Meet you in the most beautiful years

Chapter 11
I know the limits of my nerves.To transform me, only the third sister is still with me to have hope.The simple way to drive me crazy to ruin is to encourage her to leave me.

(Letter from Shen Congwen to Ding Ling on September 1949, 9)
In 1950, Shen Congwen, who had been suffering from criticism, had a turning point in his life.Organizationally, for the purpose of reforming thoughts and helping progress, he was allowed to enter North China University for further study.He has indeed been transformed—he tried to start writing again and write some revolutionary novels, but his talents were exhausted, and the words in his pen no longer had the same charm as before.The magic pen of Ma Liang in his hand had lost its magic power.

He is a child, he came from the original and mysterious Xiangxi, the spiritual landscape reflects his heart and soul, he sings the god of nature, sings the praises of the earth and love, and builds the original spiritual palace.There is no political strife in his world, only natural wildness and simple poetry.The words flowing in his pen are like mountain streams, moonlight, and flute sounds, unmodified sounds of nature.He once loved writing so devoutly that even when he gave up the dream altogether, he remains one of the most diligent and prolific writers of modern times.

"My readers and I are getting old together." He sighed so much that he thought his history had turned a page.Who would have guessed that his writing would serve as a spiritual relic and become a cultural wealth shared by readers all over the world.

He officially put down writing and turned to cultural relics research.After all, God is fair. When one door is closed, another door is opened to him.He devoted himself to research, wrote a lot of books for decades, and became an important scholar and expert in cultural relics research in New China.Maybe he feels that only when he touches a clay pot or a piece of silk can he calm his mind and find his long-awaited hometown along the jungle of time from those dense lines.

Later, he escaped the "anti-rightist movement" by chance, but when the "Cultural Revolution" struck, he became the target of criticism again and was fined to clean the women's toilet next to Tiananmen Square.At this time, he was already an old man in his seventies, and he “touched every toilet like a piece of bronze” every day.

In September 1969, Zhang Zhaohe was transferred to the May 9th Cadre School in Xianning, Hubei after being investigated and ruled out the landlord elements.Three months later, Shen Congwen also received an order to send him to Hubei.Before leaving, he was sorting out the sundries in the small and messy room, and the second sister Yunhe just came to visit, so there was that sad and touching moment in "From the First Letter to the First Letter".

"Don't go, Second Sister, look!"

He took out a wrinkled letter from his bulging pocket, and said to Yunhe with a smile and a cry: "This is the first letter from my third sister." He held up the letter with a smile on his face Shy and gentle.

Yun He said, "Can I see it?"

He put the letter down, seemed to give it and didn't seem to give it, put the letter on his chest to warm it, then stuffed the letter in his pocket, clutching his hands tightly and was reluctant to take it out again.

He murmured to himself: "Third Sister's first letter—the first letter." Then he began to cry, and the nearly 70-year-old man cried sadly and happily like a child.

At this moment, it is moving.At that time, what kind of tenderness and emotions surged in his heart, those painful and beautiful youths, those sweet and sad affectionate years, and the beautiful and delicate faces like three or three black peonies... before his eyes like overlapping flowers and shadows The reflections are the shining water droplets in the fleeting years, which cannot be caught, one by one, they all pass away.

He was sent to Hubei, but he was arranged in Shuangxi, tens of miles away from Zhaohe, to watch the orchard grow vegetables.Due to malnutrition and advanced age, the two live in two places, but they are both plagued by diseases.Unable to take care of each other, we can only entrust letters to remind them.

Since they got acquainted, they have been long-term companions, always inseparable from fish and books, and the days when they have letters are the richest time in their spiritual world.At that time, when I was young, the paper was full of confusion and affection; when I was old and gray, there were only earnest exhortations, exhortations, and endless exhortations.

In 1972, Shen Congwen, who was ill, wrote to Premier Zhou Enlai, hoping to return to Beijing for treatment, and hoped to use the little time left to complete his unfinished research on cultural relics.After getting the prime minister's approval, in February of this year, the 2-year-old man finally returned to Beijing.

However, after returning to Beijing, there was a gap between the elderly couple.Housing became a problem.Multi-party negotiations failed, Shen Congwen could only drag his aging body, sort out his writings in a small and crowded room, and work hard.Faced with this lack of order, boring and chaotic life, Zhang Zhaohe can no longer be as peaceful and tolerant as before.In order to alleviate conflicts and work quietly, Shen Congwen moved from Yangyibin Hutong to Dongtangzi Hutong. An elderly couple started living separately.

It wasn't until 1980 that Shen Congwen's Academy of Social Sciences gave him a dormitory of more than 30 square meters, which ended the days when the old couple met on the magpie bridge.

Life began to get better and better, and his early literary works also returned to the public eye, especially with increasing influence overseas.In October of this year, at the invitation of the American literary and artistic circles, accompanied by Zhang Zhaohe, Shen Congwen gave visiting lectures in the United States for a period of three months.It was a pleasant trip. They stayed at the home of Simei Chonghe, giving lectures to fellow students every day, chatting and reminiscing about old times.In my later years, I suddenly became bright and leisurely like never before.

In May 1982, at the suggestion of Huang Yongyu, Shen Congwen went back to his hometown, and returned to the small town of Phoenix that he had called out countless times in his dreams and fantasies.The God who looks down on all living beings is so merciful. On the last journey of life, he let Chizi return to his hometown to repay the unforgettable miss of this life.The simple and beautiful Xiangxi, the bean-green Tuojiang River and Yuanshui River, the hometown where his ancestors shed blood and sweat, how many times he followed "Cui Cui", "Baizi" and "Yaoyao" along his own pen and ink, and returned to this place. The ancient city of mountains and rivers, to return to the hometown, to return to the soul.

It's just that things have changed and stars have moved, and the hometown no longer has the old color.Little by little, he searched for his childhood memories, the spring swallows flying to the front of the hall, the bluestone slabs wetted by dew, the green hills and green trees in front of the gate, vaguely acquainted when they were young, but vaguely they are their descendants, meeting each other face to face , traces are difficult to distinguish.He is really old.Things in the world are melancholy, don't ask Hengtang about the old tour.

Later, he finally released his long-suffering nostalgia in the ancient Nuo opera.

One afternoon, more than a dozen acquaintances in the city brought gongs and drums to the yard to sing "Gaoqiang" and "Nuotang".

I remember the first sentence was "Li Sanniang". With the sound of the suona, Congwen Biaoshu crossed his legs, put his hands on his knees and became silent.

"...I don't believe... Fang... Chun... Tired, old, people..."

Hearing this, he and several other friends cried.Tears filled his glasses and dripped on the back of his hand.He remained motionless.

(Huang Yongyu's "These Melancholy Debris - Recalling Uncle Shen Congwen")
He cried very emotionally, and his life was about to end like this.He is a passionate man with smoke and sorrow, and also a simple person who regards fame and wealth as dust.In this life, only his homeland can make him dream, and only Sansan can make him fall in love with each other. He loves them deeply.All his passions are due to them, and the simple and beautiful world he described is their embodiment.

Soon after returning from Xiangxi, he suffered from cerebral thrombosis. Zhang Zhaohe stayed by his side day and night, serving as his hand and pen, and being the most caring and dedicated nurse.Gradually, he became unconscious, sometimes lucid and sometimes vague.His son Huchu showed him the articles he wrote in his early years. He no longer remembered that it was his own, and said with a soft smile, "Well written." The cousin Huang Yongyu got a rubbing of the inscription he wrote when he was 19 years old, and brought it Show it to him, and he watches it for a while, then weeps quietly.However, at any time, he would never mistake Zhang Zhaohe, and if he didn't see her for a moment, he would call her one after another. Only when she quickly returned to his side could he be at ease.

But he couldn't wait for his Sansan, he could only go back to the God of Nature one step ahead of her. At 1988 o'clock in the evening on May 5, 10, this young man from Xiangxi, who was written by legends and also wrote legends, passed away peacefully like a deep sleep with an inseparable attachment.

At his farewell ceremony, Zhang Zhaohe was surprisingly calm. She said to the crying relatives and friends: "Don't cry, he doesn't like people to cry." No one knows her second brother better than her.

Just in May of this year, at the regular meeting of the Swedish Academy of Letters, with the strong recommendation of sinologist Ma Yueran, Shen Congwen was preliminarily selected as the winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature that year.Soon, however, Ma Yueran was surprised to learn the news of Shen Congwen's death.He called the Chinese embassy in Sweden: "Is Mr. Shen Congwen alive or dead?" The other party asked, "Who is Shen Congwen?!" It made people speechless and collapsed.

Many years later, Ma Yueran told the reporter with regret: "If Shen Congwen was still alive at that time, he would definitely win the award if he lived until October. His death is the most regrettable thing for me."

For Zhang Zhaohe, who is nearly eighty years old, the death of his second brother must be the most regrettable thing, right?No, she has no regrets.No one has died in life since ancient times, he just took a step first.She was just mourning, the pain was deep in her heart, but she was still calm.She was a strong old lady, and she knew better than ever that she would live for him for the rest of her life.She was one step late because she wanted to stay and draw a successful conclusion to the trajectory of his life.She used the little time left to collect his old articles, sort out the letters related to them, edit and publish his large number of works.

She used to be the editor of "People's Literature", reading and editing manuscripts for countless authors; Blurry back.Now, it's her turn to write about her lover. She walks between the lines all day long, smelling the sorrow and fragrance of youth.She seems to have lived back in the past, back to when he was young, he wrote her the first love letter, wept for her, haggarded for her, and he called her affectionately to Yuanshui on the boat back to Xiangxi.

He wrote such love words for her: I have traveled bridges in many places, seen clouds many times, drank many kinds of wine, but only loved one person at the right age.

I also wrote this kind of love story for her: Looking at the bright blue sky high in Beiping, it makes people want to kneel down. Your influence on me is just like this sky, so far away. I look at it during the day and dream at night. With wings, fly upward.Fly upwards, and you will see many stars, which have become your eyes.

How young they were then.That clear forehead, clear eyes, full of youth, intoxicating love...but all of these came to an end quickly.

She finally poured all her heart and soul into knitting a collar of Huaqiu for him as the last gift for him. In February 1996, "Congwen Family Letters" was published in Shanghai; in December 2, the 2002-volume "Complete Works of Shen Congwen" was published by Beiyue Literature and Art Publishing House.

She had fulfilled her wish and could go after her second brother. On February 2003, 2, Zhang Zhaohe, a lady of a generation, passed away suddenly.

In May 2007, her ashes were relocated to Tingtao Mountain in Fenghuang, western Hunan, where her relative Shen Erge lay.She accompanied him and returned to his hometown where blood and tears depended on each other.

Shen Congwen's tombstone is a natural multicolored stone. On the front of the tombstone is his own handwriting: "If you think about me, you can understand me; if you think about me, you can know people." Persevere and refuse to obey, but also be merciful and lenient; the stars are as good as the writing, and the innocent is the man." This is the most appropriate summary of his life.

The Tuojiang River and the Yuanshui River continue to flow as in the past.The beautiful small town of Fenghuang is like a kind and generous mother who accepts her child who has returned from a long journey with open arms.At the foot of Tingtao Mountain, there is a married couple who have been sleeping for a lifetime. Their whispers in the wind are the prophecies he wrote many years ago:

"There should be another world for us to live in. We go far away, far away toward the source of the sun."

"You don't want cattle, don't you don't want horses, don't you want orchards, don't you want fields, don't you want fox fur coats and tiger skins to make mattresses?"

"With you, I don't want anything. You are everything: light, heat, spring water, fruit, and everything in the universe. In order to be close to you, I should leave this world..."

Writing about his love affairs is very tangled.

A hundred years of life is nothing but after the horseshoe is won, a dust rises and a smoke disappears.Who still remembers who used to croon under the moon, who remembers who—for whom, the sadness of burning incense and talking alone.Passing water is ruthless, it is fate.

He is different.His life is full of dense drumbeats, and every sound is the rising tide.

A romantic and sentimental poet, a hero who is tied to the emotions of three women, a dream chaser who yearns to fly and dies while flying—it is said that he lives for poetry, rather he lives for love.

He said: "The poet is also a kind of idiot. He presses his soft heart against the thorns of the rose... His pain and happiness are one piece." , and like a ray of newborn sunshine, the innocence makes people feel distressed.

I wishfully thought that if he only stayed with Zhang Youyi for the rest of his life, and only regarded Lin Huiyin as his confidante, Lu Xiaoman never appeared in his life... After a hundred years of silence, he may be far from Xu Zhimo in the current sense, but At least, his life will be much calmer.

The three women in the black-and-white photos, gentle or reserved, are already shadows from previous lives.The charm and amorous feelings of each of them are condensed into a heart song between their eyebrows and eyes.In all fairness, I love Zhang Youyi's foolishness more, and Lin Huiyin's calmness and elegance.Lu Xiaoman's Gu Pan is charming, not in my heart, but in the poet's heart.

Every love affair of his is a legend, but in the end, there are only regretful sighs left.The woman he doesn't love bears children for him; the woman he longs for wisely chooses to avoid; while the woman he loves passionately makes him exhausted in embarrassment and disappointment.

At the last moment of his life, after quarreling with Lu Xiaoman in Shanghai, he went to Yunshang Company to meet Zhang Youyi, and then took a free plane to Lin Huiyin's speech in Beijing.It seems that everything is preordained, life for love and death for love, life and death for love, cannot avoid the three women in his life.

He fled from the woman he once fell in love with, and went to the woman he longed for—maybe after that, it will be the end of one story and the beginning of another.But the story of his life has come to an abrupt end.In the sky above Dangjiazhuang in Jinan, with a loud noise, he flew away from the world with regret.

Maybe everything going around and around is just a game of destiny.Like a prophecy, he once wrote in "Want to Fly": "People can fly. Angels have wings and can fly. When we first came, we also had wings and could fly. When we first came, we flew. Some of them flew away after finishing their work, they are enviable."

The Buddha said: Dependent origin is extinguished, and conditioned birth is empty.He is like a cloud, occasionally projected on the sparkling wave heart, and disappeared in a flash.Among the few women he met in his life, maybe I love him the most.

(End of this chapter)