It was not until I fell in love with a Beijing girl that I seemed to be integrated into another life in this city. At first, I didn't care about her family background. I just think her clothes are not gorgeous but clean, her tone of voice is smooth and her accent is strong. She likes to use some vivid local sayings (such as calling me "weak" half jokingly, that is, half derogatory and half commendatory), which is obviously different from the Mandarin I hear every day. It was just a silvery sound. I soon fainted in this music. I soon got up the courage to chase her.
I remember the first time I kissed her in the shadow at the corner of the stairs. She broke free and called me a "bad guy" helplessly, but soon forgave me. She soon took me as a lover and asked me to do something close from time to time. One Christmas, she watched an evening movie. She dared not go alone at night and asked me to take her home. The bus we transferred to went south and finally stopped at a platform called Baizhifang. I can roughly recall the location of this place name on the map, all the way to the south of the city (the old things in the south of the city are quite famous). This is my first time to walk into the "old quarter" in the south of the city and into the ancient maze built by hutongs and quadrangles. It was the first time I experienced the shock and emotion from architecture, accompanied by a Beijing girl with a crisp Beijing accent.
This is also my first love since I came to Beijing. Young love and ancient architecture are inadvertently arranged by fate, which is not inferior, because they are also things that pursue immortality in the world. My girlfriend asked me to press her key and open the door with a lighter. I glanced at the house number by the firelight: "No.28, Cherry Hutong, Baizhifang East Street", which was simply an ancient poem hanging on my head.
This is also the name of my first love since I came to Beijing. Then we successfully entered the interior of one of the many quadrangles with the same shape. Standing in the dark yard with pomegranate trees, you can see the lights on in the front room, and the girlfriend's family is sitting in the living room waiting for her to come back.
My girlfriend introduced me to her family as a friend. Her mother first said gratefully that if she had known I was escorting her, she wouldn't have to worry. Then she called me to sit down on the cane chair, spread a small handleless wine cup on the low coffee table, and picked up the teapot to pour tea. I took a sip and found that it was jasmine tea, the favorite drink of old Beijingers. While I was sipping tea, her mother kept looking at me with flashing eyes. After her father nodded, he just smiled and sat cross-legged on the sofa listening to the Peking Opera in the semiconductor. Later, I often went to her house and found that her father didn't talk much, and most of his contacts were simple and honest with a smile (which seemed to be the only expression on his face), but he was an obsessed fan. The greatest enjoyment in his life seems to be keeping birds, watering flowers and humming some Peking Opera in his own yard-for him, that is sunshine. At that time, I thought her father had the will of a flag bearer. Later, when asked, it was really full. And like Lao She, the ancestors were red flags.
It was after midnight after drinking tea that day, and the bus was blocked. My girlfriend's mother insisted that I stay until dawn, saying that the empty west wing was dedicated to receiving visiting relatives and friends for the night: "You have never lived in a quadrangle, have you?" Then stay for one night. "Her kindness and enthusiasm suddenly brought me closer. The decoration of the west wing room is very simple, just an old carved wooden bed and some old furniture, but like other rooms, there is an earthen heating pipe (the kitchen is heated by honeycomb coal), which is very warm, in sharp contrast to the roar of the northwest wind outside. I was a little insomnia that night because of the happiness of love that fell from the sky? Because the heating is too hot? Or is it because of the strange sleeping environment?
This is really my first night in the traditional houses in old Beijing, and it is also my first antique dream. This house is much older than mine. It is like a gentle old man, caring for the heart of a wanderer. After turning off the lights, I still smell the stagnant past, and the ancient flavor emitted in the darkness. I spent Christmas Eve in a classical quadrangle. This is a unique story about the West Chamber that happened in Beijing. I tossed and turned like Zhang Sheng, thinking about Yingying across a wall and Yingying across a piece of paper. Especially now, it seems like a lifetime. After all, it was a once brilliant but ultimately failed love, just like a rocket that ran out of fuel and fell halfway. The burning shrapnel flew in the ocean like a meteor shower, a deep ocean in my heart.
The next morning, my girlfriend took me to visit the rooms one by one to learn about the structure of the quadrangle. Grass has grown on the eaves, and the goldfish pond built under the wall is mottled with moss. She said that her grandfather was born in this quadrangle, which means that her family's roots are here. In short, although the courtyard is slightly decadent, every brick and tile still reveals the dignity and luxury of the past. She pointed to the pomegranate tree in the yard and said that it was planted by her father on the day she was born. Now the wind is cool, like a slim girl. It also explains that old Beijing residents always like to plant several pomegranate trees in quadrangles, at least two jujube trees. I clearly heard an old style from the rustling of leaves. The ancient style still exists. I suddenly found that people living in quadrangles are definitely the residents closest to the city's past.
This is a long love. Dating your girlfriend countless times and sending her home countless times. I have walked through that winding alley countless times, as if I had traveled back and forth to the history and reality of Beijing countless times. I seem to be both a master of reality and a guest of history. In the past, when I was a guest in Beijing, I couldn't finish listening to the old things in the south of the city. My girlfriend's daily life is frugal, but whenever she goes, she is always invited to eat instant-boiled mutton hot pot (and I prefer the charcoal-burning one without an electric stove). The steaming hot pot has shrunk the world. My girlfriend's mother likes to recall her family tree at the dinner table. She finally met a distant audience, who were curious about everything she described.
With more contact, I gradually understand the outline of the life of the old citizens in Beijing. They are breathing in an ancient atmosphere, just like being vividly displayed in an ancient concept of time. They are always so poor, gentle and upright, and a little helpless in the face of the rapid development of reality. In the ever-changing Beijing, if we are immigrants, they are adherents, bearing the shadow of a broad tradition. They live in a bungalow burning honeycomb coal, and like to eat beef and mutton, drink jasmine tea and Erguotou, listen to Beijing opera, raise birds or goldfish, talk about state affairs, and especially like to recall the past. Compared with their present age, they belong to the old citizens with psychological coordinates, and subconsciously pretend to be their masters, taking a bite of "za Beijing" ...
That love gave me a lesson, a folk lesson in Beijing. But just before the bell rang, my girlfriend and I broke up for various reasons. True love may produce the most beautiful flowers, but it is difficult to bear complete fruits. The creator may have arranged it on purpose. After a long time, they will interrupt each other. Many years later, I happened to pass by Baizhifang on a business trip, and I was surprised to find that the quadrangle was razed to the ground, and a butterfly-shaped overpass bridge rose nearby. My girlfriend's house has long been demolished, right? Are the old buildings in this area in ruins like my love? Wandering in the unrecognizable love scene, am I looking for the shadow of the past or my own shadow? The white paper factory has become a blank piece of paper again. The scenery on the paper has been collected by the years. I always thought that everything was intact in this corner of the distant city, but the world changed much faster than I thought.
After returning to China, consult relevant historical materials: "Baizhifang is an old lane in the southwest corner of Beijing. In the history of Beijing's urban construction, it was one of the eight lanes in Cheng Nan in the late Ming Dynasty, which was demarcated with the expansion of the city wall. It may be named because the residents there deal in more paper-making handicrafts. Until the 1930s and 1940s, the area around Chongxiao Temple in Baizhifang was still inhabited by handicraft paper fishing workshops. So far, the old residents of Cheng Nan will talk a lot. " I once fell in love with Bai Zhifang's daughter. It seems that my life is destined to be with paper. This is fate, but there is no chance. Including today, draw an increasingly blurred outline of past love on paper. Love separated by a piece of paper is farther than a wall and a lifetime.
Seeing that Beijing girls are suitable to walk the streets, and it is best to walk on the streets in cold winter. Because of her tall figure, Huntress's dress with leather boots, windbreaker or down jacket can best set off her charm. If your face is red with cold, it's more like walking and joking with candied haws in your hand, which adds a little childlike interest. Seeing their long hair fluttering head-on, the whole winter scenery suddenly becomes warm and lively, and you will subconsciously give way sideways.
It seems that the road for girls in Beijing should always be unimpeded, a golden belt that can sing and dance. Even wandering in the open streets (and all public and private occasions), they are as happy as at home. They have actually regarded themselves as the hostesses of this city (a group of young hostesses). So they looked at everything around them (whether it was a government building, a five-star hotel, the former emperor's palace or the European and American embassies) with flat eyes. You can hardly find admiration, admiration, curiosity and surprise in their eyes. It seems that I have seen all the world I should see. So there are few real groupies in Beijing. Maybe one of their acquaintances is a big star, or they often have the opportunity to bump into stars in shopping malls, bars, concert halls and hotels, which has reached a state of indifference.
It was winter when I first came to Beijing. That's my first impression of the girls in the street. From then on, I thought of Beijing girls and thought they were the most generous. If you prefer static beauty, you'd better look for Jiangnan women as elegant as gardens. The style of Beijing girls is always natural and graceful, even a little careless. They are not flowers in a greenhouse, as if they were born to grow outdoors. They are closest to the sun, maintaining a tall and straight figure and healthy skin color. In this sense, they are the most typical ladies in China (different from Xiaojiabiyu). They are the daughters of the capital, and they have a broad vision and extraordinary self-confidence that women from other provinces rarely have.
They don't believe in myths, but only in themselves. Believe that where you are is the center of the world. They really regard Beijing as their parents. Just as they know that they will pass a series of famous buildings on their way to work every day, Tiananmen Square, the Great Hall of the People and CCTV are the roofs of this vast country. This is how the so-called aristocratic temperament of Beijing girls is cultivated. What is particularly commendable is that they are neither arrogant nor impetuous in nobility, and even a little chivalrous. They are generous, generous, crisp and neat, do not hide their views, stress principles, and hate evil, perhaps influenced by their fathers and brothers? Sima Qian has long said: Zhao Yan is more generous and sad.
Naturally, contemporary Beijing girls are different from Princess Zhu Huan in Qing Dynasty. Gege, the daughter of Wang Ye, is also related to Lao She's Camel Xiangzi: Tigress in the movie is very different. No matter whether they grew up in an alley or lived in an office compound, once they walk in the street, their expressions are always so calm. You can't see the shadow of the past from their eyes, as if they have reached a mature age and have integrated into this modern city. Beijing constitutes their blood. Don't think that girls are just street scenes and duckweeds on the water. Their temperament and Beijing spirit are unified.
Crowded on the bus. Or in other social occasions, I like to listen to Beijing girls, with standard pronunciation and clear pronunciation, all like announcers. Moreover, I can talk about everything at any time, and it is also happy to settle in Beijing. I can listen to this charming broadcast with my own ears every day. The conversation style of Beijing girls is very distinctive. Everything she says is like personal experience, and there is no lack of humor to adjust it. This is simply a literary brushwork. Beijing dialect and Beijing rhyme are especially suitable for such rendering. Influenced by their fathers and brothers, Beijingers are famous for their eloquence.
I went to work in a publishing house in Beijing. In the first year, I exercised at school. The proofreading department is all female compatriots. I laugh nonstop every day. I learned their eloquence and got the heroic legacy of the Spring and Autumn Period and the Warring States Period. Sharp talk makes you a little bit painful and itchy: there is still a little numbness and pleasure after being acupunctured, and you will admire this intelligence more and more: how do they find so many jokes from themselves and others in life?
Beijing girls are sharp-tongued, and there is also a fast-moving gear in their brains, which engages their thoughts and synchronizes their language and thoughts. This shows that Beijing girls are born for happiness.
They hold the philosophy of happiness. Happiness is the highest value of his life. Regard fame and fortune as clouds, but take happiness as the soul. So Beijing girls give me the impression that they are not only confident, but also optimistic. Are they optimistic because of self-confidence, or are they optimistic because of optimism? I never found the exact answer. So their self-confidence and optimism are also integrated, as if they were born with it. I can only sum up my contribution to the city: as the daughters of Beijing, it is the city that endows them with the same personality characteristics as themselves, making them sunny women with few melancholy and shadows. After all, they grew up in sunny days, clear, true and transparent, like water, like a mirror, and even like the sky. When you get along with girls who have the quality of water and mirrors, you will be very relaxed and won't have too many psychological obstacles. Their confidence and optimism can easily infect you, as if they were shared by you. In this city, you always feel the weather is fine.
Beijing girls are the best companions for watching movies, falling in love, shopping, chatting, acting skits, business cooperation and even traveling. Especially when listening to her talk about love with you in standard Mandarin, you will have an authentic feeling. Why is it the same as music prose? Perhaps, the Beijing girl herself is an unremarkable woman. Lyric, argumentative and narrative are all suitable.