The contents of the text are Wind in the Lotus Pond, Listening to the Cold Rain, Farewell to Tangqiao and The Story of Shi Zhongshan.

David

Twenty years ago, when I was carrying a schoolbag in Jianguo Middle School, I always blew the spirit of youth in the botanical garden at least once a day. Then, there is long-term separation. Until a few years ago, business brought me back. Everything has changed except the lotus pond.

One afternoon, after work, I insisted on taking a walk in the lotus pond. Twenty years of weight gain makes the footsteps heavy, and teenagers are not interested, but the excitement is still there. I walked to the long embankment between the lotus ponds. In the face of this lotus leaf and lotus pond, what life can not be wonderful! What interests can't fly! I stopped in the middle of the long river bank, tried to get as close to the pond as possible with my toes, bent my knees, lowered my sight and looked among the lotus leaves. But looking at the lotus leaves layer by layer is like living in a city, except that everything here is quiet, everything is green and everything follows nature.

At the moment of concentration, a strong wind suddenly blew across the street, and one side of thousands of lotus leaves was rolled up and stood at right angles. The sun shines on the turned-up leaf bottom, making the erected half suddenly turn into a light purple yellow, and the low-pressure half turn into a dark black. Thousands of lotus leaves are deep, purple and yellow in an instant. Purple and yellow are dazzling, and Bidai is deep. The wind, sun and vision are so coupled that the colorful and heroic side of the lotus leaf shines. The audience's consciousness almost jumped out of the chest and entered the purple yellow sky. In an instant, the wind passed, and the lotus leaf resumed its posture of supporting the sky; The purple yellow blue sun disappears at the same time. I stood on the bank, my feet in leather shoes didn't dare to wade into the pond, and my briefcase was still tugging at my shoulder. However, I am grateful for that moment. Sunshine, lotus leaves, breeze and people all have colorful gods at that moment.

Walk through the long embankment and walk to the steeple pavilion next to the pond, where you can see the lotus pond. I noticed that the water near the pond was exposed, and the covered lotus leaves disappeared, leaving only the lotus stalks with scars on the tip. Who, an animal or a human, reached out his hand or paw, took off a piece of delicious round green, secretly took it back to the kitchen, put it in a steamer with a smile, and served it greasy? People or animals have the heart to destroy these pieces of fragrance and green! People, it is better to always stay away from him. Thus, from the place where the arm can't even reach the hook, the vitality of the lotus leaf is pushed to the middle of the lake like a wave. Generous lotus leaves and fine lotus leaves cover the pool water, but there is no trace, folding up their own green city.

Twenty years ago, the other side of the lotus pond was a Japanese-style wooden building, which was dark and not dazzling, so the scenery of the lotus pond was never covered up. It's different now. Wooden buildings have been replaced by reinforced concrete "historical museums", which are more solemn and majestic, but they have suppressed the lotus pond. The most pitiful thing is that there is not a lotus leaf on the water ten feet wide near the museum. It must be that a large amount of cement slipped into the pond in the project and the lotus root was blocked.

I walked to the west of the lotus pond and sat on a stone. The breath of thousands of lotus leaves overflowed and floated into my nostrils. I left my briefcase with me, temporarily forgot the dinner party at 6: 30, and sat by the pond looking at the lotus leaves and lotus flowers. Let the gears of life stop here for a while.

However, the sound of cars around the botanical garden is more and more like thunder. From far to near. The bus that got off work at 5: 30 passed by, and the noise embossed the leaves. The occasional trumpet, like a bayonet, goes through the Woods and inserts into a quiet heart. I looked up at the branches and gaps, but I saw towering buildings and surrounded the botanical garden. Some apartments and even kitchens have vents facing the top of green trees. The building of the towering Forest Service made a disloyal choice between flowers, trees and reinforced concrete.

I hope the botanical garden can struggle, and I hope the lotus pond can struggle. Twenty years ago, it was like this, and it will remain evergreen twenty years later. Because the lotus leaves swaying in the breeze grow in the lotus pond and in the hearts of people who love lotus.

Listen to the cold rain

Author: Yu Guangzhong

After the shock, the cold in spring intensified. First, the material is steep, and then the rainy season begins, sometimes dripping, sometimes wet, even in the dream, it seems to have an umbrella. With an umbrella, you can avoid a cold rain and the whole rainy season. Even my thoughts are wet. Going home every day, it is a dream to walk into the rain and wind from Jinmen Street to Xiamen Street. It's sad to think of Taipei like this. This is a completely black-and-white movie. I think the whole history of China and China is nothing more than a black-and-white movie. It rained like this from beginning to end. I wonder if this feeling comes from antonioni. But that land was a long time ago. Twenty-five years, a quarter of a century, even if it rains, Qian Shan is full of water, and the umbrella is across Qian Shan. In fifteen years, everything was broken, only the climate, only the weather forecast was involved, and a big cold current rolled in from that land. This indifference is shared with the ancient continent. It is a comfort to your children that you can't jump into her arms and be swept by her skirt.

When I think so, I feel a little warm in the cold. In this way, he hopes that these narrow alleys will extend forever, and his thinking can also be extended, not from Jinmen Street to Xiamen Street, but from Jinmen to Xiamen. He is from Xiamen, at least in a broad sense. For twenty years, he has been living in Xiamen Street instead of Xiamen, which is a mockery and a comfort. But in a broad sense, he is also a Jiangnan native, a Changzhou native, a Nanjing native, a Chuanwaer, and a teenager in a broad sense. The apricot blossom and spring rain in the south of the Yangtze River was his boyhood. It will be clear in half a month. Antonioni's lens tossed and turned, tossed and turned. Residual water is like water, and the earth after heaven is like water. There are thousands of people from north to south. Is there porcelain in it? China, of course, will always be China. It's just that the apricot blossom and spring rain are gone, the shepherd boy no longer gives directions, the sword gate is drizzling, and the dust in Weicheng is gone. However, where is the land he dreams of day and night?

In the headlines of the newspaper? Or is it a rumor in Hong Kong? Or black keys Bai Encong's jumping bow and plucking strings? Or is it the hope of antonioni's mirror-ending horse week? Or, in the walls and glass cabinets of the Palace Museum, in the rhyme of Taibai Dongpo in the sound of gongs and drums in Beijing Opera?

Apricot flowers and spring rain in the south of the Yangtze River. Liuge, maybe that piece of soil is in it. Whether it is Chixian, Shenzhou or China, it is changing. As long as Cang Xie's inspiration persists and the beautiful China people are not old, the centripetal force of that image will surely grow. Because a square character is a world. At the beginning, there were words, so the memories and hopes of his ancestors were pinned in the hearts of Han people. For example, write a word "rain" out of thin air, dribs and drabs, torrential rain, all love and rain will be in it. What kind of visual beauty can rain or pluie satisfy? Jin Mu, like fire and water, has become the world by itself. When you enter the "Rain" Department, the ancient China is ever-changing, and you will notice that beautiful frost, snow, clouds and terrible thunder and hail only show God's good temper and bad temper, and the Meteorological Observatory takes pains to read an encyclopedia that laymen can't understand.

Listen, the cold rain. Look at that cold rain. Smell it, cold rain, lick it, cold rain. Rain falls on his umbrella, raincoats on the umbrellas of millions of people in this city, and antennas on houses. It's raining on the ship in the breakwater channel of Keelung Port, and it's raining this season. Rain is a woman and should be the most emotional. Rain is empty and psychedelic. Smell it carefully Fresh and refreshing, with a little mint flavor. When it is thick, it gives off a faint smell of earth behind the grass trees. Maybe it smells like earthworms and snails. After all, it was a shock. Maybe the life on the ground and underground, maybe the memories of ancient China are all silly crawling, maybe the subconscious and dreams of plants are tense and fishy.

When I went to America for the third time, I lived in the mountains of Denver for two years. The western United States is mountainous and desert, and it is dry for thousands of miles. The sky is as blue as Anglo-Saxon eyes, the ground is as red as Indian skin, and clouds are rare. There are few clouds and fog on the dazzling snow peaks in the Loki Mountains. One is high, the other is dry, and the third is above the forest line, and the cedar has stopped. "Clouds Wangfu interest? Free and easy in my chest "or" Yellow Rain in Shang Lue "in China's poems is an ugly landscape in the Rocky Mountains. The victory of the Rocky Mountains lies in stones and snow. Those jagged rocks overlap and depend on each other, creating a thrilling sculpture exhibition for the sun and wind thousands of miles away. White and illusory snow, cold and clear, endless momentum makes people feel hard to breathe, cold and sour. However, if you want to appreciate the realm of "clouds, when I look back, I can't see anything when the green dew comes out", you still have to come to China. The humidity in Taiwan Province Province is very high, and the cloudiest atmosphere is the misty artistic conception of rain. I stayed at the head of the stream for two nights. The trees were fragrant and the cold hit my elbow at night. I slept like a fairy, with overlapping mountain shadows and thousands of ornaments. It rained all night in the mountains and woke up the next morning. In the primitive silence where the rising sun did not rise, I ventured into the secret of the forest, walked all the way up the mountain through the broken branches on the ground and the trickling rain, facing the cold all night. The mountain trees in Xitou are dense and foggy, and the lush water vapor rises from the bottom of Ran Ran, sometimes thick and sometimes light, and the transpiration is changeable and unpredictable. Only from the empty place where the fog breaks through the clouds can you see the hidden peaks and valleys at first glance, and it is almost impossible to have an overview. Go up the mountain at least twice, and you can only play hide-and-seek with Xitoufeng in the white. Back in Taipei, the world asked me, except for smiling and pretending to be mysterious, the actual impression was nothing more than nothing. The scenery of China is shrouded in clouds and mountains hidden in water, giving people the charm of Song painting. The world may be Zhao's, but the landscape is rice. But after all, it's hard to say whether the three fathers and sons wrote the landscapes of China or whether the landscapes of China were just Song Like's paintings.

Rain is not only audible and amiable, but also audible. Listen to the cold rain. Listening to the rain, as long as it is not a rock-breaking typhoon and rainstorm, will always be an aesthetic feeling of hearing. Autumn in the mainland, whether it is raindrops, phoenix trees or showers hitting lotus leaves, always sounds a little bleak, sad and sad. Memories on the island today add a layer of sadness, and you lose a lot of pride and chivalry. I'm afraid you can't stand repeated blows. A dozen teenagers are dizzy from listening to the rain. Listening to the rain in middle age, the river in the boat is wide and the clouds are low. More than 30 bald monks listened to the rain, which was the pain of Song's death. The life of a sensitive soul: upstairs, by the river, in the temple, made of cold rain beads. Ten years ago, he lost himself in a heartbreaking ghost rain Rain should be a drop of wet soul, who is calling outside the window.

Rain hits trees and tiles, and the rhythm is crisp and audible. Especially the clang on the roof tiles, belongs to China's ancient music. Huanggang, Yu Wang, is a roof tile, as broken as a rafter. It is said that living on the bamboo building, the sound of rain is like a waterfall, the sound of dense snow is louder than the sound of broken jade, and * * * singing, whether playing drums, reciting poems, playing chess or throwing pots, has a particularly good effect. Isn't it like living in a bamboo tube? I'm afraid any fragile sound will be doubled and exaggerated, but it will make the ears allergic.

Rainy roof tiles, with wet streamers, are gloomy and gentle, with dim light and dark backlight, which is a low comfort to vision. As for the rain hitting thousands of scaly tiles, from far and near, it is gentle and heavy, with a trickle flowing down the tile trough and eaves. All kinds of tapping and sliding sounds are closely woven into a net, and whose fingers are massaging the helix. "It's raining", the gentle grey beauty came, and her cold hands flicked countless black keys grey keys on the roof, turning noon into dusk.

On the ancient continent, thousands of families are like this. More than 20 years ago, when I first came to this island, so did the Japanese-style tile houses. First, it was dark, the city was shrouded in huge frosted glass, and the shadows were elongated and deepened indoors. Then the cool water filled the space, and the wind whirled from every corner, feeling that the heavy breathing on every roof was shrouded in gray clouds. It's raining, and the lightest percussion is beating the city. Broad roofs, far and near, knock on them one by one. Guqin, with its fine and dense rhythm, has its own softness and kindness in monotony. It's like a fantasy. If you were in the cradle when you were a child, a familiar nursery rhyme wobbled and your mother sang nasally and guttural. Still in Zeguo Water Town in the south of the Yangtze River, a large basket of green mulberry leaves was chewed by hundreds of silkworms, chewing with mouthparts and mouthparts. It's raining, Waer said so, Yier said 100 billion Waer said, said to play soft and heavy, knock a rainy season slowly, improvise from shock to Qingming, coldly play elegy on scattered graves and sing 100 billion Waer.

Old-fashioned houses listen to the sound of rain in April, and it rains day and night in Huang Meiyu, and the ten-day month stretches. Wet sticky moss has been invading the root of the tongue and the bottom of my heart from the stone steps In July, listening to the typhoon and rain beating blindly on the ancient roof all night, a thousand layers of boiling heat waves at the bottom of the sea were carried by strong winds, overturning the whole Pacific Ocean just to press heavily on his low eaves, and the whole sea rushed over his scorpion shell. Otherwise, it is a thunderstorm night, and the veil of white smoke is full of drums. shanghai dawn, the powerful electric pipa is uneasy, and the shock of playing roof tiles is about to begin. Otherwise, the oblique northwest rain is obliquely brushed on the window glass, and the whip hits the wide banana leaves on the wall. A cold wave came to my face, and autumn wet the old courtyard.

Listen to the rain in the old-fashioned old house, listen to the intermittent autumn rain in the spring rain, and listen to the cold rain from teenagers to middle age. Rain is a monotonous and lasting music, whether it is indoor music or outdoor music. Listen to indoor and outdoor, cold and cold, music. Rain is a music of memory. Listening to the cold rain, I still remember that it rained all over the south of the Yangtze River. On bridges and boats, there were rice fields and frog ponds in Sichuan, which enriched the cooing of wet cuckoos under the Jialing River. Rain licks the cold rain on eager lips with moist music.

Because rain is the most primitive percussion music, it starts from the other side of memory. Tile is the lowest musical instrument, and the gray gentleness covers the people who listen to the rain. The umbrella of music supports the tiles. But the apartment era is coming soon. Why did you suddenly grow taller in Taipei? Wa's music became a masterpiece. Ten thousand tiles are flying, and beautiful gray butterflies fly away one after another, flying into the memory of history. Now it's raining on concrete roofs and walls, a rainy season without rhythm. Trees have also been cut down, laurel, maple, willow and huge coconut in the sky, and there are no noisy leaves and flashing wet green light to meet the arrival of rain. In autumn, there are fewer birds chirping, frogs giggling and insects chirping. Taipei in the 1970s didn't need these, and one band after another was disbanded. If you want to hear the cock crow, you can only look for it in the rhyme of the Book of Songs. Now there is only one black-and-white film, black-and-white silent film.

Just as the era of carriages has passed, so have the porters of tricycles. Once, on a rainy night, the tarpaulin of a tricycle was hung. On the way home, the world in the tent was much smaller and more lovely, and it was hidden outside the jurisdiction of the police. The bigger the raincoat pocket, the better. He can hold a slender hand in one hand. The rainy season in Taiwan Province Province is so long that someone should invent a wide raincoat for two people, so that each person can wear a sleeve and the rest need not be too harsh. No matter how developed the industry is, it seems that umbrellas can't be abandoned for a while. As long as it doesn't rain cats and dogs and the wind doesn't blow sideways, umbrellas in the rain still retain their classical charm. Let the raindrops knock on the black cloth umbrella or transparent plastic umbrella, turn the bone handle, and the raindrops splash in all directions, and the edge of the umbrella becomes a circle of cornices. Playing an umbrella with your girlfriend is a beautiful cooperation. It's best to be first love, a little excited and a little embarrassed. If you are at arm's length, it will rain harder. The real first love, I'm afraid, is so excited that I don't need an umbrella. I ran away hand in hand in the rain, handed the skin of young long hair to the sky, and then tasted the cool and sweet rain on each other's lips and cheeks. But it must be very young and passionate, and it can only happen in French trendy movies.

Most umbrellas are not opened for dating. On the way to and from work, schools and schools, as well as food markets. Reality umbrella, gray Wednesday. Hold an umbrella. He listened to the cold rain hitting his umbrella. I wish it were colder, he thought. Just freeze the wet gray rain into dry white rain, and the hexagonal crystal will fall down in the windless air. When the man's beard and shoulders turned white, he stretched out his hand and fell down. For twenty-five years, I have not been blessed by the white rain in my hometown. Perhaps sending some frost is a disguised form of self-compensation. How many rainy seasons can a hero endure? Was his forehead cut from water rock or igneous rock? How thick is the moss in his heart? The rainy lane of Xiamen Street, as long as memory, has been walking for 20 years. A tileless apartment is waiting for him at the bottom of the lane, and a lamp is in the rain window upstairs, waiting for him to go back. Through meditation after dinner, I sort out the memories deep in my hair.

Dust is separated from the ocean. The old house is gone. Listen to the cold rain.

Guangming, I'm leaving,

When I came softly;

I waved gently,

Say goodbye to the western clouds.

Golden willow by the river,

Is the bride in the sunset?

Erotic shadows in the waves

Ripple in my heart.

Soft mud is green grass.

Oil and oil sway under water.

In the gentle waves of He Kang River,

I would like to be an aquatic plant.

A pool in the shade of a tree,

Not a clear spring, but a rainbow in the sky.

Soft and broken in floating seaweed,

Precipitate a rainbow-like dream.

Looking for dreams? Lift a long pole,

To the green part of the grass

Full of stars,

Playing songs in a starry place,

But I can't play songs,

Quiet is a farewell flute;

Summer insects are also silent for me,

Silence is Tangqiao tonight!

I left quietly,

Just as I came quietly;

I waved my sleeve,

Don't take away a cloud.

The water mirror said, "There is Shi Zhongshan at the mouth of Peng Li." Tang gaozu thought that when he went down to the deep pool, the breeze brushed his face, and the water and stones fought like Hong Zhong. This statement is often doubted. If the bell rings in the water, even strong wind and waves can't make it sound, and it is a stone! It was not until the Tang Dynasty that Rip began to pay tribute to the remains that he got two stones and put them on the edge of the pool and listened to them. The voice in the south sounded Hu, the voice in the north was crisp, the sound stopped and the aftertaste was quiet. I think I understand. He thinks he has found the reason for Shi Zhongshan. The sound of stones is everywhere, and this is just named after the clock. Why?

In June of the seventh year of Yuanfeng, Ding Chou, Yu, An, it's up to you, the eldest son Mai, to send him to the hukou in Raodexing, so as to meet the so-called clock bearer. The assistant monk asked the child to help him with the axe. He chose one or two buttons among the stones. Gu Yu smiled and didn't believe it. At dawn, take a boat with Michael alone and reach the cliff. A thousand feet stand on the edge of a big stone, like a monster, and he wants to fight with people; On the other hand, when the stork perches on the mountain (hú), the human voice also begins, and it is among the clouds; Or if the old man in the valley coughs and laughs, or this Gu Anhe. Yu anxious to return, however, sent it loudly on the water, like a bell and drum. The boatman was very afraid. If you can examine it, the mountain is full of caves, and I don't know its shallow depth. The microwave enters the swallow and the culvert is surging, so it is. The ship returned to the two mountains and entered the port. There are big stones flowing in it, which can seat 100 people. The air is full of tricks and feng shui. There is a sound of "ku ℉ n", "t ā ng" and "t à", which corresponds to the direction. Because he smiled, he said, "What do you know? It is the song of Wei Zhuangzi that Zhou Jingwang is shocked by the fact that he has no gun, that he is bored with cymbals and that he is bored with cymbals. Ancient people are not good at bullying! "

You don't have to look at anything with your eyes or listen to it with your ears. Can you just guess whether it exists or not by subjective assumptions? What Tang gaozu saw was almost the same as that of Yu Tong, but it was unknown. The scholar-officials refused to spend the night on the boat under the cliff, so they didn't know! Fishermen and navy know but can't talk. This is why there is no such name as Shi Zhongshan in the world. However, shallow people beat stones with axes to find out why Shi Zhongshan was named, because they thought they were named after the truth. I remember lamenting Li Yuan's simplicity and laughing at Li Bo's ugliness.

The water mirror said, "There is a Shi Zhongshan at the mouth of Poyang Lake." Li Daoyuan believes that the breeze vibrates and fluctuates under the deep pool, and water and stones collide with each other, making a sound like a big clock. People often doubt this statement. If you put the bell in the water, even the wind and waves can't make it make a sound, let alone a stone! It was not until kēng dynasty that Li Bocai went to explore its trace. He found two stones at the edge of a deep pool, knocked on them and listened to their voices. The sound of the south (rock) is heavy and vague, and the sound of the north (rock) is crisp and loud. The drumstick stopped (knocking), the sound was still passing, and the reverberation slowly disappeared. He thinks he has found the reason (named after Shi Zhongshan). But this.

On the ninth day of June, the seventh year of Yuanfeng, I took a boat from Huangzhou, Hubei Province to Ruzhou (Linru, Henan Province). My eldest son, Mai Su, was then the county magistrate of Dexing County (now Dexing County, Jiangxi Province). I sent him to Hukou, Jiangxi, so that I could observe the mountain called Shi Zhongshan. The monk in the temple told the children to take an axe and beat it in one or two places in the rock. Don't believe it. At night, the moonlight was bright, and Mai Su and I came to the bottom of the cliff by boat. Stones stand beside them, as high as several thousands of feet, like beasts and monsters, lush and towering, trying to catch people; The eagle left in the nest on the mountain heard the sound and flew in fear, chirping in the sky; There was another old man's cough and laughter in the valley. Some say it's a stork. I was so scared that I wanted to go back, but suddenly there was a loud sound from the water, and the bell rang like a bell and drum. The boatman was very afraid. I slowly observed that there were caves and cracks in the stones at the foot of the mountain. I don't know their depth. Slight water waves poured into caves and cracks, and the water waves stirred to form this sound. The ship runs between two mountains. There is a big stone facing the center of the water. There are hundreds of people sitting on it, with many holes in the middle. The wind and waves speak hesitatingly, and the sound of Gekan kuǎn kǎn k m: n muffled cymbals tāng tà echoes the previous sound, like music playing. So I smiled and said to Mai Su, "Do you know those (allusions)? That noise is the sound of Zhou Jing's shooting without bells, the sound of Tian Geng boring cymbals, and the sound of Wei Zhuangzi ringing bells. The ancients (calling this mountain "Shi Zhongshan") did not deceive me! "

If you don't see with your own eyes and hear with your own ears, can you infer the truth (right or wrong) of everything from subjective speculation? What Li Daoyuan saw and heard was probably the same as mine, but it was not detailed; After all, the scholar-officials didn't want to dock at the cliff by boat at night, so they couldn't know the truth. Fishermen (and) boatmen know it, but they can't express it and record it in words. This (that is) is the reason why it has not been circulated in the world (the origin of Shi Zhongshan's name). Humble people beat the stone with an axe to find the reason (Shi Zhongshan's name), thinking that they have got the truth of the matter. So I wrote it down, lamenting the brevity of Li Daoyuan's narrative and laughing at Li Bo's shallowness.