However, the spring breeze of youth could not blow away the redundancy of the twilight summer after all.
--Woz Gysod
His name is Wang Guowei, he was once one of the four most famous talents, born in a family of scholars, a teenager who studied and wrote books.
He once said: "Those who become great undertakings and university inquirers in ancient and modern times must pass through three realms:
The first realm: "Last night the west wind withered the green trees." Go up to the tall building alone and look at the end of the world. ”
The second realm: "The belt of clothing is gradually widened and there is no regret, and the people of Yi are haggard." ”
The third realm: "The multitudes looked for him a thousand times, and looked back, but the man was there, and the lights were dimmed." ”
However, such a generation of literary heroes who can write "look at the flowers in the end of the ancient years, only afraid that the teenagers do not belong to me", actually committed suicide by throwing himself into the lake for no reason.
In 1877, Wang Guowei was born in the Wang clan of Haining, who was originally a scholarly family and sensitive and studious, and had been taught by famous teachers since childhood.
At the age of 18, he learned and married Mo Shi. But this marriage, which lasted only 13 years, was not beautiful.
Wang Guowei, who has achieved success, still has an endless demand for knowledge, and soon after marriage, he went out to study, and the two gathered less and more in these 13 years, and the virtuous Mo Shi never complained, but he could not stand his own frailty and illness, and he was worried about family trivialities. And Wang Guowei, who has lived alone for many years, can only pin his thoughts on poetry.
At the age of 27, Wang Guowei was teaching in a foreign country, far away from his family, and in a poem "Good Things Near", he wrote:
Sorrow showed Cui Luo, half warm and half tears. Not distinguishing between falling and new hatred is the taste of the world.
For several years, they stayed together in Yujin Hall and were sloppy and idle. Alone to the west wind under the forest, looking at the red dust for a ride.
He lamented the misery of living alone, tears wetting the quilt, and lamented that the taste of the world was nothing more than the joy of the past and the bitterness of today.
He remembered the time he spent with his wife, regretted that he did not cherish the time when the two were together, and could only helplessly come to the forest, look at the distant path, and delud himself into hoping that his wife would appear at the end of the field of vision.
The end of the view is always vast.
And this is undoubtedly the first realm he calls: "Last night the west wind withered the bi tree." Go up to the tall building alone and look at the end of the world. ”
Good to be at home, although a bit far away.
The following year, the 28-year-old Wang Guowei embarked on his way home.
He wrote in a poem "Nguyen Lang Gui":
The beauty message is separated by heavy passes, and the river road is twisted and turned. The sinking empty cui tired of the saddle, and the horse front mountain returned to the mountain.
Thick and pouring, slowly dragging the beard, when looking at it again and again. Only the eyebrows are left in the human world, and the encounter is difficult.
He sighed at the hardships along the way, the mountains and rivers portals, overlapping and overlapping, remembering the face plate that he had seen and looked at again, looked at and looked at, but at the moment he only vaguely remembered the style of her eyebrows. He pinned his love for love in his pen, longing for the day of seeing each other, but the future was long, and the meeting was difficult.
On the night of the return journey, someone with a torch, riding a big horse, roared past, came through the forest, and startled the birds in the forest.
Or embark on the way home, or the scene is gratifying. Wang Guowei, who was in a good mood, wrote another song "Youth Tour"
Outside the weeping Yang Gate, in the shadow of the light, the brim of the upper horse hat is oblique. Purple frost is thick, green pine moon is cold, torch fire scatters forest crows.
The wine woke up and looked at the west window, and the green bamboo shadows were mixed. Ups and downs of the lyrics, across the books, not with the dispatch of the years.
He was delighted by the sight of "torches scattering forest crows", and after waking up in the middle of the night, he was infinitely happy that he could still look at the beautiful scenery and fill in the poems, and he sighed: "A reader should live such a life." ”
But he did not realize at all that no less than a hundred poems in his life had survived, but this "Youth Tour" had become the happiest one in his pen. It is even more difficult to find out which poem has signs of "joy is greater than sorrow".
Finally, he arrived home and saw his wife.
This year, 1905, was the tenth year of their marriage. It was also in this year that he wrote the sentence "The most important thing is that the human world cannot be retained, and Zhu Yan ci mirrors the flower and the tree." ”
The impression of Mo Shi is still the exquisite and transparent little girl, wearing the makeup of the little girl, combing the hairstyle of the little girl, and having the unique liveliness of the little girl.
But the wife, whom she had not seen for many years, was so weak that she did not look like an adult because she was weak and sickly.
It is hard to imagine that the reunion of the two after a long absence is actually such a pain.
Reading the end of the world parting bitterly, not returning, zero flowers as promised. The bottom of the flowers looked at each other without a word, and the green window was full of spring and sky. Waiting to put the acacia lamp down, a wisp of new joy, a thousand strands of old hatred. The most is that the human world cannot be retained, zhu Yan resigns the mirror flower and the tree.
He said that he had suffered a lot of parting and lovesickness, but he did not expect that after I returned, the wife who had not been seen for many years would fall like a withered flower.
He said that the two of them met under the flowers and could not say a word.
He said that when it was night, the two men picked up a lamp to complain about lovesickness, but found that there was only a trace of joy, but the old hatred was countless.
He lamented the ruthlessness of the years, the Zhu Yan in the mirror, and the delicate flowers on the trees could not withstand the slightest destruction.
He regretted that he had not done the beginning, regretted that he had failed the great Fanghua, and also felt sorry for Mo Shi.
However, after a brief reunion, he still chose to leave the family, separated from Mo Shi again, and went to the south to teach.
Late at night in 1906, Wang Guowei, who was far away from his family, faced the moonlit night alone, which should have been a quiet and beautiful night, but it also made him extremely sad and confused.
He was suddenly introspective, relying on the human world, but he only sighed a dream and was only confused.
In July of the same year, the 29-year-old Wang Guowei returned home again. I have been at home for 8 months. This was a rare time in his life with Mo's long time.
But he wrote in a poem "Zhu Yingtai Near":
At the beginning of the month, the door is small, and the levee is looked up. The emperor was noisy, and the line was speechless. For whom to clean up the face, a red tear, each left, lonely secret bets.
Horseshoe station. But I felt that I was sad and sad, and the wind was too calm. The tree cries and complains about the twilight of the year. Thinking about only the human world, marching every year. Even if there is hatred, there is no place to cry.
All the scenes are love words, and the sad scenes are full of misery in his pen. He lamented that only in this world will there be people who leave their hometowns year after year, and even if there is bitter hatred, there is nowhere to cry.
And this is undoubtedly the second realm he speaks of: "The belt gradually widens and there is no regret, and the people are haggard for the sake of Isaac." ”
Sure enough, in March 1907, the 30-year-old Wang Guowei went out again and came to Beijing. He certainly did not expect that this parting with Mo Shi would become a permanent farewell.
Since ancient times, autumn has been sad and lonely, this autumn, in the face of autumn rain, the dusk of the evening smoke, the night view of the white clouds and the bright moon, the face of the Yichun Courtyard, the plane trees outside the Hall of Incense, and the scene of dense lanterns and sheng singing, there is still no sense of joy.
The next year, Mo Shi died, and the original feelings about the world seemed to be fulfilled one by one, and when the bad news came, he did not leave a single word.
Home is gone, even if it's not far away.
After that, there was no longer any nostalgia for his hometown in all his poems. None of his poems seem to have reached the third state he speaks of.
In 1920, the 43-year-old Wang Guowei wrote a poem "Qing Ping Le" in a social party, which is also his last surviving poem.
Hui Lan is the same as qi, focusing on the scenery turning. After the disaster, Fanghua was still late, just like fengcheng first saw.
The old people only had anything to do, and the Yuchen Palace had mastered it. Intestinal broken Duling verses, falling flowers in Jiangnan.
The poem does have a bit of Li Bai's arrogance, and the words and sentences are like a prosperous Tang Dynasty, and the words are filled with a bit of Li Qingzhao's sadness. But there is not a word, no sentence has the open-mindedness and freedom of Su Shi's "a smoke and rain to live a life".
Not even the slightest bit.
Perhaps he has written other poems that have never been published, and it is calmly like the third realm he said, but we have no way of knowing.
On June 2, 1927, what should have been an ordinary day, the 50-year-old Wang Guowei ate, washed, and worked as usual.
Everything was so unproven, so inexplicable.
At about 11 o'clock, after calmly smoking the last cigarette, he chose to jump into the lake and ended his life.
In the pocket of his coat was written a suicide note:
Fifty years, only one death is owed. After this world has changed, there is no more humiliation.
No one can say why he committed suicide, perhaps the pain of the white-haired man sending the brunette to make him unbearable, or perhaps the complex political reasons.
But for a pessimistic idealist, when the spiritual world collapses, or when the spiritual appeal is fulfilled, the end of life is nothing more than a matter of course.