I went back to my dorm room, took a shower, soaked my mud-stained laundry in the water, and fell headlong into bed, ready to sleep all night. However, when I closed my eyes, there was always a picture of Zen Master Banyuan asking me to refrain from divorcing Ling Bo, and every word that came out of his mouth was like the bell on the immortal stone of the Mid-Mountain Tower. I had to open my eyes and let the bells disappear from the tiled pillars.

I sat up from the bed and shook my head. Prepare to meet Limbo.

The courtyard was filled with sunlight and was as soft as water. There are many withered peach leaves scattered along the stone road, bees and butterflies are infested in the grass, the sky is as blue as water, and the white clouds are nowhere to be seen. I pushed open the old wooden door, and a cold wind blew, carrying a few petals, and landed on my shoulder.

Time flies, and in a blink of an eye, it's early autumn. I glanced back at the old two-story building with blue bricks and gray tiles. It used to be a place where Taoyao lived, but now the empty beams of the house and the bleak courtyard are filled with cold winds.

On Guanglan Street in the morning, it is like stepping back in time to a singularity. Everything near and far was silent. There were two old men standing in front of the soy milk shop, with leaky mouths, speaking a strange language. A group of black dogs ran out of the alley, chasing a group of big dogs behind, and the barking of dogs was like stones falling all over Guanglan Street, and then melted away in an instant.

More than 100 years ago, the place where I lived was still a gathering place for officials and nobles. Later, a substation was built two kilometers away, and the rich moved to Mt. Aoba, where Ling Bo and my uncle lived. Now it is all wooden and blue-tiled houses, some of which are crooked, and can only be supported by the shoulders of neighbors. The streets are paved with granite, and the deep stone surface has been polished unusually smooth over the years, and when the rain passes, people passing by will unconsciously provoke a hip dance.

In the middle of the road, there is a hundred-year-old banyan tree, which hangs straight to the ground, full of historical remains. Residents from near and far set up stalls around the trunk of the tree, shouting to attract customers. In the evening, clean up the vegetable stalls and consciously clean until all the noise is gone.

Whether I go to Mt. Aoba in Lingbo or to White Deer Academy, I have to go through the streets of Guanglan. Time flies by on me, and Guanglan Street is still the same, and even the people have not changed.

I stopped in front of a small shop, and the owner was a shriveled old man, and everyone called him Lao Jin, a bachelor. I like to sit on the door with a cigarette stick in my mouth and watch the people coming and going on the street.

"Boss a bottle of mineral water"

"If you don't look for money, just put it there"

"Good"

"Going to school?"

"No, meet a friend"

He knocked his pipe on the threshold, knocking out the ash. Pinch a pinch of dark brown tobacco from the glass jar at your feet and put it in your pipe. I struck a match and sucked it hard as I lit it. It wasn't until thick smoke erupted from the corners of his mouth that he threw away the burnt matches.

After spitting out an eye circle, he glanced at me: "Someone was looking for you just now"

"Who?" anyone who can find me knows where I live, I thought.

His name is Shanbi, and in the teahouse on the second floor opposite, "Lao Jin doesn't like cafes, so he keeps calling it a teahouse."

Since graduating from high school, I haven't seen each other for more than a year. Shanbi doesn't like contacts, and I'm troubled by everything.

Limbo knew him, but because of his coldness, he was almost a stranger. I don't know how he was doing this year. Yamabi is one of the smartest I know.

He missed more than 200 classes in a semester, but he was still admitted to Guanshan University with the top five grades in the country.

At the age of 15, he published a paper in the World Science and Technology Monthly.

His father opened an auction house in the capital, and he was a typical rich second generation, but he liked to come to the small countryside to be with us wild children, running all over the mountains.

He knew almost every bird, every tree, every stone on the mountain.

He's like a library, you never know how much he's hiding in his head.

He once broke the bone of his hand and didn't say a word, and he was often inexplicable, listening to music and crying alone.

He has a changeable temperament, sometimes gentle, sometimes rough.

He said that the world is a bastard, and insisted on doing public welfare once a week.

His wisdom is unmatched, and he asked me in the dead of night what man lives for.

He has a face that would make entertainment stars jealous, and he always fills his desk with love letters every day, but he sneers at love.

Yamabi is a poor man. When the principal of Guanshan School came to pick him up in Liuye Village in person, he refused, and he was angry because he had to choose Guanshan College, I thought so for a while.

As much good as the heavens give you, it must give you as much harm as it does on one end of the scale.

That's what it does to the mountain pen.