"Transparent Sorrow" is a story about wanting nothing when writing. When writing, I just want to draw the feelings hidden in my heart, and I just want to sort out this part of my life that I cherish very much. That's all. The distance from ambition is not necessarily related to the quality of creation. Moreover, no matter what kind of work is completed, it can only be chosen by time and audience, and any words are redundant. Creators should always remain silent about the work itself, which is a right and virtue. When I was a child, the shadow in my heart came from ignorance of the road ahead, without any revelation or sign. Yes, on such a beautiful night, life can contain moonlight, but at the same time it should also contain a transparent layer of accidental injury. Murong Qingyi is a youthful memory of a generation. The world she built is beautiful, elegant and affectionate. In 1980s and 1990s, her poems swept the mainland, which influenced the growth and love view of a generation. The Collection of Xi Murong's Works includes two collections of essays: Home under the Maple Tree, Transparent Sorrow and On the Dark River. Poetry is sad but beautiful, and prose is exquisite and meaningful. The collection of poems is comprehensive and complete, almost sweeping away Xi Murong's classic works. After careful arrangement and design, this series will salvage the most precious memories of youth for those who have been touched by Xi Murong, and will also bring a seemingly distant but palpable touch to those who have never read Xi Murong.
A humble heart, the most distinguished youth in front of my mother's window, a white camellia, a happy ideal, a mirror of the years, goodbye to my girl who suppressed crying, a night school student, a birthday card of Zhang Chuntian, a couple, a mother and son, and fellow students. The second chapter reviews my road, a lonely traveler, strict father, a shell lotus leaf, Ma Yingdan, an egg flower intersection, Taiwanese lilies fighting for gardenias, and three beautiful tung flowers sleeping on the moon, standing in the mirror and flying. Give me an island naive mind book and time-to the lonely tree. At this moment, my protest began in the fog on a cold night ... five, six, seven, eight and nine.