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Hurry Zhu Ziqing

The swallows have gone, but there will be a time when they come back; the willows have withered, but there is a time when they will be green again; the peach blossoms have faded, but there will be a time when they bloom again. But tell me, wise one, why are our days gone forever? ——Someone stole them: who is that? Where is it hidden? It's just that they escaped on their own: where are they now?

I don’t know how many days they gave me; but my hands are becoming increasingly empty. Counting silently, more than eight thousand days have slipped by my hands; just like drops of water on a needle's tip dripping into the ocean, my days have been dripping into the flow of time, without sound or shadow. I couldn't help but feel dizzy and burst into tears.

Even though what has gone has gone, and what has come is still coming; how hurried is it in between? When I got up in the morning, two or three slanting sun beams came into the hut. The sun has feet, and it moves on gently and quietly; I also spin along with it aimlessly. Thus--when I wash my hands, the days pass by the sink; when I eat, the days pass by the rice bowl; when I am silent, the days pass by before my gazeful eyes. I can feel his haste now, so I reach out my hands to hold him back, but he keeps flowing past my withholding hands. In the evening, as I lie in bed, he will stride over my body and fly past my feet in his agile way. Went. When I open my eyes and see the sun again, another day has slipped away. I hid my face and sighed. But the shadow of the new days began to flash through the sigh again.

What can I do in this world of thousands of households in the days when I am escaping like flying away? There is only wandering, nothing but hurrying; in the rush of more than eight thousand days, what is left but wandering? The past days are like light smoke, blown away by the breeze, like mist, evaporated by the early sun; what traces do I leave behind? Have I ever left traces like gossamers? I came to this world naked, will I go back naked in a blink of an eye? But I can't get over it, why do I have to go through this life in vain?

You smart man, tell me, why are our days gone forever?

Moonlight over the Lotus Pond Zhu Ziqing

My heart has been quite uneasy these days. Tonight, I was sitting in the yard enjoying the shade, and suddenly I thought of the lotus pond I walked past every day. In the light of the full moon, the moonlight over the lotus pond must have a different look.

The moon was gradually rising, and the laughter of the children on the road outside the wall could no longer be heard; my wife was patting Runer in the house and humming a lullaby in a daze. I quietly put on my coat, closed the door and went out. Along the lotus pond is a winding small cinder road. This is a secluded road; few people walk it during the day, and it is even more lonely at night. There are many trees growing around the lotus pond, which are lush and lush. On one side of the road are some willows and some trees whose names I don’t know. On a moonless night, the road was eerie and a bit scary. Tonight is very good, although the moonlight is still faint. I was the only one on the road, walking with my hands behind my back. This world seemed to belong to me; I also seemed to have transcended my ordinary self and entered another world. I love being lively and calm; I love being in groups and being alone. Like tonight, a person can think about anything and think about nothing alone under this vast moonlight, and he feels like a free person. Whatever you must do or say during the day can be ignored now. This is the beauty of being alone. Let me just enjoy the boundless lotus fragrance and moonlight. On the surface of the twists and turns of the lotus pond could be seen fields of leaves. The leaves are high out of the water, like the skirts of a graceful dancer. Among the layers of leaves, white flowers are dotted here and there, some are blooming gracefully, some are holding their petals shyly; just like individual bright pearls, or stars in the blue sky, and some are like stars in the blue sky. Like a beauty just out of the bath. The breeze passed by, bringing wisps of fragrance, like the faint singing from a tall building in the distance. At that time, the leaves and flowers also trembled slightly, like lightning, which immediately spread across the lotus pond. The leaves were densely packed side by side, and there seemed to be a ripple of solid blue. Under the leaves are veins of running water, which are covered and some colors cannot be seen; but the leaves are even more beautiful. The moonlight is like flowing water, quietly flowing on this leaf and flower.

Thin green mist floats in the lotus pond. The leaves and flowers seem to have been washed in milk; they are also like a dream wrapped in a veil. Although it was a full moon, there was a thin layer of clouds in the sky, so it couldn't shine brightly; but I thought this was just the right thing - a sound sleep is essential, but a nap also has its own flavor. The moonlight shines through the trees, and the dense shrubs high up cast jagged and mottled black shadows, as steep as ghosts; the sparse shadows of the curved willows seem to be painted on lotus leaves. The moonlight in the pond is not uniform; but the light and shadow have a harmonious melody, like the famous music played on the Fan Erling (English transliteration of violin). The lotus pond is surrounded by trees, far and near, high and low, among which willows are the most numerous. These trees surrounded a lotus pond; only a few gaps were left on the side of the path, as if they were specially left for the moonlight. The color of the trees is gloomy, and at first glance they look like a cloud of smoke; but the beauty of the willows can also be distinguished in the smoke. Faintly looming above the treetops are distant mountains, just a general outline. There are one or two street lights leaking through the cracks in the trees, looking listless like sleepy eyes. The liveliest sounds at this time were the cicadas chirruping on the trees and the frogs croaking in the water; but the excitement was theirs and I enjoyed nothing. Suddenly I remembered the lotus picking thing. Picking lotus is an old custom in the south of the Yangtze River. It seems to have existed very early, and it was most popular during the Six Dynasties. We can roughly know it from poetry. Those who picked lotus were young women. They went in boats and sang erotic songs. Needless to say, there are many people picking lotus, and there are also people watching lotus picking. It was a lively season and also a romantic season. Emperor Yuan of the Liang Dynasty said it well in "Poem of Picking Lotus": So the demon girl Yuan (yuán) is willing to go boating; the kite (yì) head slowly returns, and the feather cup is passed; It is about to move but Pingkai opens. Her waist is slender and her clothes are tied tightly, and her steps are delayed. At the beginning of summer and after spring, when the leaves are young and the flowers are blooming, she smiles for fear of getting her clothes wet, and pulls her clothes back for fear of capsizing the boat. It can be seen that there was a lot of fun at that time. This is really interesting stuff, but it’s a pity that we are no longer lucky enough to enjoy it. Then I remembered the sentence in "Xizhou Song": I am picking lotuses in Nantang in autumn, and the lotus flowers are more than human heads; I lower my head to pick up the lotus seeds, which are as clear as water. If there are lotus pickers tonight, the lotus flowers here will be considered "outstanding"; just a few shadows of running water will not do. This makes me miss Jiangnan after all. ——Thinking like this, I suddenly raised my head and found that I was already in front of my own door. I pushed the door gently and walked in. There was no sound. My wife had been asleep for a long time. July 1927, Tsinghua University, Beijing.

Respect for life

Zhang Xiaofeng

It was an extremely long afternoon in summer, by a lake in Indiana. I was sitting and reading casually at first, and suddenly I noticed a few trees by the lake. Some white fibers are drifting away. Big clumps, like cotton, some floating on the grass, some floating like in the lake. I didn't pay much attention at the time, it was just caused by the wind blowing by chance.

However, gradually I found that the situation was simply surprising. Several hours have passed, and the trees are still sending those small clouds unconsciously, as if they are an infinite cloud bank. The sky was filled with that kind of thing all afternoon and all evening. The next day was exactly the same, I was surprised and shocked.

In fact, when I was in primary school, I knew that there was a type of seed that was spread by wind blowing fibers. But I only knew the answer to a test question. I really saw it in those days, and what I felt in my heart was a kind of admiration - an indescribable awe. I encountered life almost for the first time—albeit a plant one.

I felt that the cloud-like seeds collided with something strongly in my heart. I can't help but be moved by the luxurious, extravagant and investment in life regardless of cost. Perhaps, after drifting day and night, only one seed is enough to create a shade, but the Creator is happy to do such a thrilling feat.

To this day, I still think of that soft lake while meditating. I wonder which one of the seeds by the lake has become a small tree. At least, I know that one has grown. That seed once encountered a piece of land and became a shadow in the canyon of a passer-by's heart, teaching her how to revere life.

Autumn wind and autumn rain make people hide in the house with sadness

Ling Feng was riding a small boat alone, in the bright morning light, - the light mist was like light smoke, covering the lake and the hills. Ahead, dense clouds spread lazily in the valley. In the distance, the greenery is faint, and the purple mist is long. At this time, I feel very relaxed. The boatman shook his oars and sang a small tune. The boat has swung to the side of the reed bush. Ling Feng stood on the bow of the boat and looked around. He saw a patch of red and a few green reeds, and his eyes were full of autumn colors. She ordered the boatman to bring the boat to the shore. Stepping on the thin grass, I walked quietly forward and walked a stone's throw away. Suddenly she heard the chirping of wild geese in the sky, and when she looked up, she saw that the glow was colorless, the fog had disappeared, the clouds were high and the air was refreshing, and the wild geese flying from the north to the south were just like "the autumn wind is coming again in a year." She leaned against the lone tree and lamented.

Many mountain tourists sang Longtou Water Song on the opposite peak with a sad tone. She stood dejectedly when she suddenly saw an isolated grave in the woods. Surrounding the isolated grave were maple leaves after frost, which were brighter than blood and shone brightly in her eyes. The mournful cicada in the treetops screamed, as if complaining of the sorrow that was about to suffocate, and urged the weaver to sing and weep on the grass. In the cold autumn colors and autumn sounds, she suddenly remembered that she had murmured here five years ago, "Autumn wind and autumn rain are sad. "!

She walked involuntarily towards the solitary grave and saw broken stele and tablets standing beside the grave. The moss was stained and the handwriting was blurred. She picked up a tile from the ground and scraped away the moss to reveal a few pieces. The inscription is "The Tomb of the Female Martyr Qiu Jin".

"Oh! Heroine". She whispered softly! I feel my heart surge. Buried deep in this loess pit are the rotten bones of a wonderful heroine more than ten years ago. The slightly cold westerly wind that night blew the pine trees in front of the courtyard, emitting a sad song, and the rustling autumn rain dripped on the sycamore leaves. She was sitting under the window, her shadow hanging alone, when suddenly she saw the door curtain move, and a woman with a heroic face came in, with a panic look on her face. She hurriedly blew out the lamp on the table and whispered: "Mei Ling is really in danger, please If you lead me out through the back garden door of your house, they will follow me if I am late," Ling Feng panicked inexplicably! They walked along the gravel path in the garden in the rain, turned north, and saw the back door outside the bamboo fence. Ling Feng opened the back door, sent her out, quickly closed it and ran into the house. Before he could sit down, he heard someone knocking on the front door! She managed to calm down and looked at her mother in the room. She was already asleep and her father had not come back yet. The timepiece on the wall was pointing at ten o'clock. The gatekeeper Lao Wang came in and said: There are two detectives outside who want to see the master. I told him that the master is not at home. He said that he seemed to have seen a woman entering our house just now. She was a revolutionary party. If she is here, she must be arrested immediately. She hands it over, otherwise we will all be implicated. Ling Feng said: "You told him that no one came in. Maybe he saw it wrong. If you don't believe me, just ask him to come in and search..."

The mother had woken up from her dream because she asked: "What happened?" ?" Lao Wang replied to his mother as he had said before, as if he had already expected what was going on, so he pushed up the pillow and said, "Come next door and call the young master of the Li family... If something happens in the middle of the night, it will be fine." Wang hurriedly invited the young master of the Li family, and his mother asked him to negotiate with the two detectives... and this terrible trouble was avoided.

Ling Feng secretly told his mother what happened just now, and her mother couldn't help but sigh: "Your aunt and uncle died early, and it's a pity that she was left an orphan... and she was born with an arrogant temper. I am so happy to fight against injustice, and now I have become a revolutionary party, hey! What if something unexpected happens? I couldn't help but shed tears... Zhong Lingfeng's father came back at about twelve o'clock. Hearing the news, he was worried all night. In the storm last night I wonder where she is hiding? ...The cloud of fear has been covering Ling Feng's family." A few days later, a letter in Qiu Jin's handwriting came from the post office. Ling Feng's father hurriedly read:

My aunts and uncles, respectfully:

He escaped from the house the night before. It was windy and rainy. On the muddy road, people were racing behind the wheel, full of people. He planned to take the evening train north to evacuate, but unexpectedly, the police station was densely packed, and he was trapped in it. As soon as he arrived at the station, he was arrested. Although the charges were not announced, it was foreseeable that the future would be unlucky. But my nephew has been alone since he was a child, and his fate is unlucky. The country is troubled and devastated, and the mainland of China is in danger of sinking. Why waste his life! The decision to pledge one's life to the country's nephew was made early.

Although the sword is used by the axe, the heart remains unchanged, and the emperor's beautiful coat is destroyed in the hands of the smelly Manchu people. Who can not split the canthus in order to cleanse the snow and recover? The nephew was not stupid, but admired the noble character of the beautiful Jade Mulan, and thought that he could serve the country. Unfortunately, he ended up in the net of the law. This is also his fate. But if we hope that the revolution will succeed, even if we die, we will still live, so what regrets will there be? However, I was loved and cherished by my uncle and aunt for a long time, and they taught me how to be here today. I am so deeply grateful that I will not repay the kindness in case it happens. Once it passes away, I will regret it! Say goodbye! Say goodbye! Linchu was in a state of despair and confusion. Su knock

Fu'an!

Niece Qiu Jin bids farewell

Since the news came, my mother cried all night. The next day, my father went around asking people to plead for mercy, but the court was most jealous of party members at this time. , even though she is a female prostitute, she will not be pardoned lightly. After seven days, she will be tied to the execution ground. My father did not dare to tell my mother this shocking news. He only said that he had asked someone to intercede for mercy or that she might be saved. My mother chanted the Buddha's name in the Buddhist hall every day, begging the Bodhisattva to have mercy and protect this poor niece.

The autumn rain has been continuous and the autumn wind has been blowing these past few days. Qiu Jin was imprisoned in a heavy prison with his hands and feet shackled. He was tortured day and night and was in great pain. His face was already pale and colorless. She sat in the corner of the wall, staring blankly at the wind and rain outside the iron window. Later, she chanted sadly: "The autumn wind and autumn rain are so sad!" After she finished reading this poem, she closed her eyes tightly, sometimes thinking about the horror of death. , but she finally smiled proudly. If her sacrifice can help the revolution succeed, this death is more important than Mount Tai. Is there any better way to die than this? Thinking of this, she was not only not afraid of death, but also looked forward to the day of death. The bright red blood of her heart was like the nectar in the Bodhisattva's bottle. She could save all living beings. The dead body lying beside the guillotine was a long-lasting memory, great and meaningful. ...

On the first day of the execution, her uncle asked many favors to see her, but he could only see her through the gap in the iron bars, and the time could not exceed five minutes. Qiu Jin's face had turned green and yellow at this time, her eyes were protruding, and she was very miserable. Her uncle reached in from the iron bars and held her shackles. He couldn't help but shed tears. Qiu Jin stared at his face, the blood in her eyes flowing down her cheeks. She smiled miserably and shook her head! She said sternly: "Uncle, take care!" Her heart was broken, and she fell to the ground in a daze. Her uncle stamped his feet outside and cried bitterly, but the five minutes were up and the jailer took him out.

At ten o'clock the next day, the road was busy with people. Guards passed by in groups, and soldiers with loaded guns also passed by in groups, each one majestic and murderous, killing one by one. Man, what does it feel like? Oh! Only God knows this.

Several prison cars carried many young heroes and patriots to the execution ground. In the last car was the heroine Qiu Jin. Ling Feng saw it from a distance and couldn't help crying with his heart cut. Some of the people watching the excitement on the street said inexplicably to these patriots who died for the country: "Are these revolutionaries?" Some seemed to understand the meaning of this matter, and just shook their heads and sighed slightly: " Poor!" The heroine in the last prison car appeared, surprising the people on the street, "Women can also be revolutionaries. This is really unprecedented news!"

These heroes were lying on the ground in an instant. On the execution ground, their souls had left this dusty world. Qiu Jin's body was buried in Pujiu Temple by her uncle.

Soon after, the revolution was successful, white cloth flags were hung in all provinces, the smelly Manchus fled in all directions from the gardens of the nobles, and the emperor abdicated. These patriots who died, Everyone felt proud, and people from all over came to pay homage to the seventy-two martyrs of Huanghuagang. Qiu Jinyou was one of the hard-working people. Due to public opinion, she was buried in the West Lake, which added a heroic appearance to the beautiful lake and mountains.

Ling Feng thought of this and looked at the scenery before his eyes. He saw weeds and poplars fluttering. He raised his head to the end of the world. Soldiers were at war for years. The country was changing day by day. What would happen to this deeply buried heroic soul? Live everywhere! Where is the ideal society and country? She couldn't help but feel a surge of sadness. She knocked on the broken stone tablet and chanted loudly:

"The ancient road in the maple forest is full of smoke and grass,

Where to call the soul!

And this -

The autumn wind and autumn rain are so sad!

She is in trouble! When her heart was lost, Zhouzi came to urge her on the road. Ling Feng lazily walked out of the maple forest and walked to the lake. When she looked back, the red polygonum and fresh maples were like the blood of a hero. She couldn't help but sigh sadly. After getting on the boat, the boat paddled forward casually. No matter what the person's mood was, he still sang a small tune. Only the slanting wind and drizzle on the lake helped her sigh!

Genius Dream Zhang Ailing

I am a weird girl. I have been regarded as a genius since I was a child. I have no other goal of living except to develop my genius. However, when my childhood fantasies gradually faded, I discovered that I had nothing but the dream of genius—all but the eccentric shortcomings of genius. The world forgives Wagne for his arrogance, but they will not forgive me. With a little American publicity, maybe I'd be hailed as a prodigy. I could recite Tang poetry when I was three years old. I still remember standing swaying in front of the wicker chair of a Manchu relic and reciting "Shang girls don't know the hatred of their country's subjugation, but they still sing the flowers in the backyard across the river", watching his tears roll down. I wrote my first novel, a family tragedy, when I was seven. When I encounter characters with complicated strokes, I often ask the cook how to write them. The second novel is about a lovelorn girl who commits suicide. My mother criticized: If she wanted to commit suicide, she would never take the train from Shanghai to West Lake and drown herself. But I came here because of the poetic background of West Lake. Finally stubbornly saved this. My only extracurricular readings are "Journey to the West" and a few fairy tales, but my thoughts are not bound by them. When I was eight years old, I attempted a utopian novel titled Happy Village. The people of Happy Village are a militant plateau ethnic group. Due to their meritorious service in defeating the Miao people, they were exempted from taxes and granted autonomy by the Chinese emperor. Therefore, Happy Village is a large family isolated from the outside world, farming and weaving by itself, preserving the lively culture of the tribal era. I sewed together half a dozen exercise books in anticipation of a masterpiece, but soon I lost interest in this great subject. Now I still have many frames of illustrations I drew, introducing the services, architecture, and interior decoration of this ideal society, including the library, "Martial Arts Hall", chocolate shop, and roof garden. The public dining room is a pavilion in the lotus pond. I don't remember whether there were cinemas or socialism there - they seemed to be doing fine despite lacking these two products of civilization. When I was nine years old, I hesitated whether to choose music or art as my lifelong career. After watching a video depicting a poor painter, I cried a lot and decided to become a pianist and play in a magnificent concert hall. I am extremely sensitive to colors, notes, and words. When I play the piano, I imagine that the eight notes have different personalities, wearing bright clothes and dancing hand in hand. When I was learning to write articles, I liked to use words with strong colors and sonorous rhymes, such as "pearl gray", "twilight", "Wanmiao", "splendour", and "melancholy", so I often made the mistake of piling them up. To this day, I still love reading "Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio" and tacky Paris fashion reports, just for this attractive word. In school I get freedom to develop. My self-confidence grew stronger and stronger until, when I was sixteen, my mother came back from France to study her daughter, whom she had not seen for many years. "I regret that I took care of you with typhoid fever," she told me. "I would rather see you die than live and make yourself suffer." I found that I couldn't peel an apple, and after hard work I could Learn to darn socks. I'm afraid of going to the barber shop, afraid of meeting customers, and afraid of trying on clothes with the tailor. Many people have tried to teach me how to knit, but none of them have succeeded. After living in the same room for two years, I am still confused when asked where the electric bell is. I took a rickshaw to the hospital for injections every day. For three months, I still didn’t know which way to go.

All in all, in real society, I am equal to a waste. My mother gave me two years to learn to adapt. She taught me to cook, use soap powder to wash clothes, practice walking posture, read people’s eyes, remember to close the curtains after lighting the lamp, look in the mirror to study facial expressions, and never tell jokes if you don’t have a genius for humor. In terms of common sense in dealing with others, I am surprisingly stupid. My two-year plan was a failed experiment. My mother's poignant warning had no effect on me except to throw my mind off balance. There is a part of the art of living that I cannot appreciate. I know how to watch "July Clouds", listen to the Scottish soldiers playing bagpipe, enjoy the wicker chairs in the breeze, eat saltwater peanuts, appreciate the neon lights on rainy nights, and reach out from the double-decker bus to pick the green leaves on the top of the trees. In situations where there is no interaction between people, I am filled with the joy of life. But I can't get over this biting little annoyance for a day. Life is a gorgeous robe covered with fleas. splendour, brilliant, magnificent melancholy, melancholy bagpipe, bagpipe