Flower land | is it you, Orchid Creek Valley?"

Text/Xiao Hong

Sit on the side of the rock, listen to the sound of flowing water, and see how the crystal penetrates the heart of the desolation, is it you, Lan Xi Valley?

Overlooking the Hanging Garden, with your own posture, dancing in a strange way, is it you, Lanxi Valley?

Slight jaw with affectionate eyes, holding your gentle arm, wandering open and romantic quiet elegance, is it you, Lanxi Valley?

We must not forget that the past life of Red Dust was not the Sorghum Land of Black Dragon Pond, not the Xiaoxiang Pavilion of Jinshui Bridge, and not the Birch Forest of Three Points Stone. In the depths of time, on the land of Northwest Hubei Motor City, it is the condensation of a river of clear water, the inspiration of Wudang Sanfeng, the enthusiasm of the Green Wild Fairy Valley, and the mudflat and fate that cannot be bypassed. Children's babbling, waddling steps, and the blood of youth are sung in many early mornings; in how many evenings, sunsets, the joints of growth and the dance steps of youth, on the plough that is confused and moving forward, swing out the five-colored notes of east, west, south and north.

It's still the past, it's still incredibly kind. In the roar and busyness of the machines of dongfeng company's four or five professional factories, I was still a middle school student, and I always saw groups of men and women wearing royal blue overalls, full of vigor and vitality. Sweaty laughter, infected with a lot of envious eyes. The workers are the strongest, the workers are the most powerful, the workers are the most glorious! In those days, glory was the goal and unchanging belief of all people. In the territory of the forty years of struggle of Dongfeng people, on the checkerboard of building schools, hospitals, beauty, shops, snacks, and supermarkets step by step, the same me and you, the same sorrows and tears, the same character and life are cut.

Although the young shoots have broken the ground, the golden cicadas have not shed their shells, a simple and single land, what are they waiting for? As if destined in a past life, only waiting for you to turn out of the world, looking forward to your gaze - Lanxi Valley.

Lan. Yes, the deep valley out of Youlan, you billions of years of elves, I really don't know whether it is a dream or a smile, the golden lotus swaying to the room, to the courtyard, to the willow leaf eyebrows of the railing of the building, to the waist of the scholar doctor's waist sword. "Hu Jiang li and Zhi Zhi Xi, Sewing Qiulan thought it was Pei", "Towards the fall of Drinking Mulan, Sunset Meal Qiu Ju fell Ying." "From Qu Yuan's 'Leaving the Troubles', I have known Lancao and also known romance. I understood Su Rui's "Lansheng Valley is unknown, and the guest species Dongxuan left me incense". Finally, at the moment when I picked up the paintbrush, a stroke of orchid dissolved me into the Ten Mile Lotus Pond; I bowed my head to the orchid finger and drunkenly threw myself into Lang Junhua.

Stream. Where there is an orchid, there will be a stream. That crystal clear jade liquid, she is the tears of her daughter, the lonely stars, the essence and blood of Suzuran Ruozhi. She is juanjuan, delicate, soft, she is the nostalgia and thick soil of orchids and forgetful grasses; she is witty, inclusive, strong, she is lao tzu chanting the song of the waves: dwelling in the good land, with the good, the good faith, the heart good. On the good as water, the clouds and smoke lakeside Dorrite people.

Green Valley. Xianye Green Valley, like a pair of twin sisters, Chuanzhou Mingjian and Empty Valley Youlan, are already a Zen Feifei landscape painting. Sitting in a small courtyard or flower bed, staring and listening, there is a wind blowing, birds whispering, leaves rustling, and flowing water. Rui is the valley of flowers, roots are the valley of leaves, trees are the valley of houses, and lou is the valley of heaven; yin and yang are intertwined, heaven and earth intersect, who is whose tube of blood and a song? Just as I walked through you, you walked through her, affectionately through love, midsummer through late autumn.

As a descendant of a worker, I am glad that I grew up on the thick soil of Dongfeng Company's third-line construction. She gave me honesty, generosity, and struggle, and understood that only by leaning over the earth can I have the sweetness of the knots and hanging pulp. And now, though their hair is full of white hair, my sons and daughters are still moving forward in this vast mountainous area, and they listen and sing—

Lanxi Valley, a natural symphonic poem, came from the Qin and Han Dynasties, from the Tang and Song Dynasties, from the starry sky on the straw stack, from the peninsula's style coconut grove. Han Shui Tao Tao, eight hundred miles Qin Ba Road Yao, Shi Xian Meng Haoran came from the Sunset Qinghui, Ye Xi boating looked at each other silently; Shi Fo Wang Wei came from the Kingfisher Empty Mountain, looking for a place to rest on the Qingxian Stone. History and reality are opposite, today's people are the scenery of the ancients, who can label the landscape and banish the light ink thousand chapters into a drunken dream for a thousand years?

That should be you, outside the vicissitudes, the fragrant Yaxuan; the grass, the drunken first sunshine; the time, the shallow singing and soft moaning of the deep boudoir.

That should be you, Xiao Meng is still faintly wrapped around the fence, gently folding guests, and opening up the mountain city.

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Source | Yangcheng Evening News Yangcheng Pie

Editor-in-charge | Sippi