I collect cultural relics in the human world

I woke up from a nightmare with cold sweat soaking my back.

In the dream, there was a shriveled and thin old man. Even though he was dead, he still maintained the same stubbornness as when he was alive.

He stood in front of my bed and asked me over and over again, with a serious expression and a sad voice, he asked me, why? Just like I once asked while standing in front of his hospital bed, why?

Now that I think about it, there are so many reasons why. I have told him thousands of times about the answer he wants, and he has told me the answer I want over and over again with practical actions, but neither of us is satisfied.

These situations kept spinning in my mind during the day, but for some reason, when I looked at those cloudy eyes in my dream, I suddenly couldn't remember them anymore.

In fact, you obviously know the answer. Every night in your dreams, you stand beside my bed and ask a question that you know the answer to. Just think of it as a small tacit understanding between you and me. You can still see me, and I can still see you. Even if the yin and yang are separated, there is still such a connection, which is good.

The cold sweat caused by the nightmare was gradually dried by the wind, and the face in the dream became blurry. I suddenly remembered that the old man's surname was Zhu, and he was my father.

I jumped out of bed, walked to the mirror, and looked at the embarrassed man in the mirror. I didn't know what I was expecting - the man in the mirror stopped talking to me a long time ago. After that incident, he completely changed his mind. Became a mirror image of myself.

I am Zhu Bin, a person who was born in Huangsha and grew up in Huangsha, but I don’t want to be as old as my father.

When I was young, I actually didn’t hate this endless sandy soil. Although it always revealed an unchanging yellow color, but unlike other places, there was a clear spring in our village, which nurtured the rare greenery in the world, which belonged to the whole village. God is the most precious thing in this world.

Besides, I didn’t know at that time that the world could have other colors.

I was born in a spring in Shaquan Village. It was a warm spring that followed a severe winter. The March wind blew by, and the land that had been frozen for a winter gradually thawed, and the sand began to become soft and sentimental. The spring rain, which is as precious as oil, falls in waves, and the sand is almost soaked with water. This is an unprecedented good situation in the desert. The drought-tolerant plants were the first to come to their senses and began to sprout, blooming faintly green. Some hibernating animals also began to appear in the greenery, and with the sound of insects, the first wave of crops fell to the ground. The eyes of the villagers are full of expectation. They said that the beginning of this year has been so smooth, and there will definitely be a good harvest in the autumn. The eyes of the man who was still called Xiao Zhu at that time were also full of expectation. He looked at his lover and his fat son who was born, and knew that a happy life was waiting for their family of three, just like this unprecedented good situation. .

When the corn leaves unfold and the uprooted stalks reach my father’s calves, summer is here. As we all know how hot the desert is in summer, the villagers' activities are shifted to the early morning before the sun rises and in the evening after the sun sets. Because of its vastness, the desert is much cooler in the night wind than in the city. Figures coming and going take advantage of the moonlight to shuttle between the sand spring and the earthen house, tending crops and carrying water. Neighbors will always kindly help this person. The family of three, who have just started to get on the right track, brings a bucket of water, but the father also has to go out and be busy. After all, every family has their own business to take care of. As soon as the sun sets, the villagers hide in their homes and never go out, and the creatures in the desert disappear. There is no vegetation or moisture, the sun shines directly on the surface, and the temperature rises very quickly. At noon, the high temperature on the sand can already cook people. However, this summer, for the first time, there was no extreme heat, and although the crops in the fields were wilting, they survived. Shaquan Village is not a big place, and everyone in the village knows him. They can't help but praise their fat son, saying that he is the lucky star of Shaquan Village. When the villagers said this, the new mother was teasing the baby who had just learned to raise its head, while the father was shaking the fan at one time or another to give the mother and child some air. He said it was because his ancestors appreciated the food, but in his heart he felt that his son was really a special little lucky star.

The oscillating fan is fanned, and the last ray of heat is completely blown away, and autumn is here. Compared with the often windy spring, the unbearably hot summer and the freezing winter, autumn is the most pleasant season in the desert. The temperature during the day gradually cools down and the temperature at night begins to become pleasant. The little beasts emerged from the fields again and began to prepare ingredients for the winter. This year's autumn is still dry, but although there is not much rainfall, the moisture from the sand springs is enough to maintain the growth of plants. The first crop of corn is the first to enter the maturity stage. The yellow seeds, which are more tender than sandy soil, become more and more plump under the leaves, and the green of the plant is dyed with a hint of golden color. It will be harvested in about a week. This year is really good, and everyone in the village has a smile on their face. Because the weather was fine, every household bent down and buried themselves in the most fertile sand beside the sand spring to replant a batch of corn. They wiped the beads of sweat hanging from their foreheads, but they didn't feel tired. They always felt that they would have a good harvest this year. New Year's Eve.

But on the second day after the corn was planted, strong winds roared, yellow sand filled the sky, and an unprecedented sandstorm swept the entire desert. The overwhelming sand and rocks attacked their village mercilessly. The crops that were about to be harvested were uprooted, and the newly planted seedlings died silently. Under the wind and the remaining clouds, the entire world was enveloped by the yellow giant beast, as if the world The end has come.

The wind and sand blew all day and night, and the originally quiet, peaceful and joyful village became a mess. The wooden doors were broken, the windows were broken, the roof collapsed, and even the walls were shaken by the strong wind. Some houses were even completely destroyed, leaving only ruins. The earthy yellow sand covered every inch of land, every house, and even everyone's heart - there is no hope for the New Year, and people's survival is already blessed by their ancestors. .

Yes, I’m lucky to have survived, because it was during that sandstorm that a fist-sized stone hit my mother’s head. The little me was hit by my mother’s clothes hidden on her chest. The wind and sand stopped, but she couldn't reach it.

So there is no mother in my memories. Even though she still protected me after her death, I still have no memory of her - people have no memory before they are three years old.

"Why don't you leave?" I asked countless times later, but at that time I couldn't even speak.

After that disaster, the village briefly fell into grief and silence. But soon, they left behind what was buried, picked themselves up, supported each other, cleaned up the ruins, restored planting, and rebuilt their homes, and they became even more united.

My life has hardly changed, except that I was moved from my mother's back to my father's. My father would not smile and became taciturn. The villagers no longer called me Little Lucky Star. They looked at me with pity. With a hint of indescribable hatred.

Autumn is the shortest season in the desert. Like a hurried and panicked passerby, the house is barely repaired, and the long and cold winter is coming. Because of the sandstorm, all the nearly mature crops were damaged, and they were unable to save a few. The task of rebuilding their homes delayed their efforts to replant new crops, and an extremely difficult winter began. Plants left only curled root systems, and animals also hid in deep caves. Humans, however, had nowhere to go. They could only survive in this desperate situation of hunger and cold, relying on a fire that would never be extinguished.

"Why don't you go?" Not just this time, but every time when the wrath of nature becomes difficult, I will ask my father, but my father always shakes his head: "Let's go, where are we going? Isn't it better to go somewhere?" When the season is good, you laugh, when the season is bad, you run away, where can I keep you?"

During these repeated questions and answers, his bright eyes became cloudy, his young face became ridged, his strong body became rickety, and his flexible hands became as lifeless as dead branches. But for some reason, he remained stubborn. His character has not changed at all, but has become even more unreasonable like a wild bull.

The outside world is changing with each passing day, and Shaquan Village is getting older. Xiao Zhu became the village chief, and I also grew up.

The year I graduated from college, I finally found a job in the town and had the capital to leave here. I wanted to take my father with me. As usual, there was another debate about staying and leaving.

"In that case, why do you need to send me out to study?"

"Let you understand that when dealing with the world, you must remember where your roots are."

"Gen? What's there to remember about this poor place?"

"You were raised in this poor place."

"My mother was also killed by this poor and harsh environment." I didn't say this. I swallowed it after it came to my lips countless times. I was reluctant to say it. I don't know whether it was because I was reluctant to let go of the child who lost his mother before he was even one year old, or because I was reluctant to say it. I can't bear to see the old man in front of me.

After a long while, I asked leisurely: "Did you know that the youngest son of the third uncle's family went to work in the town?"

"They all got into the eyes of money."

"How do you calculate this..." "Your third uncle said that he won't take any of the money he sent back. The same goes for you. Leave if you like, and don't come back if you leave. Shaquan Village does not lack you. Don’t embarrass me in front of my ancestors.”

"It's our ancestor again. I just have to come back with you every Qingming Festival and Chongyang Festival to kowtow."

"What qualifications do you have to kowtow to our ancestors!"

It ended on bad terms again. In recent years, there have been more and more such arguments, but they have never come to a conclusion. I couldn't understand my father. He was short and hunched and looked good-tempered to the villagers, but when he met me, he was as stubborn as a steel hammer that would never give in.

But I didn't take it to heart. It has been passed down for many years and it is impossible for me to change it with just a few words. I thought I still had time to slowly persuade him, but time never waits for me - my father is ill.

When I arrived at the door of my house, I was already at the back of the house. The old man who was still tall in my memory was sitting alone on a bamboo chair in the courtyard, huddled and holding a native cigarette in his hand. When he saw me coming back, he didn't say anything. He just took a deep breath of the local smoke. The smoke slid from his mouth to his lungs, and then came out from his mouth again, filling the air.

"Why are you back?"

"Uncle Zhao said you were coughing up blood."

He didn't say anything, so I had to continue asking: "How long?"

Still silent.

"I'll take you to town and go to the hospital for a comprehensive examination."

"I won't leave." He refused straight away, not even bothering to give me a reason.

"Why don't you eat food without food and salt..."

"I eat more salt than you eat rice!"

With these words again, my anger ignited. I stepped forward and grabbed his hand to leave: "If you don't leave, if you don't leave, you will die here. If you die, I won't come back to see you!" "

"I was going to die!" His voice suddenly became high-pitched, shocking me to let go, and then I became weak again, "You go, you have to leave after reading, but if I don't leave, I will stay here Here, I will stay here with Amei throughout my life and death."

Amei is my mother's name, and he still blamed me after all.

"If you are interested, go back to the village and help. If not, just live your life well."

He threw away the last cigarette butt, stood up slowly, thumped his waist, and walked back home step by step. His walking seemed like a struggle. I didn't help him, I just watched silently as his back disappeared in the sun, leaving the air filled with the smell of dry smoke.

My father's condition deteriorated very quickly. Within half a year, I went back to heal him every time I had free time, but his name was still engraved on the wooden plaque at the bottom of the ancestral temple. I know what the villagers say about me behind my back. I killed my mother before I was one year old, and angered my father to death when I grew up. But I don’t care, I know the real cause of their death, and I want to prevent the same tragedy. .

I have to make a plan first. After all, I can’t even persuade my own father, so how can I persuade the villagers who are not related to me by blood?

You all know what happened next. I met a person who looked exactly like me in the mirror - dark eye circles, green stubble, and a face soaked in sadness. But that person was doing different actions and saying different words from me.

He asked me: "Do you want to save the villagers of Shaquan Village?"

save? What a joke, I chuckled. I couldn't even save my own father, so how could I save the entire village?

The person in the mirror didn't care about my sneer and still asked me seriously. I thought I was crazy. After my father died, I couldn’t close my eyes for several days and nights. It was normal to have any kind of hallucinations. I just looked at the man in the mirror and laughed self-destructively: "No one can save those people." idiot."

But the man in the mirror blinked and asked me, "What if the sand spring dries up?"

By some strange coincidence, I listened to the man in the mirror and went to the ancestral temple in the dark. Counting fifteen generations from top to bottom, my father’s name was on the wooden frame on the last floor. I knelt down and kowtowed fifteen times. For some reason, I suddenly felt an unprecedented awe in my heart.

"My ancestors, if I find the artifact today, it will be the manifestation of my ancestors. If not, I will give up on this idea and never mention... never mention leaving."

After I finished speaking, I concentrated my mind and walked towards the direction mentioned by the person in the mirror. The moment my fingers touched the cold ice, my heart was at a loss, and I didn't know whether I was happy or sad. I did not leave immediately, but sat on the stone steps at the entrance of the ancestral temple, watching a fresh and gushing red sun slowly climb over the hills, the golden light enveloped the ancestral temple, the red dissipated, and everything turned into a dazzling bright white.

I know this is a metaphor. Everything my father wants to protect, I can continue to protect in my own way.

There is a story that ends. It is a story about staying and leaving, a story about inheritance and renewal, a collision between father and son, and a metaphor for more things.

It’s 45 words in a blink of an eye. This is the first time I’ve written such a long story. I feel a little out of control, but I still want to persevere, laugh.