Teresa Cheung
Spring rain, no umbrella, no friends, blowing such a spring breeze, walking quietly and leisurely in the old lane of our small town. Old alleys crisscross like a net, quiet and deep as a clear valley. Entering the alley is mostly for the quaint and elegant names of these alleys: Xicang, Jixian, Banqiao, Wen Qu, Purification and Confucianism. ...
From the east-west direction of the busy theater road, there are several alleys. These three or four meters wide alleys are surrounded by tiles and white walls. People and cars are scarce. Walking into these quiet alleys is like walking into the river of history and flowing years. On some dilapidated walls, there are several rare foxtail plants swaying. The old raft door is tightly locked, the red door on the lintel is hung with green absinthe, and the dark green moss on the wall is mottled like gold coins, telling passers-by the story of alley. In front of me were flowing wormwood, moss and green bristlegrass. I was in a trance: which slate in Guxiang left the footprints of Chen Lin, the seventh son of Jian 'an, and which wooden door was tapped by Mr. Shi Naian? The alley was silent, the spring breeze was silent, and only a burst of laughter came from behind the closed courtyard door. A tree with white flowers grows out of the fence. Is it a peach? Is it Lee? I really want to knock on the black and bright wooden door that has gone through a hundred years of vicissitudes. Is it the teenager who wore a bun a thousand years ago or Li Niang in a Luo shirt who opened the door?
The walls on both sides of the alley are made of countless small green bricks, and the texture is as neat as the book column in the library. Just take out one, I'm afraid it's also a yellow thread-bound book. This book must be full of traditional Chinese characters. Is it Tang poetry and Song poetry or ancient Yuefu poetry? "Worry about the world first, and enjoy the world later." In the spring breeze and spring rain, I seem to hear Mr. Fan Zhongyan's singing. If it is so exquisite, it is deafening. Is this the wind in the Song Dynasty or the rain in the Ming Dynasty?
Walking on the century-old blue brick road, stroking the Millennium Hanwa, I thought while walking, and looked up to the former residence of Mr. Song Cao, a famous calligrapher and patriotic poet in the early Qing Dynasty. Entering the door, Mr. Song Cao stood proudly in the exquisite and quaint courtyard with a scroll in his hand. The "vegetable thatched cottage" where Mr. Wang studied and talked about art is still there, the "flowing pool" where Mr. Wang spent a lot of money is still there, and Qiu Huitang and Tongyin Building are still there. The small courtyard is carved with beams and painted with buildings, holding water and bamboo, and the strange stones are winding. It is said that Mr Song Cao refused to be an official many times. Under which roof did Mr. Wang repeatedly neglect the imperial edict? Mr. She Ling, whose name is "Genghai", said nothing, but looked at the people coming and going in the world of mortals with deep eyes.
Go south along Confucian Street and turn right not far away, which is the ancestral temple of Lu Xiufu, the prime minister of the Southern Song Dynasty. The ancestral temple in Lu Xiufu is small, but it has been well repaired. With the artillery fire of the Japanese invaders and the turmoil of the Cultural Revolution, the townspeople have been wholeheartedly protecting the memorial sites of national heroes. Yangzhitang and Haoran Hall are simple and elegant. The statue of martyr Lu Xiufu stands in the hall. More than 700 years ago, the young emperor calmly threw himself into the sea, and the heroic behavior of the country's survival had already turned into an eternal rainbow in the hearts of the people in his hometown. The temple is surrounded by green trees, and the small flowers in the flat are yellow, blue and white. A completely air-dried willow leaves circled and landed on the edge of the stone lion outside the door. In the spring sunshine, it is radiant and full of the complete brilliance of life, just like the four characters of "Millennium Solitude" in the planting hall, just like the inviolable owner of this temple, it exudes solidified and inexhaustible fragrance in the hearts of small town people.
The town is surrounded by water, string games, pythons and the Xiaoya River. Overlooking it, the small town looks like a gourd ladle upside down in the water, so it is also called gourd ladle city. With water, there is a special guardian bridge. There is a north gate in the north, an army in the east, a south gate in the south and Deng Ying in the west. Standing on the Deng Ying Bridge, one of the eight scenic spots in the ancient legend, "The red apricots are out of the wall and the green curtain is outside the city", has ceased to exist due to the rapid development in recent years. Only the Chuanchang River, which has been under the bridge for 2 100 years, runs day and night, and the whistle is ringing. In this thousand-year-old city, new green blooms everywhere, and the town is more sparkling, elegant and smart.