Has Lin Huiyin always loved Xu Zhimo deeply in his heart?

Zhang Youyi's autobiography mentioned that Lin Huiyin met her in 1947: "A friend came to me and said that Lin Huiyin was in the hospital and had just survived a major tuberculosis operation. He probably would not live long. Even she My husband Liang Sicheng was also called back from Yale University where he was teaching. Why did Lin Huiyin want to see me? I wanted to take Ah Huan and my grandchildren. She was too weak to speak. She just looked at us and shook her head. It seemed like she was looking at me, and I didn't know what she wanted to see. Maybe I wasn't good-looking and had a sullen face... I think she wanted to see me now because she loved Xu Zhimo and wanted to see his child. Even though she was married to Liang Sicheng, she still loved Xu Zhimo. "This proud goddess also did another thing that was quite common sense. After Xu Zhimo's death, Ling Shuhua kept his diary and manuscripts. Lin Huiyin did not hide her curiosity and desire for them, "I just want to read the diary, which gives me a sense of satisfaction, curiosity, and aftertaste of this weird thing." Things in this world are just about commemorating old friends." (Letter to Hu Shi on the first day of the first lunar month in 1932) As she wished, she got Xu Zhimo's "Cambridge Diary", but there were a few pages missing, and she and Ling Shuhua were upset about it. I was angry for a while. "Mourning for Zhimo" - Lin Huiyin On November 19, our good friend, Xu Zhimo, a new poet beloved by many people, was unexpected, unbelievable, and cruel, and died in danger on a plane. This news hit the hearts of many friends like a needle on the morning of the 20th, making the sky that morning as dark as ink, and the throats of mourning choked everyone's throat. Zhimo...death...who has ever thought of combining these two sentences together! He is such a lively person, such a person who has just stood at the peak of his prime. Friends are often surprised by his activities, his child-like spirit and seriousness. Who would have thought of his death? Suddenly, he broke out of our different world, leaving us in eternal silence, without giving us any warning, any preparation, or any room for last hope. This kind of determination, which was almost unbearable, shocked the hearts of many friends that day. Now the undeniable fact is still blocking our way ruthlessly. No matter how painfully we mourn his tragic death, and how eagerly we hope to still be in touch with his original voice and appearance, the fact is that there will be no need to change to accommodate our grief; and he will never give up because he cannot bear our sorrow. There is some possibility of activity! This embarrassing eternal silence and depression is the cruelest part of death. We who are not superstitious and have no religion look at this curtain of death, and we are not sure at all. We won’t appeal when we open our mouths. We won’t dream when we close our eyes. We are wandering on the edge of reason and emotion. We cannot predict what will happen in the future. We will just be stunned forever about death, swallowing dry tears, and waiting for time to exploit this sorrow. Sharp, scabbed wounds every time we mourn. Didn’t many of the friends who got the news at the beginning of that afternoon run to Mr. Hu Shizhi’s house? But apart from wiping away tears and sitting around in silence, no one had any idea, no one knew what to say, damn it! No one has an idea, no one has anything to say! Facts do not allow us to place any hope, emotions do not allow us not to mourn this sudden misfortune, and reason does not allow us to have supernatural fantasies! Facing each other in silence, sitting around in silence... But Zhimo still died without looking back, there is no news, he will never look back, and there will never be news again. There is no one among us who absolutely believes in the theory of fate, but who is not surprised by this unexpected life, and how can we not feel the fragility of human power and the limitation of wisdom at the traces of many facts. Is everything settled in this world? Are all things accidental? When will we have complete certainty about this eternal question? What unfolds before us is just a pile of solid facts: "Yes, he had a telegram to me on the morning of the 19th... "On the morning of the 19th, yes! He said he would arrive at Nanyuan at three o'clock in the afternoon and send a car to pick him up... "The telegram was sent from Nanjing Airport at nine o'clock..." It was sent just after he started flying... "Send a car to pick him up and wait until 4:30... ...Said the plane didn't arrive... "It didn't arrive...the airline said it was very foggy in Jinan..." It was just an hour's difference; when we arrived at Nanyuan at three o'clock in the afternoon, it was foggy in Jinan. Who would believe that it was the same hour! Such different facts can happen, Zhimo, my friend! I still saw him the night before his departure. At that time, he didn’t know that his flight to the south the next morning had been rescheduled three times. He once said that if it was rescheduled, Went down, and he wouldn't leave. He and I came out of a tea party together and parted ways at the entrance of Zongbu Alley.

At this tea party, we invited Dr. Bai Lei, who came for the Pacific Conference, because he is the sister-in-law of Mansfield, the female writer whom Zhimo admired most in his life. Zhimo was very attentive; he hoped to get some more information from Bai Lei. The shadow of Mansfield's early years disappeared in a hurry after our tea due to limited time. I had a date in the evening, and when I came back very late, the waiter said that he had been here again, just as our couple had left. He sat by himself for a while, drank a pot of tea, wrote some words on the table, and then left. I went to the table and looked: - "The flight is scheduled to take place at 6 o'clock tomorrow morning. Life or death here is uncertain..." I was stunned, feeling unhappy for a while, but I hurriedly gave him a call. "Don't worry," he said, "It's very safe. I still want to keep my life to see greater deeds. How can I just die?..." Even though he said this, he had been dead for two weeks. ! I believe all friends of Zhimo know what it means to have such a friend die! Now this fact is becoming more solid, more fixed and more undeniable day by day. Zhimo is dead, and this simple and cruel reality has been added to the color of time. One week, two weeks, it keeps growing... I shouldn't be here to moan incoherently about the sadness of us being friends. In the final analysis, readers read with our words, that is, just like Zhimo's Qing Bai Lei, they want to hear something about Zhimo from our mouths. I understand this, but I'm afraid I can't satisfy you, because there are too many things about him that are touching and make young people know that there is a rare personality here, and cannot be expressed in a few thousand words. Everyone has to admit that there are not many people like him in the world, whether in China or abroad. I have known him for ten years this year, when he was at the London School of Economics and had not yet gone to Cambridge. The first time I met him was the first time he met Mr. Ti Gengsheng who influenced him to move to school. Needless to say, he and my father had the best rapport. Although they were quite different in age, they became close friends as soon as they met. After he arrived in Kangqiao, he was introduced to the Royal Academy by Ti Gengsheng. His classmates at that time were my elder sister-in-law Wen Junyuanning. Until the past two months, Yuanning often told many of his jokes at that time. Although they were jokes, it was also his earliest surprising impression of Zhimo. Zhimo's serious poetry contains absolutely no pretense. His foolishness and child-like innocence are truly surprising. Yuan Ning said that one day when he was studying in the school building, it was pouring rain outside - a heavy rain that could only be seen in island countries like England - suddenly he heard someone knocking on his door, and jumped into a room covered by the rain outside. Guests who got completely wet. Needless to say, he was Zhimo. As soon as he entered the door, he grabbed Yuanning and ran out, saying come quickly and let's wait on the bridge. Yuanning was stunned by this, and he asked Zhimo what he was waiting for in the heavy rain. Zhimo opened his eyes wide and said happily like a child, "Look at the rainbow after the rain." Yuan Ning not only said that he wouldn't go, but also advised Zhimo to change out of his soaked clothes as soon as possible and put on a raincoat to go out. The humidity in Britain is nothing but child's play. Zhimo didn't wait for him to finish his words and ran away! Later, I curiously asked Zhimo whether this story was true, and he smiled and nodded, admitting that the whole story was true. I asked: What about the following? How long did you wait on the bridge and did you see a rainbow? He said he couldn't remember clearly but he actually saw a rainbow. I interrupted his description of the rainbow in surprise and asked him: How did he know that there would be a rainbow? He answered me with a proud smile: "Completely poetic faith!" "Completely poetic faith", I'm going to cry here! It is for this "poetic belief" that he insists on using the convenience of aviation to achieve his long-cherished wish of "wanting to fly"! "The plane is very stable," he said, "If something happens, it's my fate!" What a completely poetic belief in fate he had! Zhimo, my friend, death is just a new journey. We have never been there before, so we can't help but doubt too much. Death may be more painful than this life. "We cannot easily conclude that there is no sunshine and the comfort of human kindness on the other side." But as I said before, the most embarrassing thing is the eternal silence.