It's mother tongue. It is the kind words of my mother, the words that the Chinese nation regards as the root, and the words that China blooms everywhere.
I have always felt that my mother tongue is the most touching sentence in the world. After 5,000 years of civilization infiltration, through the tempering of knives, guns and flints, it reads clear pronunciation and mellow voice, like pearls and jade falling from a plate. For thousands of years, Chinese has been passed down from mouth to mouth by countless descendants of dragons, and it has also given itself spirituality. We cherish it and ignore it, but as always, it rings the bell on the ancient land of China in the East and sends out a solemn throat to the world.
Among the gods believed by ancient Egyptians, there was a goddess named Matt, who was in charge of truth, justice and statutes. Matt wears feathers on his head. When a person goes to hades after death, he must weigh his heart. Matt put her feathers on the other end of the scale to weigh the heart.
I like this feather.
Mother tongue is such a heavy feather. It may not fill the sky or the cracked earth, but it is enough to be called the weight of a national cultural accumulation.
From this perspective, China people must have the power to shake the world. There are so many fascinating quips in The Book of Songs that you must recite them in Chinese, so that they will be rhythmic and touching. When New China was founded, the solemn declaration on Tiananmen Gate must be shouted out in Chinese, so as to fully reflect the significance of national rejuvenation. If you translate the exquisite artistic conception of "still water flowing deeply" or the Zen idea of "moonlight in the pine forest and crystal stone in the stream" into English or German, the mystery will be greatly reduced.
Finally, I understand why some people say that even if Mr. Qin Xue were alive, even after the completion of A Dream of Red Mansions, it would be difficult to get the Nobel Prize in Literature. Because a dream of red mansions is so China, only by reading it in your mother tongue can you slowly taste the bitterness and tears.
I finally understand why Tagore's tapestry Birds always feels alienated when read. Because of language, just as no language can replace Chinese, so is the mystery of Indian language.
The mother tongue of any nation is a living culture cherished in its own country, and Chinese is probably the heaviest one.
I love my mother tongue. This dreamy and poetic Chinese sentence has been spoken by the descendants of the dragon for thousands of years, and I can still hear its poetic rhythm:
Flat and light.