Yiluo River Travel Notes 11 (excerpt)

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Yihe and Luohe, like two little sisters holding hands, merge into one at a place called Yuetan. The Yiluo River is a female river, just like the concubine Mi of the Luo Shen in Cao Zhi's works, floating through the Black Stone Pass, flowing over the white sand beach, winding around the arms of Mang Mountain, and falling into the embrace of the Yellow River. The last section of the Yiluo River is also called the Qing River, which is compared to the muddy yellow color of the Yellow River. But Qinghe gives me a far better feeling than the name Qinghe. When I first saw her more than ten years ago, it influenced my yearning for her to a considerable extent. The yellow color of the Yellow River is due to the combination of natural loess and sediment, while the Qinghe River is filled with too much man-made pollution. It looks clear, but is actually more poisonous. Wastewater from factories along the coast and domestic sewage from residents are poured into the river at will. But this kind of clear and yellow does not affect the wonder of the confluence of Heluo River at all. The Yiluo River from the south and the Yellow River from the east converge at the break of Mang Mountain, forming a Tai Chi diagram of the interaction of yin and yang on the wide water surface. The filth of industry has dyed the Yiluo River into a dirty river, but it cannot take away her charm. She may be dirty, but she must be solemn. After all, the Yiluo River has nurtured the Heluo civilization for thousands of years and laid the blood of Chinese civilization. In the eyes of literati, the Yiluo River is like a beautiful woman on the other side of the water, which is vividly described in Cao Zhi's "Ode to the Goddess of Luo". Luoshen is the incarnation of Fuxi's daughter who drowned in Luoshui in legend; another theory seems more reasonable, that she is just the "dream lover" of this passionate "second-generation official". Cao Zhi couldn't help his beautiful sister-in-law, so he could only integrate his unrequited love into graceful and delicate words. In the eyes of ordinary people, the Yiluo River is just an ordinary river. She may have blocked cross-strait exchanges, but she also nurtured the people on both sides. Living by the river, living by the river, hard work, hard survival. In the past, river transportation was developed here, and generations of merchants, such as the Kang Wanwan family, were wealthy. The luxurious landowners' manors still stand on the banks of the Yiluo River. And more importantly, she supported countless families and multiplied generations of Heluo descendants. Moreover, it has nurtured generations of Chinese civilization and nourished the souls of the Chinese people, such as "Hetu Luoshu", "Yin Yang Tai Chi", Xingfo Temple, Grotto Temple, Longquan Temple, Baiyun Temple, etc. Once upon a time, she was violent and violent, breaking down the dams on both sides of the river bank and destroying the fertile farmland on both sides of the bank. That's why the Kowloon King Temple and the Hedu Temple were built. I love walking this land alone. Reminisce about the past in the dusk, imagine the future in the morning light, feel the joy of today, and enjoy ordinary happiness. In the afterglow of the setting sun, I often stroll where the rivers and rivers converge, watching the sunset over the long river and listening to the bells of the Buddhist temples. The sunset is infinitely beautiful, but I feel inexplicably lost. Like a defeated soldier who lies alone in the grass after being injured. Listening to the chirping of birds in the trees, my eyes moistened. Looking at the river embankment, beach, sand, grassland, reeds, egrets, cattle and sheep, as well as snails, clams and jumping fish, I suddenly found that there is still a little bit of fantasy left in my life. In the morning mist, I often stroll along the white sand embankment, watching egrets circling and listening to the noisy roar of modern industry. Outside the river embankment, the locust flowers are falling slightly, pear fruits are gradually forming, the grass is lush and the water is shallow. On the beach, clam shells and carrion fish are scattered in the sand and mud, and long-legged white swans stand by the shallow water, waiting for their hunting targets to appear. When the sun first shines, it feels hot. Fortunately, the gentle breeze from the river took away most of the heat. I walked aimlessly, thinking endlessly, thinking about life, life, and life itself. Stepping on the soft beach, breathing in the earthy smell in the air, and being close to the earth, everything in front of you is so beautiful. Clusters of lush reeds whisper softly, and I think of the words of French Pascal: Man is a thinking reed. Reeds are ordinary and fragile. They lack wisdom and spirituality and sway in the wind. But people have their own opinions and thoughts, and people are the most intelligent creatures. In the sky and clouds, the fisherman is as steady as a sculpture. The machine roars in the distance and the birds sing nearby. Life is happy, life is happy.

I stood on the embankment of the Yellow River and looked for it. Where the two rivers converged, there was no longer a distinct Yin-Yin Tai Chi vortex. The Yiluo River quietly fell into the embrace of the Yellow River, neither surprised nor happy. But on the beach not far away, there were farmers working hard in groups of three or three. There are thousands of acres of fertile land here. Compared with the scattered ruins of Xingluocang, this is a continuous natural granary. It was like taking a quick tour, but every ruin left a deep or shallow impression on me. Nowadays, highway transportation is so convenient that it only takes a day to go around. However, I am a little envious of the once developed water transportation here. Perhaps, it would be more interesting to sit on a boat and go up or down the river. A small boat floats in the Yiluo River, with weeping willows blowing on both sides. On the river, some people are fishing with nets, some are swinging in the water, and fishermen's songs are echoed in response. The blue sky is reflected in the river, with microwaves rippling on the surface, fish rising and falling, and frogs chirping high and low. The fishing boats singing late, the spring willows on the Si River, the white sand gulls and egrets, the dangerous black stone pass, the bells of the Buddhist temple, the late crossing of Yangcun, the confluence of Shigu, etc., are like ink landscape paintings. The leaves of the wild polygonum are red, and the sand gulls are dancing in the sunset wind. Beyond the long haze trailing thousands of miles away, a short canopy sounded in the willows. Wherever I go, people call me Nan'an. I always win horses and stand up in spring. Xuanji is too lazy to ask about the way out. After singing the fishing song, the moon is already in the east. The boat is leisurely, the water is leisurely, it is a joy to swim, and it is like sitting in the cradle of childhood as it rocks and rocks into the arms of the mother of the Yellow River. I remember the children's song I sang when I was a kid: Shake, shake, shake to Grandma's Bridge. This is the most familiar memory, this is the warmest yearning.