I have been looking forward to you for a long time. When I sit by the window with my head down at dusk, or stretch out my arms at night and touch the cold of old age, I have a hunch that you will come back.
-You have a hunch?
-Yes. Don't you feel the same way?
I tend to return to your arms. Any day in these 20 years, as long as you make a phone call and give an order. But you didn't. Until now, I bravely broke your promise, came back without your promise, and found that you had been expecting me for a long time.
-Don't say it's too late. You smile more gently now.
What saddens me most is that I don't know how you spent these long twenty years.
-with desolate joy. Because when I think that you bless me every day, I feel that it is not unbearable. But I've been depressed recently. As the ancients said, birds are gone, and their songs are sad, as if I have a great regret for life; I can't get the final peace until I fix it.
-So you had a hunch that I would come back?
-Yes. Not only are you back now, but I have a hunch that twenty years ago, after we first met and got closer, I was.
-there is a kind of prophecy that is entangled, like an unlucky shadow.
-You didn't tell me.
I don't want to upset you either.
I noticed your anxiety.
-But I strictly forbid myself to reveal it. I think all the heavy things should be borne by me alone.
-Now we can talk about it like a story.
Yes, now we can talk about ourselves like characters in the story. But at first, it was a story that touched us. When we were not very familiar, one March night, I came back from a lonely outing, walked into my room with lonely joy and fatigue, turned on the light, and found a bunch of blooming yellow forsythia flowers on my desk, and a piece of white paper with your kind words written on it. I think of your timid hands with sincere gratitude. I provided it on the windowsill with a bottle of water. I once regarded myself as a bystander, quietly watching a girl turn upside down for love, waiting for the story to unfold naturally, but this unexpected interruption made me very uneasy. I didn't sleep well that night.
And I remember you went out early the next morning and didn't come back until dusk, with a strange smile.
You still don't know how I spent that day. It was a panic, a panic that could not be refused because of the intrusion of love. I went to a friend's house for the whole morning. I sat in his room, talked a lot of questions and looked at a famous painting on the wall. A three-masted ship is about to sink in the blue waves. I felt that I was the boat. I spread my arms for help and whined in vain. Towards noon, I resolutely walked out of my friend's house. I had lunch alone in a street restaurant. Then go to a forest far away in the suburbs. I was walking, lying and walking in that forest. Afternoon passed and I made up a story for myself. I imagine that there is a small house in a deserted barren mountain and deep in the forest, where a fairy who has been demoted for breaking God's law lives. When she left the kingdom of heaven, the god of prophecy told her that a young god would walk on the path in front of her hut in a few years; If she can keep him with charming singing, she will be saved. A few years have passed. One evening, she leaned against the window and heard footsteps that made her tremble for the first time, which made her sing excitedly. But the footsteps of pride lingered for a while, then rang and disappeared in the darkness.
-Is this a prophecy you gave yourself? Why isn't the young god left behind?
If he is left behind, he will lose his eternal youth. Just like that bunch of forsythia flowers, they became the most easily withered flowers when inserted in my bottle, and fell to the ground like some golden footprints a few days later.
Do you still believe in eternal youth?
Now I know that people without youth will be more gentle.
Because people exaggerate when they are young?
-exaggerated and cruel.
-but this should not be blamed.
Yes, we don't blame young people. ...
Listening to the whisper of this weak ghost, I didn't open my eyes until this resounding name, youth, lingered in the air like an echo, like a beautiful mountain god obsessed with Nalsuo, haggard because he couldn't get love in return, and turned into a voice, and looked up from the stone chair. There was a dead silence all around. There is not a breeze blowing among the leaves. The crescent moon is like a half-circle gold ring, and the stars are like small white flowers embedded in the deep blue sky. I feel a little cold. The stone on which I am sitting has given birth to cold dew. So I stood up on crutches and prepared to go back to my lonely apartment. And the whispers I overheard just now were not ghosts or companions who met in the twilight, but two characters in a four-act drama that I had conceived for a long time but failed to complete twenty years ago. I found it difficult to describe them at that time. In such a lonely garden, night suddenly appeared. Because I looked at the warm brass sunshine on the wall this afternoon, I remembered an autumn long ago. I opened a book I used to like and began to read. Suddenly, I was as tender and sentimental as when I was nineteen. When I found a short poem written on yellow paper, it began with two lines like this:
I found my childhood dream in your eyes,
If you find withered flowers in the autumn garden. ...
He Qifang is a famous poet, essayist, literary critic and theorist of A Dream of Red Mansions in China. Graduated from the Philosophy Department of Peking University, he is one of the "Three Poets of Hanyuan". His works mainly include: prose collection Painting Dreams (a masterpiece), poetry collection Prediction, and the study of Dream of Red Mansions has made great achievements.
He Qifang, formerly known as He. People from Wanxian (now Chongqing) in Sichuan. He Qifang loved China's ancient poems and novels when he was a child. From 65438 to 0929, he went to Shanghai to study in China Preparatory School and read a lot of new poems. 1931-1935 studied in the philosophy department of Peking University.
He Qifang's early poems are gorgeous, sad, touching and full of personality. During my college years, I published poems and essays in magazines such as Modern. 1936 published Bian and Li Guangtian's poetry anthology Hanyuan Collection, 1937 published prose anthology Hua and won the literary gold medal in Ta Kung Pao. After graduating from university, He Qifang taught in Tianjin Nankai Middle School and Shandong Laiyang Rural Normal School (now ludong university). He used to be the director of the Institute of Literature of China Academy of Sciences (now the Institute of Literature of China Academy of Social Sciences) and a member of the Department of Philosophy and Social Sciences. Formerly known as He, he was born in an old family in Wanxian County, Sichuan Province. From 65438 to 0935, he graduated from the Philosophy Department of Peking University, taught all over the country, founded publications and published a large number of poems and political articles, expressing great indignation at the passive anti-Japanese war of the Kuomintang. His early works, Hanyuan Collection, Night Song, Prediction, Night Song and Song of the Day, are deeply loved by readers. From 65438 to 0938, he taught at Lu Xun Art College in Yan 'an, joined the China Producer Party in the same year, and did a lot of pioneering work for revolutionary literature and art. After the founding of the People's Republic of China, he served as a member of the first, second and third CPPCC, a deputy to the third National People's Congress, a member of the All-China Federation of Literary and Art Circles, a member of the Secretariat of the Chinese Writers Association, a member of the Department of Philosophy and Social Sciences of China Academy of Social Sciences, a director of the Institute of Literature Review. He is a poet who made great achievements in the great era and great changes in the middle of the 20th century.
After the outbreak of War of Resistance against Japanese Aggression, He Qifang returned to his hometown of Sichuan to teach, while continuing to write poems, essays and essays. 1938 went north to Yan 'an and taught at Lu Xun Art Institute. In the same year, he joined the China * * * Production Party and later served as the Minister of Literature of Lu Yi. He was highly regarded as Zhu De's private secretary, and his writing style changed greatly, full of revolutionary strong voice of the times. At this time, his representative works are: How Broad Life is and I Sing for Boys and Girls.
1944─ 1947 was sent to Chongqing twice to engage in cultural work under the direct leadership of Zhou Enlai. He has served as a member of Sichuan Provincial Committee, deputy director of Propaganda Department and vice president of Xinhua Daily. After the founding of People's Republic of China (PRC), he served as a member of the Federation of Chinese Literary and Art Circles, director of the Chinese Writers Association, secretary of the Secretariat, and director of the Institute of Literature of China Academy of Social Sciences. He was elected as a member of the First, Second and Third China People's Political Consultative Conference and a deputy to the Third National People's Congress.
After the founding of New China, he basically gave up writing (but still created such works as Our Greatest Festival), mainly engaged in literary criticism, literary theory research (A Dream of Red Mansions) and teaching. He has been a member of the Chinese Federation of Literary and Art Circles, director and secretary of the Secretariat of the Chinese Writers Association, director of the Institute of Literature of China Academy of Social Sciences, and served as a leader in the literary and art circles.
In the political movement against Hu Feng from 65438 to 0957, He Qifang used fierce words and made friends with Hu Feng. He Qifang was not spared during the Cultural Revolution and was branded as a capitalist roader. Facing the misunderstanding of the world, he once said, "I believe that as long as there are people in China who understand me, I will continue to live." /kloc-0 died in Beijing on July 24th, 977.
He is the author of poetry collection Our Greatest Festival, poetry collection Prediction, Night Song and Day Song, and prose collection Painting Dreams. Literary essays, about realism, about a dream of red mansions, about writing and reading poems, the spring of literature and art, how broad life is, and so on.