Fung Shing (Chapter 4)

2022-05-31 0 By

Yunhong Tower is upright, it can not bend over, it can not even take off the hat to greet, it can only be independent, can only be lonely, and wind and rain thunder and lightning often meet friends or enemies, but it faces everything, never retreat and avoid.It is the tower, loneliness is it, loneliness is it, clank zheng proudly in time into a regional symbol.Thus, glory is it, memory is it, as time goes by, the nostalgia, are also displayed on its face.Does not matter the vicissitudes of life, because vicissitudes of life is its final appearance.The window of my childhood is it. In the 11th year of Jiaqing more than 200 years ago, it began to stand on the Pagoda Mountain in the southeast of Xiaofeng.West Tiaoxi people, more than 200 years later, my father took a look at it, writing poetry, writing calligraphy, in the 20th century in the 1970s newspaper, day and night practice.At the end of each year, he would walk up the hill with a pen and paper and his son, who had just become a teenager, and write his poems on the wall of the pagoda.Now I am 50 years old, think of fengcheng think of this tower, think of this tower think of my father’s feet.He is going to the tower to write poetry, he smiled, to publish poetry in the tower.I smile at the thought of it now, and I smile at the fine of at least two hundred dollars if he goes to the tower wall to write again.It is called Yunhong Pagoda. It is 29 meters high and has four characters on the fourth floor of the front: “Its Tao Daguang”.Three times, such as flip cards, change in a flash, wechat is not letter, the speed is far beyond the letter, just like Huzhou has been the leader of Anji, but like two brothers of two families.Just like at the moment, I was in Hangzhou, but because of a letter from huzhou elder brother, my thoughts gradually went to Fengcheng, to a hill in the east of the city, and then on the top of the hill, there appeared this pagoda.There are two ways to go home. One of them forks out of the boundary of my life and my childhood, like a flying kite, depressed by dark clouds and blown by the wind that all living things follow blindly to the side of the street, accompanied by several pieces of broken old newspapers rolling on the wooden threshold under the green tiles.Road to the east gate extension, turning into the cooky-cookie elementary school porch, sound of loud reading, my eyes staring at the blackboard that eight characters: good good study, up every day.I look down, I want to go up, but my path is always down…Spring breeze always some, when I was very small, I walk on the road in winter feel even smaller, I even would like to small into a dust, can avoid all eyes.Winter is followed by spring.But then, spring was like sweet chocolate to me.I know it, I know it in books, but belong to my books, full of winter cold.Finally, there is a second way, along the Anji to the distance, it is the reform and opening up of the new development ideas, like a new grain, has been climbing up my hand, so that MY arm has been sagging, began to be strong and can clench up the fist.Although I am still very small, but to reach out my hand to the distance, the joy of faith ahead, full of hope.Fifty years later, those two roads have long gone, and now I’m sitting here, and I’m a home myself.My kite hours fly kites, woven bamboo sticks a square, then the paper with paste paste, and from their home to steal in the field glyph bamboo sticks tied to the neck, and then rolling up his trousers, going west shao creek wading through the back door, opposite is a vast wasteland, called brother take a kite, I run to the pay-off, soon, the kite flew up…Flying kite is childhood flying eyes, this eye actually want to see a higher and farther place, they borrow the kite eyes to look out, toward a higher and farther look.This is different from the Stork building in Wangzihuan, which is named after the bird, but it can’t fly, and the kite is there to fly.So the kite, it is not only a childhood toy, it is a childhood yearning, a desire.I fly kite childhood in fengcheng south gate, the back door of the West Tiaoxi stream flowing, I stand in the attic by the stream, I often see the other side of the river children fly kites.At that time, the kite was more like a bird, especially after flying high in the blue sky, it suddenly broke the line, the children would be crazy to chase, but the broken line of the kite is more like a person’s soul, once the line is broken, it completely flew away…If kites do have souls, I’ve flown a few souls as a child.Now, when I think of these kites, I wonder: where are the souls of my childhood?Fishing must first have a river, the river must have fish, fishing can be carried out.Talent and neighborhood urchin eluded their parents, stealing peaches and picking plums all the way.The fishing rod is naturally a small bamboo pole, cut branches and leaves tied to a thin line, the thread tied to a thin needle, the needle with fire to soften the tip, folded into a hook.As for bait, it is even simpler. You dig in the field with a small hoe, take a soft earthworm, put it through the crooked tip of a needle, and throw it into the river.Sitting or standing by the river, staring at the surface of the river, the idea of death is not at all, small town children, two small eyes naturally fixed on the ups and downs of the float.Fish are a lot of, a group of groups in the river to swim around, like children after class, each other will be crowded play, see bait into the water, they hurried to open their mouths.The fish is small, the fish mouth is smaller, the fish mouth even bite the bait, you pull hard, the fish mouth will leave the bait.The fish didn’t know what was going on. The next time the bait came down, it went for it again.So repeated, the whole afternoon, fish or fish, fishing rod or fishing rod, I am still me, empty, shaking hands, heart is full of comfort.This is actually a memory: when there are people in a town, there are children; when there is a river near the town, there are small fish.So small town children small river fish, then in a sunny afternoon, met in a small town outside the south door.The river is west Tiaoxi Creek, later know, or quite a history of the river.The town name xiao Feng, is also known later, originally its history can be straight after The Qin Dynasty Wang Jian.The child is me, liang Xiaoming who is writing these words right now.