Liu Yuantang's Prose "Qi Zhai"

Did our ancestors create the word "spring" according to its shape? It is quietly embedded in the stone boron in the south of the village, clear and bright, like the eyes of a barren mountain. Intermittent streams under my feet are like tears in my eyes.

There is a story circulating in the village: a long time ago, there was a great drought, rivers dried up and plants dried up. A group of thirsty people trudged for many days between Fiona Fang and Shan Ye hundreds of miles away, but didn't find a drop of water. This is a dead yellow world, with yellow sand sandwiched between yellow sun, yellow cliff and yellow sky. The old patriarch suddenly felt black at the moment and fell on the loess ... When he woke up again, a string of tinkling notes faintly came from his ear. He opened his eyes with ecstasy, and the yellow world still greeted him. That's an illusion! But when he closed his eyes again, the delicate and crisp voice came gently. The old patriarch stumbled all the way, followed by a hopeful and ragged crowd. After a hoarse howl, he fell to the ground. This time, his eyes never opened again, but his withered hands pointed to the source of this spirit. Everyone who fled knows that this is a new place to live. This is our small village.

Perhaps because of the ancestor's worship of spring water, I have an indescribable feeling for water since I was a child. The eye spring and the stream below it brought me great happiness when I was a child. You can swim in it in summer and play on it after it freezes in winter. Even the small fish and shrimps in the stream live like free spirits, which makes me envious.

Li Bai once lamented that "everything has been expensive since ancient times". I believe that anyone is born with unusual spirituality, but more or less. When I learned to read at the age of seven, I found another thing that pleased me: on the gable of the house at the east end of the village, I wrote a line of big characters "Broom Brigade of Zhuxiang Commune in Rushan County, Shandong Province" with a brush, which was vigorous and dignified, and I could vaguely feel the hidden beauty, so I couldn't help gesticulating on the ground with a wooden stick. When I was in the first grade of primary school, my pencil handwriting became an example for my classmates to learn. In the third grade, I learned to write a big imitation, and the red circle praised by the teacher deepened my love for writing. From then on, calligraphy and I, like streams and springs, are interdependent and endless.

Jinan, south of "water saving", is a place related to water everywhere. Lying on the side of the Yellow River, 72 springs are strewn at random. In the meantime, a boat in Zhao Mengfu's "Quehua Autumn Color Map" bears my endless yearning for Jinan, a water-like city. Unfortunately, when I came to Jinan, the scenery of "lotus flowers on all sides and willows on three sides, mountains in one city and lakes in half a city" no longer existed. The Yellow River is cut off, and the springs are cut off. But this does not affect my enthusiasm for learning calligraphy. When I was moved by a bearded old man's regular script, I sat in front of him devoutly that night and listened to him talk about the clear spring water in Jinan, the rich fish and shrimp, and the delicious carp in the Yellow River. I don't know what topic evokes the old man's memories of his teacher who is superb in calligraphy but poor all his life: "Mr. Wang is over 80 years old and still earns a living by catching crickets and selling money." I invited him home and cooked him two eggs, but he could only eat one ... "Tears blurred the old man's eyes and his voice choked. It was surprisingly quiet that night, and the wind, cicadas and factory machines held their breath. The old man's sob was deafening. I am determined to learn from this old man.

The old crossbow man is Mr. Zhang. Mr. Zhang explained the calligraphy style of Shi Chengbei School with a long sheep hair and summed up a set of scientific regular script structure methods. He attaches great importance to statutes and advocates that "the law is not tired of precision, the law is not tired of detail, and the law is not tired of much." What I benefited the most from my husband is the method of "breaking the pen and receiving the pen", which requires the pen to keep jumping on the paper, while paying attention to the coherence of the charm and the ups and downs of the rhythm, like the plum blossom gun in the hands of a martial arts master. Mi Haiyue's word "brush" has been speculated by later generations for nearly a thousand years. I used the method of "breaking the pen and receiving the pen" to read the book, but it was so handy that it didn't matter.

The water in the world is bigger than the sea. When I settled down in a building with a view of the sea in Weihai, I was nearly years old. Weihai is a new coastal city with its own distinctive characteristics. It doesn't have castles and bridges in the ancient city, nor is it as deliberate and stingy as a garden, but it is full of tumbling weather; It has no profound cultural accumulation, and at the same time there is no cultural garbage mixed with mud and sand, and some are fresh and pure as sea breeze; It doesn't have a venerable old bookstore, and at the same time, it doesn't have a big tree with a cage to shade it. Sufficient sunshine and rain can make seedlings grow sturdily ... In Weihai, I often sit by the sea alone, watching the clouds roll and relax, and listening to the ebb and flow of the tide. I think the spirit of calligraphy should rush freely in the boundless sea like waves.

Jiang Nanyi, what impressed me most was Hangzhou. The flat West Lake, the straight Qiantang River and the scattered cottages must be God's most proud landscapes. In the first month of 2004, I gathered in Hangzhou with more than 20 students from all over the world to study in that famous Academy of Fine Arts. We live in a village called Coral Sand by the Qiantang River. The pond at the head of the village, the winding alleys in the village, and the plantains in each yard are full of poetry and painting. I grew up in the north and seem to live in Yu Guangzhong's poems. Every morning, I climb to the hillside opposite the village to read English. The morning mist is like a belt, which seems to be taken off by hand. Squirrels fight among trees and often interrupt my reading. Tired of watching, I picked a piece of light green Longjing tea, and it was already full of fragrance before it was sent to my mouth ... In the past, Huai Su "watched Xia Yun change with the wind, and realized something with an epiphany, so it was wonderful", and Huang Tingjian "sat and watched the mountains and rivers, and every time I worked in it, it seemed that mountains and rivers helped each other". The lakes and mountains in Hangzhou also inspired my creative inspiration. That spring, I made excellent works again and again, just like a river.

The history of calligraphy is always too narrow. How can a book be created by Zhang Zhi? Kyushu is a piece of paper and the Yangtze River is a book on it. Does zhi have such great courage? When a huge "pen" was written in Nanjing, it naturally flowed into the sea with a gentle meal before it was closed. It is this gentle meal that brings all the accumulation of Yangtze River culture to Nanjing. No wonder calligraphers in Nanjing have been brilliant and confident since ancient times.

I once lamented in an article: I didn't know what beauty is like a cloud until Nanyi! I didn't know what was incisive until I saw Xu Shi make a big grass! Indeed, I can't refuse the temptation of Nanyi. The beautiful women dancing on the campus of Nanyi are probably descendants of twelve women in Jinling. They are elegant and look like water. And Mr. Xu Liming's big grass must be magnificent with the help of the momentum of the Yangtze River.

Xu teacher's "continuous method" is different from Teacher Zhang's "pen-breaking and pen-connecting" method. The pen never leaves the paper, continuously. The latter is often separated from the pen and paper, ups and downs. If xu teacher plays the bamboo and silk in the south of the Yangtze River, and the string is very long, then Teacher Zhang plays the Shandong drum, and the drum is beating. Teacher Zhang spent ten years trying to train me to be a better drummer, but when I asked xu teacher about his string brushwork, he said, "Write seal script, paint poems and listen to the tide of Qiantang River ...". I know, he wants me to use my life to achieve myself.

I will finish my studies in Nanjing in two years. Maybe I will go to another place full of wonderful legends of water. ...

My calligraphy is by the water.

August 2006 Weihai Wen/Liu

20 10 February 2 1, the eighth day of the first lunar month.

At 8: 45 in the morning, I got on the sleeper bus from Weihai to Nanjing in a hurry. My berth is in the last row, and below it is the roaring engine. The berth is very small, and the bed surface is stained with a lot of filth. Outside the window, stood my mother, my lover and my eight-year-old daughter. A weak wife, her eyes are already wet. I pretended to make a face at her and she gave a wry smile. My mother, a great woman who gave me great support, was about to cry out of the corner of her eyes, so she held back. She turned her attention to the trunk of the old bus. She was worried that the trunk door could not be closed properly, and some of my travel bags were lost on the way. My daughter, uncharacteristically, twisted her ass at me, waved her hand, and posed several poses that we co-edited. She was extremely happy. I told them to go back and let my lover drive carefully on the road. They shouted something to me, but we couldn't hear each other through the thick glass. All I heard was the roar of the bus engine that was about to travel far away.

At nine o'clock, the bus left on time. At the corner, I turned around and saw my daughter dragging her grandmother away, while my wife was still standing there, looking at the bus that was about to leave sight.

On the way to Wendeng, a couple came over with a three-year-old girl. The girl cried and asked in an authentic Wendeng dialect, "Where's Grandma? Why doesn't grandma come up? " . "I want grandma! I want grandma! ! "Her father told her," Grandma is on the next bus! " "The girl didn't believe it, but she still cried, and she cried more and more sadly, even a little heartbroken. The man told me that he and his wife worked in Nanjing, and the girl was always taken care of by her grandmother in her hometown. Life has been on and off since ancient times, not to mention the separation of flesh and blood, even during this New Year's Day. My heart ached and I took out a tissue from my pocket. ...

Call your wife at two in the afternoon. My wife told me that her mother had returned to her hometown in Rushan. My daughter answered my phone and asked me when I would go home next time. I said that in two months, my father would finish the paper at hand and then he could go home. Unexpectedly, my daughter suddenly began to cry and cried for capital (my daughter called me that). More than an hour later, my wife called and said that my daughter was hiding in the study and had been crying until now. In the process of crying, I drew a capital, round face belt and square glasses with a brush, which was very vivid. There is also an inscription saying, "Go home early!" The handwriting is very correct.

In the narrow bunk, I tossed and turned and read for a while. When my eyes become astringent, I move out of the window. I am no stranger to the scenery of this route. I have been walking back and forth for nearly five years. But for the first time, I found such a scene: there is always a cemetery next to every passing village. From Shandong to Jiangsu, the construction of houses and graves in villages is somewhat different, but it is always close at hand. People were born and raised in villages, and their destination is a cemetery. No matter how famous they are, no matter how obscure they are, they are all on the short circuit from the village to the cemetery. It can be said that the trajectory of life is from the village to the cemetery.

From the village to the cemetery, the road of life is so short. Think about being at home on holiday, full of unhappiness. Why is this?

At three o'clock in the afternoon, the car stopped at Ganyu for dinner. A passenger said that he had lost his wallet. Then I found it in the urinal in the bathroom. A few hundred yuan is gone, but I still have my ID card and other documents. Thieves are becoming more and more professional.

There are always passengers on the road, and the cars are full of people. A boy weighing more than 200 kilograms couldn't stand his mother sitting in the aisle with her four-month-old baby and gave up his bunk. Go to the front and squeeze in with a middle-aged and obese doctor. The doctor was dissatisfied and said that you were so fat at a young age. The young man replied that I am fat for a reason. I donated bone marrow to a little boy with leukemia. He is getting fatter and fatter. The doctor says you will feel worse when you get old. The young man said, I knew my mother was a military doctor, and she wouldn't let me donate. But I can't stand the poor eyes of the child, and I can't stand the expression of his grandfather kneeling at my door all night ... I asked, has the child recovered? The young man replied with a smile, seven years, very healthy! Call me every year to pay a New Year call!

At 9: 30 in the evening, the bus entered downtown Nanjing, and I got off at Jiangbei Station. I really don't want to go back to the dormitory at school. The room in Chaoyang will ferment a pungent musty smell in a few days. In Jiangbei, I share a 100 square meter studio with Dr. Liu Yi, a doctor of Chinese painting at the same level. The thirtieth floor faces the Yangtze River. Bring wine to the river, there will always be endless inspiration. We call it "Lanjianglou". When I opened the door of Lanjiang Building, a cold wind blew into my face. After all, no one has lived for more than a month. Touch the quilt, it's still wet. Liu Yi will be back in a few days. In this city that doesn't belong to me, in this cold room, loneliness arises spontaneously. I think of my good friend Xu Qinhai, who graduated with my master's degree. He only found a job years ago and rented it in a village not far from Lanjianglou. Send a text message to ask where he is, and the answer is in Yuncheng, Shanxi. The person who should come didn't come, the person who should go left, and the lonely person was lonely. In the wet bed, I tried to let myself sleep, but what I saw and heard on the road haunted me, and I fell into an unanswerable thinking:

I'm on my way to school. Mother, wife and daughter are on their way to an early reunion. The little girl is on her way to Nanjing for education. The thief is preparing to drag out an ignoble existence. The young man who donated bone marrow is on his way to help others. Xu Qinhai is on his way to work. ...

People walk on the road, from the village to the cemetery. The road is short, but people walk in a hurry.

2065438+Room 206, Building1/KLOC-0, Nanyi Postgraduate Dormitory at 00: 00 on February 23rd.