The anchor reads the classics and accompanies you to say goodnight. Hello everyone, here is the lightning night reading, I am Wucheng Rong Media anchor Yi xiao, tonight I want to share with you, from Lu Xun's article "Snow".
The rain in the warm country has never changed into a cold hard brilliant snowflake. Knowledgeable people think he is monotonous, and he himself thinks he is unfortunate. The snow in Jiangnan is so moist and beautiful; it is the news of youth that is still looming, and it is the skin of a very strong virgin. There are blood-red Baozhu camellias in the snowy fields, single-petaled plum blossoms in the white and hidden blue, plum blossoms with dark yellow chimes, and cold green weeds under the snow. Butterflies don't; i don't really remember whether bees come to pick honey from camellias and plum blossoms. But I saw winter flowers blooming in the snowy fields, and there were many bees flying busily, and I could hear them buzzing.
The children were frozen red, and their little hands like purple bud ginger came together to shape the snow arhat. Because of the lack of success, whose father also came to help. The arhats were much taller than the children, although they were only a bunch of small and large ones, and finally it was impossible to tell whether it was Hulu or Luohan; but it was very white, very bright, bonded with its own moisture, and the whole sparkle was shining. The children made eyeballs for him with longan nuclei, and stole rouge from their mother's fat powder to apply to their lips. This time it was indeed a great arhat. He sat in the snow with his eyes burning red.
A few more children came to visit him the next day; they clapped, nodded, and giggled at him. But he finally sat alone. The sunny days came to dissolve his skin again, the cold night made him freeze into an opaque crystal form; the continuous sunny days made him unaware of what it was, and the rouge on his mouth faded.
But after the snowflakes of Shuofang flew, they were always like powder, like sand, and they never stuck, and they sprinkled on the house, on the ground, on the dry grass, and that was it. The snow on the house has long been digested, because the fire in the house is warm. Otherwise, under a sunny day, the whirlwind suddenly came, and it flew vigorously, shining brilliantly in the daylight, like a fog containing flames, rotating and rising, filling space, making space spin and rise and flicker.
In the boundless wilderness, under the cold sky, the spirit of the rain swirled and rose...
Yes, it was lonely snow, it was dead rain, it was the spirit of rain.
About the Author
Lu Xun (September 25, 1881 – October 19, 1936), originally known as Zhou Zhangshou, later renamed Zhou Shuren, was a native of Shaoxing, Zhejiang. Famous writers, thinkers, revolutionaries, educators, democracy fighters, important participants in the new cultural movement, and one of the founders of modern Chinese literature.
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Wang Yixiao is the anchor of Wucheng Rong Media Center.