Shanghai Century Publishing Co., Ltd. was published by Shanghai People's Publishing House in July 2006.
I am a tree.
I am a tree, and I am lonely. I cried in the rain. For God's sake, listen to what I want to say. Have some coffee, don't be sleepy, keep your eyes open, treat me like an elf, and let me tell you why I am so lonely.
People say that I was scribbled on a rough piece of paper with no glue on the surface, so that I can hang a picture of a tree behind the storyteller. That's true. At the moment, there are no other slender trees beside me, no seven-leaf clover on the grassland, no layers of black rocks that are often compared to Satan and man, and no curled China clouds in the sky. Just the land, the sky, me and the horizon. But my story is much more complicated than that.
As a tree, I don't have to be a part of the book. However, as a picture of a tree, I am not a page in the book, which makes me feel a little uneasy. Because I don't want to show anything in the book, I think my photos will be hung on the wall, and people like pagans and pagans will kneel before me and worship me. Don't let the followers of Ayatollah Arzu Ram hear me. I was secretly proud of this idea, and then I was swallowed up by deep fear and shame.
Third, the most fundamental reason for my loneliness is that I don't even know which story I belong to. I should be part of a story, but I fall from there like a fallen leaf in autumn. Let me tell you something:
Stories fall from my stories, like fallen leaves in autumn.
Forty years ago, the old enemy of the Ottoman Empire, King Tamasp of Persia, who loved painting art the most in the world, lost his love for wine, music, poetry and painting as he grew older. Not only that, he also gave up coffee, and as a result, his brain naturally stopped working. He is moping all day and suspicious. In order to stay away from the Ottoman army, he even moved the imperial capital from Dabriz, which was still Persian territory at that time, to Gatzwin. One day in his later years, he was haunted by evil spirits and was insane. He prayed for God's forgiveness and vowed never to touch alcohol, beautiful teenagers or paintings again. This incident clearly proves that after losing his taste in coffee, the great monarch also lost his mind.
Because of this, many talented bookbinding workers, calligraphers, bronzing workers and excellent painters have created the most precious classic works in the world in Tabrizi for 20 years, but now they have been scattered to other cities. Governor of Mashhad Ibrahim? Sultan Mirsa, Tamasp's nephew and son-in-law, invited the best of them to come to the city under his jurisdiction, put them in his exquisite painter's workshop, and asked them to copy seven narrative poems "Seven Thrones" by Zami, the greatest poet in Herat during the reign of Timur, and make them into exquisite manuscripts with exquisite paintings. For this clever and lovely nephew, King Tamasp was originally jealous and loving, and regretted marrying his daughter. When he heard about this exquisite manuscript, he was jealous and angrily fired his nephew, Governor Mashhad, and demoted him to Cain. That wasn't enough, and then he was demoted to a smaller town, Sabuzi Waal. So the calligraphers and illustrators in Mashhad fled to other cities and countries and took refuge in other hand-written painting workshops of Sudan and princes.
But miraculously, Ibrahim? The exquisite books of Sultan Mi Erzha didn't give up halfway. It turns out that he has a loyal book producer. The man rode all the way to Shiraz, where the best gilded master lived; Then he came to Isfahan with a few pages, looking for the calligrapher who was best at writing Nestali's calligraphy. Then he crossed the mountains and went all the way to Bukhara, asking the greatest painting masters around Uzbek Khan to design painting structures and ask them to paint portraits; Later, he went south to Herat and entrusted a semi-blind old painter to draw twisted vines and branches from memory; In Herat, he visited another calligrapher and asked him to write a lintel for a door in the painting with the calligraphy of Golden Ruika. Finally, he set out south to find Cain and Ibrahim? Sultan Mirsa showed that he had traveled for six months and finished half the page, which was very appreciated.
At this rate, it is obvious that the book will never be finished. Knowing this, they hired the Tatar Quich as an emissary. In addition to the manuscript pages prepared for the master to draw and write, each rider also carries a letter detailing what the artist needs to do. In this way, the messengers took the pages of the manuscript through the territories of Persia, Khorasan, Uzbekistan and Sogdia. The gallop of messengers accelerated the production of books. Sometimes, on the snowy nights on pages 59 and 162, we will meet in a camel shop, and there is a faint howl of wolves outside the shop. After a friendly conversation, two messengers will find that they are writing the same book, so they take their pages out of the room. Discuss these pages with each other and try to distinguish which story they belong to and which part of the story they belong to.
I should belong to a page in this handwritten picture book, but unfortunately, on a cold winter night, the Tatar who transported me was ambushed by an ambush thief while riding across a rugged mountain. First they beat up the poor Tatar, then these shameless thieves robbed him, raped him and killed him in cold blood. So I don't know which page I belong to. I beg you to look at me and tell me: I wonder, when Megino disguised as a shepherd to visit Lila's tent, will I be his shadow? Or was it originally intended to disappear in the dark, symbolizing the darkness in the soul of a desperate unbeliever? How I wish I could add happiness to a couple who fled the world, crossed the ocean and finally got peace on an island with birds and flowers! How I wish I could cover Alexander's shadow at the last moment of his life when he died of a nosebleed in the process of conquering India. Or, when a father gives his son advice about love and life, I was originally used to symbolize his strength and wisdom? Ah, which story did I want to add meaning and elegance to?
These bandits killed the emissary, took me away, and carried me through countless mountains and cities in desperation. One of them occasionally understood my value and took good care of me, as if he knew that a photo of a tree was more pleasing to the eye than a real tree. However, because he didn't know which story I belonged to, he soon got tired of me. This rascal took me through city after city. It's a good thing he didn't tear me to pieces and throw me around like I was afraid. I went to a hotel and sold me to a careful person with a pot of wine. This poor cautious man sometimes watches me cry by candlelight at night. Soon, he died of grief and people sold all his property. Thanks to the storyteller who bought me and brought me all the way to Istanbul. Now, I am extremely happy. I feel very honored to be here tonight with all the outstanding painters and calligraphers who are brilliant, sharp-eyed, determined, original and thoughtful under the rule of Ottoman Sultan. For heaven's sake, I beg you not to believe other people's nonsense, saying that I am a master of fine painting and scribbled on rough paper in order to hang a picture on the wall.
But listen again, what lies, slanders and bold jokes are there! You probably remember that my master hung a picture of a dog on this wall last night, telling the adventure story of this beast; Meanwhile, he told a story about Ayazulum's Ayatollah Huslet! Well, the followers of Reverend Nuslet completely misunderstood the story. They thought our remarks offended him. How can we say that this great missionary and outstanding adult have a suspicious life? God punish! How could we possibly have such an idea? They are really gossiping. What a bold joke! In fact, they described Nuslet of Al Zurum as Husslet of Al Zurum. So, let me tell you a story about "Cross-eyed Ned Wright's Imam and Siwars's Tree".
In addition to publicly denouncing the pursuit of beautiful teenagers and painting art, Ned Wright, a cross-eyed priest in Siwars, also insisted that coffee is the product of the devil, and everyone who drinks coffee will go to hell. Hey, Siwars people, have you forgotten how my thick branches bend? I will tell you, but you must swear not to tell anyone, because God will protect you from slander. One morning, I woke up and saw, wow, a big guy as tall as a mosque minaret and with hands like lion's claws climbed up my tree with the aforementioned imam and hid under my lush leaves; Then, forgive me, they enter the state like dogs in heat. When this behemoth, I later learned that it was Satan, he gently kissed his charming ear and whispered to it: "Coffee is a sin, coffee is evil …" Therefore, those who believe that coffee has a bad influence believe not the commandments of our orthodox religion, but Satan himself.
Finally, I want to mention this frank painter, so if some of you degenerate people want to be like them, I hope you will pay attention to my warning and change your mind. Yes, these frank painters use amazing skills to describe the faces of kings, priests, gentlemen and even women, so that you can recognize the people in the paintings on the street after seeing such portraits. Originally, their wives could wander around the street at will, and you can think about the rest yourself. But as if that wasn't enough, they made things worse. I'm not talking about pimping, but painting. ...
A great Frank painter and another great Frank painter walked through a Frank grassland together, talking about skills and art ... They walked and saw a forest in front of them. One of them was more skillful and said to the other, "The new painting style needs such talents. When you draw a tree in this forest, people who have seen the painting will come here. If he wants, he can find the tree accurately from all the trees. "
Thanks to Allah, I, the poor tree painting you saw, fortunately, it was not drawn according to this attempt. I am not afraid that if I am painted like this, all the dogs in Istanbul will think that I am a real tree and pee on me, but because: I don't want to be a tree, but want to be its meaning.
To be honest, I don't know much about it, which is related to the political background at that time. But I always think it's because I'm not a tree. What's the point of not knowing where you belong? I am a lonely tree, not necessarily noble, but very meaningful.
Personal understanding, reference.