When you are young and you have just begun to understand the world, you will be afraid of darkness, separation, all unknown journeys, death, and such a short life. And after many years, you understand that your life will be so long. The things you are afraid of are eternal in this world. So you slowly closed your eyes and sang a distant song in the dusk. Those notes are washed clean and fragrant in the river of time. You think of the dusk with light snow and the heavy wheat fields in autumn. The white clouds slowly drifted across the sky again. 01 How to start so that it doesn’t look so artificial. I thought about this question for a long time. The earliest glimpse of this world is the sky with billowing dark clouds at night. At that time, I was sleeping in my mother's arms, my forehead was hot, and my mother carried me to the hospital late at night. The father was holding an umbrella in front of the mother. Most of his body was exposed to the pouring rain, and his wet clothes clung to his body. They walked anxiously through the night. Lightning illuminates a large swath of the sky in an instant. So many years passed like this. But I always carry the best hard-covered notebook in my schoolbag, which is a prize I won from participating in the composition competition in the district. I was only eight or nine years old at that time. As a little kid, in order to get praise from the teacher and win praise, I held a pen very pretentiously and wrote down what I wanted to write. At that time, when I was squatting by the flower bed and copying the names and plant information of the flowers, when I was lying on the wall and copying the information of all the martyrs - when I wrote "The sun is shining today, the white clouds are one by one." "The flowers floated gently in the sky, like groups of cheerful sheep. The school led the whole school to the park to enjoy the peonies." Putting it in front of the tombs of the martyrs, when we heard the teacher talking about the heroic deeds of the martyrs, many students shed tears of emotion. We thought that when we grow up, we must be like them and protect our country. " When I heard my elementary school Chinese teacher reading my article in standard Mandarin in front of the whole class, I never thought that one day, this person squatting by the flower bed would copy "The buds of Luoyang spring are pointed and round; the buds of cinnabar are built The narrow-pointed self will one day walk on that infinitely soft but also extremely rough red carpet because of this kind of writing. The most vivid sentence in my memory was read in the air by the teacher in standard Mandarin: - It was the grandest summer, and the green of the Martyrs Cemetery was heavy and solemn. The sunshine is generous and abundant, beating on everyone's chest like a sea wave. But the white clouds are still silent, staying in the vast sky. But whether it’s walking down a red carpet or trekking across a cold ice field, these are all in the very, very distant future. What happened at that time was that the teacher asked the five students in our class who were the best writers to submit articles to the Young Pioneer Newspaper, and all four students’ articles were published. I am the only classmate who has not published an article. When school was over that day, I ran to a flower bed behind the school with my small schoolbag on my back. I sat by the flower bed with my head down for a long time. When the sun was almost setting, I stood up and ran home in a hurry. The noisy sound turned into countless dense thorns in the last bell after school, piercing my young and inferior heart. 04 Many years passed after that. I am in the second grade of junior high school. I got my first pair of LINING sneakers. I started to think that Giordano and Baleno are famous brand clothes. At that time, there was no Metersbonwe or Semir. I once used the pocket money I had saved for a long time to buy a Giordano vest for 98 yuan. In the same year, I published a very short poem in a magazine. When I turned the magazine to the page of my article with uncontrollable excitement and pointed to my name to show it to my classmate, he beamed with joy: "Haha, what a coincidence, I have the same name and surname as you." 05 Us They all say that as long as you scatter bread crumbs along the way, you can find your way back to the original path before the birds peck them away. But we have ignored that every tiny particle is actually no different from dust. When rubbed into the eyes, tears can flow out. 06 When I was in junior high school, I watched "Don't Cry at Seventeen" and copied many sentences from it into my diary. I was once moved to tears by the youthful drama "Jia Dulangxin" in the TV series. I fell down on the sofa and stuffed my hands deeply into the gaps between the sofa cushions. Tears rolled out one by one. Later, I had to be late for class because I was about to be late. And went out in a hurry. With my throat still choked and tears still hanging on my face without wiping them clean, I rushed into the classroom. I imitated the high school students on TV, hiding under the quilt with a flashlight and writing a diary. Although the junior high school students themselves do not live on campus, there is no need to cut off the power, and no teachers will come to check on them. But I just want to be them. Become them who are showing off their youth wantonly. I want to become a more mature existence. That kind of admiration, almost looking up to him. The longing for the beautiful youth of high school students is reflected into the heart and becomes a huge longing. Write the story you made up on red manuscript paper neatly, put it in a heavy envelope and put it in the mailbox. At that time, it was very difficult to buy regular red manuscript paper.
At that time, students began to use colorful stationery to write letters. At that time, Suiko Taro’s pencils and Korean notebooks began to appear. The owner of the stationery store in front of the school would always pull out a thick stack of dusty manuscript paper from the corner and sell it to me. I stuffed them into my bag. Such nights reappeared countless times in my childhood. After that, I would go to the school mailbox every day to see if there was any letter from me. One month, two months, four months passed. In the end, it was determined that everything was lost again. When the sun was setting, I stood in front of the school mailbox and stood on tiptoes to look through the cracks. The shadow was quietly rubbed on the cement floor. The wind shook it. The quiet campus at six o'clock in the afternoon. Scattered crowds slowly walked past my overwhelming loss and tears. These are the crumbs rubbed into the eyes. 07 When I participated in the New Concept Essay Contest, my parents didn’t know, and neither did the school. But the classmates and friends around me knew. They have various expressions. Encouragement, encouragement. There are also sarcastic, mocking and indifferent ones. I will not, like other winners, say, just write whatever I want and then win the grand prize. I really want to get first place. Try your best to move towards the most vain existence. I wrote a total of seven 5,000-word articles. I bought seven magazines and cut out seven registration forms. Six months later, I flew to Shanghai alone carrying a huge black schoolbag. That was the first time I saw the huge wings of an airplane. In the black night sky, the lights on the front of the wings flickered, and the beats pulled the frequency of my heart. 08 Please fold the memories with the present. Please match your vanity and dreams. Please dismantle the sky and the earth. Please bear the glory and loneliness. With the weight of silence. Please follow me all the way to the end of the desert and fly to the vast ice field covered with cold. The end of light and ink. 09 Later, my story was magnified under the spotlight. Documented in text, photos and videos. It no longer matters what kind of person you are. What matters is what kind of person you are playing. You have to wear fine clothes and you have to be gentle and elegant. You have to be calm about joy and sorrow, and you have to be tolerant and tolerant. I shed my armor along the way, but at the same time built a stronger iron wall in my heart. 10. There were times when I wanted to give up. Many nights, I slammed the keyboard to the ground because I couldn’t write. On many occasions, when you are blinded by the spotlight, you are caught off guard by a sudden attack. When readers who see me rush to me, lift my book, and tear it in half. When I was at a low point, I was at a loss when faced with the readers who were watching indifferently in twos and threes in front of the book signing table. When someone suddenly rushed up to me from the signing crowd and pointed at me and said, "Do you feel that you are shameless?" When I saw that someone had slightly changed a few sentences in my article, and then posted it on the Internet saying that it was a sentence from another author's article, I came to the conclusion that "this is evidence that Guo Jingming plagiarized her", and there was something deeper when I was speechless. I was so angry that the uninformed Dulang Xinfa expressed his humiliation to me in his reply. I myself understand that the author's original text was not like this at all, but not everyone knows that. The reason why I know so clearly is because the author they thought I plagiarized was named Qi Jinnian, and the article they clamored for being plagiarized was "Sleeping on the Road" that I reviewed and published on "Island". When I threw the mouse hard against the wall, tears still flowed out of my eyes. When being entangled and dragged by dense and concerned eyes, pulling towards the colder deep sea canyon. There are many, many times like this when the sad truth is hidden under those seemingly beautiful false surfaces, like a dagger wrapped in brocade, warm and edgeless. 11 The first book signing in my life was when I was 20 years old. The publication of "Fantasy City" caused a sensation at the time. Including myself, no one thought that "Fantasy City" could become the best-selling book of the year that swept the book market. At that time, the publisher asked me if I was willing to sign for a book. I must say that at that time, I didn’t know what signing meant. And when I walked into the venue carrying my backpack, I subconsciously grabbed my schoolbag for a moment. 12. There are many descriptions that can be used to metaphor and simulate. And as more years passed, my father still held an umbrella and walked down the street with his mother on his arm. The time in their bodies flows into the distant horizon like the setting sun. They did not walk hurriedly in the heavy rain like they did back then. They walked forward in silence and clinging to each other in the heavy drizzle at dusk. And the small town that grew older as I grew up slowly turned gray in the ashes. The price of a taxi is still at the starting price of 5 yuan. It seems that you can travel through all the city centers for about 10 yuan. Apart from becoming gray, there seems to be no more changes. In addition to the emergence of two latest four-star hotels. There are also some nightclubs that unexpectedly play electronic music remixed by Daolang. Girls with heavy makeup can often be seen at the door, bending over and opening their mouths to vomit. The eye shadow melted around the eye sockets and was washed away by tears. And the child in their arms back then is now far away in Shanghai, the easternmost part of China. He was wrapped in a quilt and reading a book "German Lesson" on the sofa.
In addition to his own deep breathing, there was also the ticking sound of the wall clock in the room. He stood up and turned on the humidifier in the room. The central air conditioner that had been running all winter made his skin unbearably dry. He found that he actually didn't like winter. But if it starts snowing, you might like it. "The whole world was glowing slightly." He thought of the sentence he had just written about snow. 02 I’ve been thinking about my old self lately. This happens very, very often. When I think too much, I often get up in the middle of the night and search for my previous information on the Internet. I saw a lot of news from that time, saw a lot of traces of my past, and saw myself with black bangs, nervously tightening my mouth in front of the camera. I saw my 19-year-old self wearing affordable clothes standing in front of the camera, pretending to be mature and calm as if I had seen the world. He saw himself falling to the ground under the feet of countless swords and fists. Then I saw him wiping the dirt on his forehead and then slowly stood up. At times like this, the past is always like ants forced to move on a muggy rainy day, lining up to crawl out of the dark cave and crawling neatly across my heart. When they pass by, they will turn their heads and look at me with pity, stretch out their little hands and touch my head. They said: I understand everything. They said: Come on. 03 When I was in elementary school, I was the best writer in the class. Every Friday afternoon, there are two composition classes, which are my happiest days every week. There is a curriculum posted next to the blackboard in the primary school classroom. Every time I go to the trash can next to me to throw away garbage, I will quickly scan the words "composition class" with my eyes. When I was in elementary school, I carefully wrote every composition assigned by the teacher. Whether it’s writing about the flower show held in the park next to the school, or visiting the tombs of the martyrs’ cemetery. Every time we set out for a school-organized activity, the teacher would ask us to bring paper and pens to record the materials we need to write. At that time, many students would just bring a soft exercise book with them and put a pencil in their pocket. There are even more naughty boys who will tear off a page and stuff it into their pockets. Roar. The vibration of a plane taking off. The sound of tsunami. The sound of hurricane waves rolling through the forest. Facing the tidal wave of people in the audience and the shouting of my name from their mouths, my 20-year-old self did not learn to be content with it. I carefully signed the signature I had practiced long ago, writing each person's name and all the relevant blessings they expected from us. I once wrote "I hope to have a pure heart forever." There is also "Gong Xi Fa Cai". At that time, I had no assistant or agent. I was sitting alone in the lounge of the bookstore. The reporter who interviewed me asked me a few questions and left in a hurry. There was one middle school student who was working as an intern at the newspaper and was very interested in staying to interview me. At that time, after the book signing, I would stay in the bookstore and read books, squatting in front of the bookshelf and reading. People around me would not recognize me. I could also go shopping with a few readers who stayed, and I even went shopping with them a few times. We sang together, and in the small KTV room, we ate fruit together and everyone fought for the microphone. At that time, I would stand in front of the school mailbox and read the letters inside. I was still very excited when I saw envelopes from strangers. That was me four years ago. And now there is a pile of letterheads as high as a hill on the table in the company. Every time I look at them, I hear a countdown-like sound. They are saying, start counting down. 13. At that time, the crowds in my eyes were as big as the tide, and there was no way to compare them with those later. When I got more people's likes, I found that I didn't have the opportunity to repay these likes. Back then, I could write everyone's name calmly, but now, I can only sign my own name in a hurry. I just raised my head and wanted to smile at the other person, but the other person's young face had disappeared into the safety surrounded by security guards. outside the boundaries. There is still a roar. Tsunami sound. The sound of hurricane waves rolling through the forest. There is also a ticking countdown sound that I don’t know when it will start.
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