memorize so well in our primary school textbooks - it is not very fair to compare, after all, "Seven Steps Poem" only has a few sentences. I never thought that this person would have such a gentle and sensitive sorrow. I have probably thought of myself, I have also spent a lot of time standing silently in front of the mirror, or lying on the windowsill and balcony, as if thinking about something, as if I can't think of anything, sometimes people just can't think about too long or too many things, can only be quietly in a daze, without making a sound. But sometimes, I still can't help but think about it, I think when I see the bright moon and breeze, I think about it when I see the fluttering stars, and I can't help but cry when I think about it.

But does this person deserve sympathy? The pain he had experienced, the loneliness he was destined to endure, was nothing but the result of what he had done. It was he who chose to be alone.

I don't want to read him, although he writes it well, but it always makes me a little uncomfortable, maybe a little scared, reading it, as if a flickering shadow is flickering in the corner of the room, following me every step of the way. I pulled my feet together, fending in vain against the rising chill, and flipped back to the book.

I just thought that my brother's poems were short. The head that catches your eye is so long that it has five full pages of notes. Fortunately, we didn't use this book as a textbook, and Mr. Huang didn't ask us to "read aloud and memorize the whole text". But now that I saw it, I decided to read it to the end, and, to figure it out, every word of the word. I don't know why I'm so serious all of a sudden, as if I'm gambling with someone, maybe it's just too cold, and I'm too bored.

"Gift to the White Horse Wang Biao". I am still quite familiar with the Three Kingdoms, but I have never heard of Wang Biao. After looking down at the two lines of "Problem solving", I realized that it was written to Cao Biao, the king of the white horse. The poem is in order, and it turns out that there is a story behind this poem. To put it simply, it was Cao Zhi and his elder brother Cao Zhang and younger brother Cao Biao who went to the capital to meet the emperor. Cao ZhangI know that Cao Zhi's brother is a brave general. Cao Cao once urged him to study, but he said that he hoped to lead an army of 100,000 to gallop in the desert like Wei Qing and Huo Quai, make meritorious contributions, and defend the country. Cao Cao later asked him about his ambition, and he said that he wanted to be a general, and Cao Cao asked him how he should be, and he replied that he was stubborn and stubborn, regardless of difficulties, and took the lead in the battle, with clear rewards and punishments. Cao Cao, as a father, appreciated it very much after hearing it. I don't know why, I have a deep impression of these things, probably every boy has such a heroic dream, Cao Zhi seems to have written a poem to praise the soldiers who sacrificed their lives in the northern frontier. It's just that there aren't many people who have the ability and the opportunity to take on ambitions. After Cao Zhang stepped on the battlefield of his dreams, he did what he said, charged into battle, invincible, and what was even more commendable was that he was not greedy for merit, won the hearts of the army, and was affirmed by his father and brother and the soldiers of the three armies. [4]

However, this fierce general, who had been brave on the battlefield, died inexplicably during this Hajj. It should not be called "death", note 4 says, the death of the princes is called "薨", not to mention that today is the thirtieth year of the Chinese New Year's Eve, maybe it is better to say "old"? But he was not old, thirty-five years old. According to the commentary, according to the record of "Shishuo Xinyu", Cao Zhang was poisoned by his brother. I don't know if it's true or not, but if it's true, it doesn't seem surprising.

The three brothers came to the capital together, but when they left, only two of them remained. What's more, the person in charge also demanded that Cao Zhi and Cao Biao must be separated on the way back to the fiefdom, without any regard for the pain of their bereaved relatives. So, Cao Zhi, who was in grief and indignation, wrote this long poem when he was separated from his younger brother Cao Biao.

"What will the sun do? Destiny is against me. However, I thought of the same life, and I never returned. The lonely soul soars to the homeland, and the coffin is sent to the Beijing division. The survivors suddenly recovered, and died and decayed. Life is in a lifetime, go to the morning and dew. The year is in the mulberry elm, and the impact cannot be chased. Self-care is not a golden stone, and it makes the heart sad. "Reading this in one breath, it was as if something that had been blocked in my chest suddenly swallowed into my throat, and what I wanted to express for a long time but could not express was felt and written by another person thousands of years ago, and this person is the best poet of an era and even a nation. He has long since turned into an inconspicuous wind and sand in history, and his poems have become the golden stone that he cannot become, which has lasted for a long time and appeared in front of my small eyes by chance. [5]

"The lonely soul soars to the homeland, and the coffin is sent to the Beijing Division", it turns out that people are so lonely when they die, and their bodies will be buried and forgotten with the coffin for a long, long time, but the soul that has been extremely heroic has always been wandering and cannot find a home. It is no wonder that "the survivors have suddenly recovered, and the dead have died and decayed", whether living or dying, people are irreversibly disappearing. "The year is in the mulberry elm", the mulberry elm refers to the old age, I know. But the dead Cao Zhang is only thirty-five years old, and Cao Zhi, as his younger brother, is only in his early thirties, and now he has seen the end of his life at a glance.

Let's take a look, this paragraph can't be read for too long.

"My heart is sad and my god is abandoned. The husband is all over the world, and he is still next to each other for thousands of miles. Love is not lost, and it is close to each other in the distance. Why bother with the same and then show your fear? Worry becomes a disease, and there is no kindness for children! "It's still relieved to see this. It turned out that the "confidant in the sea, if the end of the world is next to each other" and "inaction is on the wrong path, the children are on the wrong path" are all based on the poems of their predecessors, and there is another Wang Bo on the long line from me to Cao Zhi now. 衾, big quilt. Tents, tents. "Sleeping in the same bed" means sleeping in the same bed. "Why bother with the same family, and then show cowardice", they are no longer children, and naturally they don't have to sleep together at this age to feel the affection between each other. [6]

However, it's better to be a child. When you grow up, you always have your own room, and your own bed is essential before that. The days of being able to lie down and talk late will only get fewer and fewer. Why do people have to distance themselves from each other when they grow up? I don't know, sometimes I want to be away from people, and sometimes I want them to be there so that I can hear their breathing in their sleep. People are so strange.

Maybe you shouldn't think so much, "Worry becomes a disease, and there is no kindness for children", people still have to be open-minded, Cao Zhi can still see it after all.

Wait a minute. There is also a sentence in this passage that ends with a conspicuous and large question mark after a long dash.

"In a hurry, can you not have hardship?" [7]

It turned out that Cao Zhi had comforted his younger brother for so long, but in the end he couldn't even convince himself. The reality of life and death makes the seemingly lofty sentence fall in an instant, and the so-called open-mindedness is just a bleak self-talk in the face of cruel trauma. It is no wonder that the last paragraph of the next paragraph will perceive that "the letter of the mandate of heaven is suspicious", will understand that "the change is in Sisu, who can hold it for a hundred years", and will helplessly ask "There will be no parting, when will the hand be held" and do not answer, can only wipe away tears and put away the pen and ink, and say goodbye to the living brother.

In the end, this darkness cannot be easily whitewashed. The battlefield and the reunion of brothers and sisters were nothing more than a vain and superfluous dream, not even a desolate autumn night in the wilderness, only the cold and impatient urging under the vigilant eyes of the messenger. In addition to the irrepressible sadness and sorrow, Cao Zhi, who shines brightly in the entire history of Chinese literature, is left with only dry tears and a dull sigh.

I dropped my books and lay on the sandbag-like quilt that I had piled up, like a soldier hiding in a trench, looking for a sense of security. His feet were cold and numb, and he couldn't move, but his mind was groggy, like waking up from a dream that was too far away and too cold, surrounded by endless rain, puddles of water that could not be dried, and mud that could not be washed. I kicked off my shoes, endured the numbing pain, moved my legs completely to the bed, and involuntarily crossed my knees, trying to curl up, but I didn't know what to do. The eyelids drooped, and sleepiness fell heavily from the ceiling, squeezing the sluggish brain little by little.

"Hey, long time no see."

A voice that was both familiar and somewhat forgotten. But I'm not sure who is making that sound. No one seems to have said anything, just half-asleep hallucinations. But I opened my eyes. Someone's coming. The visitor opened the door at the end of the narrow room, and the rays of the setting sun shone in his flushed face.

"Coming back?" It was as if he was asking me, but he didn't move, and he didn't move his lips. I was staring blankly as he walked towards me. It's still the same as in the past, the face, the shape, the light walking posture and the smile that always hangs on the face.

"It's back. Me, and you. Is that so? ”

I looked at the boy who looked exactly like me and asked. It must be him, there is only one person in this world.

[1] The three poems here, as well as the solutions and annotations, are from the second volume of Selected Chinese Literary Works of the Past Dynasties, edited by Zhu Dongrun, Shanghai Ancient Books Publishing House, 2002. The poems in the book are all in traditional Chinese, which has been translated into simplified Chinese here.

[2] Vernacular translation (from Zhang Peiheng, Anping, Qiuma, Zhanggen. Selected Translations of Ancient Literary and Historical Masterpieces Series 3 Selected Translations of Cao Poems. NJ City: Phoenix Press, 2011: pp. 24-25):

The northern expedition climbed the Taihang Mountain, and the mountains were high and difficult!

The road is really rugged, and the wheels are broken all the way.

The wind blows the trees, and the north wind howls and howls.

Xiong Zhen squatted on the road to me, and the tiger and leopard howled wildly.

The valley is desolate and uninhabited, and the snow is falling all over the sky.

Looking up into the distance, he sighed loudly, and his thoughts were like a tide after a long journey.

I was so depressed and depressed that I really wanted to go back to my hometown.

The bridge was cut off and the army wandered halfway.

The march was lost and disoriented, and there was no place to stay in the evening.

Walking and walking and walking for a long time, people are tired, thirsty and hungry.

Carrying his bags, he chopped wood while walking, chiseled ice and cooked porridge to satisfy his hunger.

Thinking of the poem "Dongshan", I was deeply touched by my sadness.

(Actually, I feel that Ke Ke is still tender, and he can't read "Dongshan" and Zhou Gong.) ）

[3] Vernacular translation (from the Ancient Poetry Network):

The autumn wind is bleak, the weather is cold, the grass and trees are falling, and the white dew is frosty.

The swallows resigned, and the geese flew south. I miss my lover who travels far away, and my liver and intestines are broken.

Thinking about rushing and missing my hometown. Why did you stay elsewhere for a long time.

The concubine is lonely and empty in the boudoir, and when she is sad, she misses the gentleman, I can't forget it. Before I knew it, tears were falling and my clothes were wet.

took the guqin, plucked the strings, but let out a trace of complaint. The tanka groaned softly, as if it was interrupted and broken.

The bright moonlight shone on my empty bed, and the stars flowed westward, and I was worried about the long night.

Morning Glory and Weaver Girl watched each other from afar, what kind of sin did you have to be blocked by the heavenly river?

[4] The poem by Cao Zhi mentioned here is "The White Horse". "Donating your body to go to the country, seeing death as if you were going home."

[5] Here is the fifth stanza of the poem.

Vernacular translation (from Ancient Poetry Network):

What is the use of a long sigh? Destiny has gone against my will! How could I have thought that my brother of my compatriot would never return to his body once he was gone! The lonely soul flies in the former homeland, but the coffin is stored in the imperial capital. Those who are still alive will pass away in a moment, the dead are gone, and my body has weakened on its own. A short life living in this world is suddenly like dew dried in the morning. The years have reached the twilight of the mulberry year, and the light, shadow and sound are irretrievable. Self-reflection is not a golden stone, and I am full of sorrow when I sigh in frustration.

[6] Vernacular translation (from the Ancient Poetry Network):

The sadness of my state of mind touched my physical spirit, and I hope to abandon my sorrow and not repeat my sorrow. The husband should be ambitious all over the world, even if they are thousands of miles apart, they are like neighbors. If the love of brothers has not diminished, and the separation from afar will deepen the friendship between you and me, why do we have to sleep together to convey your and my courtesy? Excessive worry can lead to illness, so don't indulge in the fetters of childlike affection.

[7] It's just the love of flesh and blood that is given up in a hurry, how can it not make people feel sad and bitter? (Translation from Ancient Poetry Network)