During the Qingming festival this year, I went to Hancheng. I hadn't been out before, and this was the first time. Originally, I was in a car, but since I had never taken a train, everyone snuggled up to me and took the train instead. With a heavy heart, I walked to the county seat that I was looking forward to. I had heard of Hancheng County at a very young age, because when my beloved grandfather once taught me to sing Qin, there was a sentence in it: My ancestral home is Hancheng County, Shaanxi, and there is a home in The apricot blossom village. Therefore, there is always something fascinating about this place in the mind.
Hancheng
The train stops and goes slowly, with windows wide open, just to enjoy the customs and customs along the way. Although this is still in the territory of Shaanxi, five miles and one village, ten miles and one village, after all, there will still be some slight gaps. Watching the wheat seedlings drawn in the spring greedily sucking the sun, there is a joy in the heart, as if time has crossed the harvest season. The breeze blows, the green waves rise, and even the birds that chase from time to time quietly stop on the branches to enjoy quietly, which is indeed a kind of enjoyment. The trees on both sides of the railway also spit out small green buds, and they are probing their heads to greet the warm spring blossoms. It seems that this spring is very eye-catching, and the bees fly into the windows of the train from time to time, which is very pleasing. There are also flies pretending to bees, "buzzing" around the ears. At the extreme of the line of sight, there are always peach blossoms, apricot blossoms, and a few wildflowers competing to open, proud of the spring wind, and red. I am reminded of a poem by Zhu Xi, the great Confucian of the Song Dynasty: Sheng Ri seeks the Surabaya waterfront, and the boundless scenery is new for a while. Waiting for idleness to recognize the east wind, thousands of purples and thousands of reds are always spring. Unfortunately, I did not go to the shores of Surabaya with great enthusiasm, but sought my heart all the way to the loess. I think these brightly colored flowers may continue to bloom in this spring, until they bloom until this spring quietly leaves. Leaving is the mood of chasing and not being able to catch up, and sooner or later it will wither away. "Falling red is not a merciless thing, turning into spring mud is more protective of flowers", I have to wait for the next spring, and then try to show the proud color. Maybe at that time, there will be another me, who will use another mood to write another story about spring.
The train had to transit at Xianyang Station, where the houses were built as in the impression, with the gate in the middle and a small gate tower on the top. Because the railway tracks are attached to the village, it is not far from the house, and the rape flowers in the courtyard are yellow and brilliant, like a string of jewels, which come into view. Although there is no fruitful fruit of "thousands of flowers pressing low branches", it also gives people a lot of joy. Out of Xianyang, the train slowly approached, rubbed shoulders with Yanliang District, and began to prepare for a high march. Shino was very flat, and the wheat seedlings seemed to have been carefully dressed with a comb, stretching out their green palms and caressing the winding endless railway. The sunshine in the spring is not as toxic as the heat of summer, without the desolation of autumn, and without the cowering of winter. Perhaps only in the spring can this light be called sunshine, because the spring sun is warm, soft, warm, selfless, soft, like a loving old father, licking deep affection. Bathing in such a radiance can give people the feeling of spring breeze. Butterflies are rare here, but I've had the pleasure of meeting two of them, chasing each other affectionately. Not only did I see butterflies, but i also saw a fat pheasant, looking up at the dancing posture. In the face of this situation, I was a little emotional, so I shouted at the vivid picture, and the pheasant was frightened away, and cheerfully made the moving claws burrow into the wheat seedlings and drown in the green waves.
In fact, the train wants to run to the finish line in one breath, just like a long-distance runner who is full of ambition, he does not like to stop in the middle. But the train has no will of its own, and is always fast and slow under the control of humans, and it stops and goes. Looking at the flat earth, enjoying the fragrance of flowers, and soaking up the sun, I fell asleep. I don't know how long later, I woke up in a rushing sound, rubbing my sleepy eyes, it turned out that the train was preparing to cross the tunnel. I stuck my head out of the window slightly, and there was darkness in front of me, as if I had seen it somewhere. It was in a dream, it was a strange dream. I felt like I was suddenly in such an environment, without a little light, without my hands touching anything, and I had only one thought, and that was to escape. Slow walking, running fast, I've tried, but to no avail. So I squatted on the ground and cried silly, crying, crying. Crying, crying and crying back to reality, but because I don't know what I'm crying for, I don't want to open my eyes and continue to cry. When I was fully awake, the edges of the pillow and the quilt were all wet with tears. Dreams always have a lot to do with reality, but the results in dreams are very different from reality. So in the dream I was crying sadly, and in reality I was laughing. When I foolishly thought about myself crying in my dreams and laughing in comfort, a little light burst out in front of my eyes, from small to large, and quickly extinguished the large darkness in front of me, and the train passed through the tunnel. By this time the sun had slowly begun to tilt westward, and after a day of shining on the flowers and trees, perhaps it was tired and needed to rest. The landform on both sides of the railroad tracks has changed from four fields flat to ravines and hills everywhere. These are all earthen mountains, and I think it may be on the edge of the Loess Plateau. Perhaps not far from our destination, I can echo it in one of the oldest ways in space-time.
There were occasional people in the ravine outside the window, so those hills were reclaimed by the reclamation people, and pepper trees were planted. At this time, the pepper tree, like all other trees, also spat out young buds. There is still water in some ravines, and when you look at it from a distance, it reveals a blue and gloomy cold light, which makes people feel miserable. Under these secluded landscapes, I like to be alone and quietly think, think of everything. Just when the sky was still red in the evening glow of the mountain, the name of a small station on the way suddenly flashed in my mind: Daigo. It means in the dictionary: the oil that condenses on the cheese. It's a Buddhist term. One of our common idioms is "Daigo empowerment", which is used as a metaphor for listening to wise advice and inspiring people, or to describe cool and comfortable. I think that under my own various nonsensical jumping thoughts, there is also a bit of "Daigo empowerment". This time to go out to play, originally I was not very willing. It's just that recently my heart is very disturbed, looking back, it is inevitable to go out for a walk, maybe these backlogs of depression in the heart can disappear, so I made up my mind to go out for a walk. Therefore, at this time, it is natural to think of that little disturbing thing. But just as the word erupted into my mind and provoked me to think deeply, I had an instant epiphany. Some things have to be valued with rational and open thinking, rather than blindly putting themselves in the shoes of others and being attentive to others in obscurity, so that you can get the favor of others. Maybe some people don't deserve to do that themselves, because they don't understand, or they can't unintentionally pour out their feelings, so even the greatest favor is just in vain. On the contrary, some people are more worthy of us to go to the soup, because like the above-mentioned self, some people are constantly improving for us. All the things that are difficult to understand or difficult to let go should be considered in a different way from the previous fixed-trend thinking, and maybe they will soon be enlightened and suddenly enlightened.
The sky slowly darkened, and in the gap of the hill you could see the lights of wanjia in the distance, and the lights were red and bright. The Hancheng County I yearn for can already see its prosperity. For this ancient county town, it once again tirelessly greeted a young man on pilgrimage, a young man with reverence and a sense of mission for history, to pay homage to this prestigious cultural ancient city. In the only remaining "rumbling" of the train, looking at the city with its red lights and greenery, and the place where it meets the mountains, it is all illuminated with colorful colors. Admiring the night view of the city, with a mixed mood, it is instead fearful. When the brightest stars in the night sky are no longer alone, I finally stepped into the city, an ancient cultural city that bears a thousand years of history. I fell in the city.
Getting up late on the first morning, we went to Hancheng district. Because the current Hancheng County has been abolished as a county-level city, it is directly under the jurisdiction of Shaanxi Province, and Weinan City is in charge. Hancheng City is divided into two parts: the new city and the old city, and we go to the new city first. The new city, like other cities, is a high-rise building lined with shops that cannot be seen at all. These are the symbols of a city, so as to reflect the prosperity of a city. We only bought some daily necessities in the new town, and I hated the crowded places, so I hurried to the old town. We walked through The Golden Pagoda Park, which has many monuments from the War of Resistance against Japanese Aggression or tombstones of heroes. When I first stepped into the park, it was a joyous mood, but when I met the Monument to the Unknown Hero, my heart immediately became heavy. History always likes to let those people who are full of tigers and tigers and tigers and tigers go back to silently break their souls and die after being reborn in the fire again and again. Then the many bones are difficult to piece together, just bury them together, there is no name. The monument without a name, I don't know how many martyrs are buried, buried is their loyal souls. But it will probably also be mixed with other filthy things, which is the so-called loyalty and infidelity. Walk past all the monuments, and there is an ancient tower, the tower has been carved by the people who visit it. I think this may be the reason why some ignorant people want to be famous for eternity. But I never thought about it, in front of the antiquities left over from these ancient times, what are our descendants? Is it a barren grass that dries in spring and winter in the crevices of the cliffs and rocks, or a wisp of sleeve wind brought by the people of the time, or a grain of sediment blown away by the fierce wind. It is impossible for us to be with history, and Danqing will never record those ignorant people who are unknown. So we should be in awe of what history has left us, rather than leaving a few childish handwriting on it.
In the old town, the weather is very different from the new city. This is the original appearance of Hancheng City, ancient streets and alleys, ancient gatehouses, old trees, the whole old town is like a knowledgeable old man, who knows astronomy and geography, and is full of economy. Walking on the narrow and curved streets and alleys, it is like entering the Jiangnan water town, bluestone slabs, oil-paper umbrellas, that kind of hazy feelings began to ripple in the heart. The old town has been mottled by the amule of time, and the only thing waiting for it is to collapse and rebuild, and this history is about to begin to freeze in memory again. Because of our inability to do anything, we had to admire these relics of history for the last time in the only time we had. Maybe next year, the year after that, these will be gone, and these will be turned into earth and stone, buried deeply underground in another new city. In this way, cultures often appear and destroy again and again, and presumably only destruction can produce another new culture. And this destroyed culture will be used as history, living on paper, and will no longer be the heroic shore of the time when it was flourishing. Therefore, the origin of life is first culture, and then there is history. History is used to record culture, and culture is used to make history. The two use each other, restrain each other, and go to the light together.
In the afternoon we climbed this group of earthen mountains and stood on the mountain to see the whole Hancheng district and many factories. These views are too blunt and not poetic. They are not as graceful as antiquities, and cultural relics are the only witnesses of history and, of course, the first bearers of culture. There are tracks up the hill, the same ones we passed by last night. Standing on it, the spring breeze blows, which is refreshing. The railroad track is like a small stream, without the hustle and bustle of the big river, without the jaw-dropping of the ups and downs, it just moves forward gently, gently reaching forward. I hadn't been in such close contact with the tracks, and I couldn't imagine what it would be like for a train to rumble past. The thought of the train was almost humane, and I was standing in the middle of the bridge, watching the train rushing towards me in a distance, and I thought of death instantly. So I ran away, and the train chased after me. As I ran out of the bridge, it just happened to whistle past me. Death didn't catch me, and the moment I ran off the bridge, it seemed like I could continue to survive. Death is a terrible thing, standing on the bridge I always think, if the wind blows, will I fly like a leaf? Where will it drift? Will I die when I land? I became a fool, asking such a vulnerable mentally handicapped question. Along the way, the problems involved in death made me puzzled. But I have been hiding, hiding in my heart, not letting my friends know that there is such a fool around me, and I am still a fool who is afraid of death.
Dangjia Village
The next day, the mood was even heavier, and this time we were going to the Ma Qian ancestral hall of Taishi Company. Hancheng, the place where Zhong Lingyuxiu was born, gave birth to him, Sima Qian. He was a great man, and his life is not for me to repeat. Think that as long as you are a Chinese heir, you should understand him and admire him. "The mountain is up, the scenery is moving", this is what Taishi used to describe The Sage of Kong, but he is also what those of us who should look up to the mountain. In the era when the companion was like a companion of the tiger, it is really the supreme honor of our Chinese nation to have such a person who is not afraid of life and death to record history. He should be a monument of 5,000 years of History in China, recording the Three Emperors and Five Emperors, and recording Tang Wen Zhou Wu. When I came to the square of the Taishi Ancestral Hall, the first thing that caught my eye was a huge couplet: the first person in The History of Letters, the Chinese Editor Qin and Han Peerless. Looking at the mountain body again, the majestic momentum is like Tai Shi Gong's rafters, writing and splashing ink on this section of the mountain range. "People are inherently dead, or heavier than Mount Tai, or lighter than Hong Mao", Tai Shi Gong is a Mount Tai, straddling Hancheng, straddling this city with a strong humanistic atmosphere. Stepping into the mountain gate, the huge stone pavement winds straight up, and every gatehouse is culture and history. Take small steps, recall this period of history, and feel this period of history. The figure of Tai Shi Gong and the spirit of picking up the lamp and writing the pen appear in his mind from time to time. This is a kind of inheritance, but also a great mission. Those who carry the mission forward should be magnificent and great, and they should be immortal. I bought a pen and a locust wood pen holder at a stall on the side of the stone road, which is a souvenir, a memorial, and a nostalgia. Because it was here that Tai Shi Gong wrote the "History of History" that "the historian's masterpiece, the rhymeless detachment", this is what my junior should worship. Looking at the five vigorous pine trees on the Taishi Cemetery, I had mixed feelings and a sense of historical guilt. History is innocent and sinful, and I don't know how much obscenity and solitude it has erased, and how much compassion it has added for no reason. History is just a plain white piece of paper, and it is up to historians to come and write, but there are a few people who can be as just as shi gong as Tai Shi Gong. It is better to be crippled than to write against one's will, because posterity is to judge. Only after the coffin is finalized can a person's meaning be revealed and his brilliance illuminated. Because of the heaviness, I chose to flee. When I look back at the rough mountain road again, I have "fled with guilt." However, Mr. Guo Moruo's poem is still bright: the dragon gate has a spirit show, and Zhong Yu is a dragon. The study is unprecedentedly rich, and the article is long and male. Pity took the axe and exhaled neon. Meritorious pursuit of the father, Qianqiu Taishi Gong.
Leaving Shibakawa Town, we are back in the city where the turbid waves are emptying, and the guilt has gradually dissipated. You can't always live in imagination, or you have to come back to reality and survive and be a stable person. Coming down to the Temple of Literature, inside the Temple of Literature, I seemed to see monks and nuns, and I didn't like places with qing rules and precepts, so I didn't have much stop. Just carefully looked at the "Twenty-Four Filial Piety Diagrams" on both sides of the first gatehouse, from Yu Shun, who "filial piety touched the heavens", to Huang Tingjian, who "purified the drowning device". The "Twenty-Four Filial Pieties" had been heard about for a long time, but they had not been carefully examined. Twenty-four pictures, twenty-four characters, all tell the same truth, that is, "filial piety." From "Confucianism", this deep-rooted Confucianism has never been diluted in our culture, which is a spirit inherited from our ancestors a hundred thousand years ago. It seems to be a very simple truth, but I think that a few people have seriously fulfilled it, or have fulfilled it. Parents of the first generation, hard work and high achievements, but we as children are uneasy about keeping filial piety, what a stubbornness. We all have a moment as a child, and we all have a day as a parent. Don't we feel sad to look at the old father from another angle, to look at the weak mother? If a person does not have filial piety, even if there is no education, how can a person without education try to educate his children? The era of "burying children and serving mothers" and "lying on the ice and seeking carp" no longer exists, and no one will be so pedantic, but the more superficial the truth, the more real it is. The sincerity of affection and sincerity embodies the vitality of a nation, then the prestige of a famous clan, and finally the reproduction of a nation.
On the third day, the weather was overcast, and the roar of the wind hunting was fierce. In fact, the wind is not very big, but in Xi'an, such a wind is rare, so there is some trepidation in the heart. Today I went to Longmen Town, which is the beautiful legendary place of "Dayu Chiseling The Mountain leads the river, and the carp jumps the Dragon Gate", and it is also an important industrial town in Hancheng. Originally, the weather was gray, and the G108 national highway passed by the town, so the traffic came and went, the dust was flying, and the dust was very large. What is more serious is that the town is at the foot of the mountain, there are coal mines, and the cinder is flying in the sky, with the help of the wind, for me, who comes from the hinterland of the Guanzhong Plain, it is no exaggeration to say that it is flying sand and stones. Driving all the way down the G108 national highway to the Junction of Qin and Jin- on the Yumen Bridge, the heavens seem to have been blinded by the soot blowing, and they began to cry. The wind "whistled" and my hair was very long, and as a result it was blown in a mess, like a bush of overgrown grass on the mountain. Standing on the Yumen Bridge, looking out, the water is turbulent, the rapids are whirlpool, the turbid waves are monstrous, and the waves are pouring out. It made me instantly remember Li Taibai's famous sentence: "You don't see the water of the Yellow River rising from the sky, rushing to the sea and never returning." The poem jumped to my mind, but I really didn't find the momentum of the water and sky, just looking at the yellow soup flowing far away, my heart was a little sad. What a spectacular sight, but no one can understand my feelings, and no one can enjoy with me this river of mothers who gave birth to the Chinese nation. Looking at the river water of Haohao's soup, it seems that someone is flashing in my mind, but I can't catch her. Let her hide in her mind, the feeling of hiding a person in the heart is painful and wonderful. It's just that when there is a mixture of sorrow and joy, it feels just in time. When it is happy, pain suddenly comes out, and when it is sad, beauty comes silently. This is the creation of people, giving you a good time of encounter, but hindering your opportunities to contact. When you are sad and want to go away, she just comes to stir your heartbeat again; and when you want to pursue without hesitation, but there are things that shock you, these are all considered to be no shade. When the peach blossoms are in full bloom in the spring, thinking about these sad things, the feelings can't stop gushing like a spring, Cui Hu's "Title Capital City Nanzhuang": "Last year, in this door today, the faces of peach blossoms were red. People don't know where to go, and peach blossoms are still smiling in the spring breeze. "Although it is very different from the situation, let's think it is the end."
Stepping out of the junction of the two provinces, walking into Hejin City, Shanxi Province, next to the high mountains, cutting mountains, weeping willows on both sides of the river, the wind is still arrogant, and the people who blow are chilling. Worshiping the untamed Nature of the Yellow River, my heart has long been unstoppable, and I want to kiss this great river, this ancient river, this abundant river. Tiptoeing up and looking at it, the distant smoke rose in the distance, and there was dew on the grass on both sides of the riverbank that had just broken the soil, so a small poem came out of his mouth: Mist yellow smoke rolls, wind and sand roll dew mud. The dragon gate is far away, and the koi is through the ladder. I took off my shoes, ran and jumped on the soft shore, and the soles of my feet gave birth to joy, as if I had returned to my childhood, so innocent. It's just that now we, beginning to mix in society, are no longer as carefree as they were, and time has cruelly abandoned our childhood, and perhaps it is this piece of yellow sand under our feet that buries our childhood. I didn't have the heart to play with the cold and bone-chilling river water, I just sat on the soft sand, reminiscing and reminiscing. I wrote my name with my fingers on a very flat sandy ground blown by the wind, two square Chinese characters that would carry me for the rest of my life. Looking at a surname, a name, I seemed to return to my parents, who gave me life, and they raised me for more than twenty years. The corners of my eyes were red, not sand blowing into my eyes, but life hitting my heart, tears of pain. Think about it, isn't this Yellow River also the mother of our Chinese nation? But I don't know how she was treated, not because she didn't know how to imagine, but because she couldn't imagine, she didn't dare to imagine. Parents always pay silently, love silently, silently exhaust their efforts, and there is only one dream in this life, that is, their children are more robust. In the most ordinary way, play the most touching and profound song, which is the tone of the whistling of the water of the Yellow River, which is like a hong bell and a vessel.
Sima Qian Ancestral Hall
Looking at the endless skyline, this water does not allow for much stop. The origin of life is here, the reproduction of life is here, and the change of life is here. It is a river of life, a river that nurtures life, a river that nurtures life. Thick territory, nature is also sacred, solemn. So it can only be a faint appreciation, and then a deep taste. Leaving Longmen Town, I drove to Dangjia Village. This is an ancient village, with quaint courtyards, bluestone streets and alleys, simple folk customs, and a sweet heart. Hancheng is known as "Little Beijing", while Dangjia Village is known as "Little Hancheng". The village is prestigious and I don't think I'm a good place to be here. Because culture is once again used as a means of capital, just like the Taishi Temple. It is not that I am narrow-minded, but that the village with such a thick culture should be shared by our entire Chinese nation. It is a culture, not an item to be traded, and culture cannot be traded. It may be that my thinking is too biased, but this style, I am too unrecognized, too ignorant, too unfamiliar, and even more unable to accept it calmly. The weather was getting so fast, it had just been raining, and the sun was smiling again. The sun shone on the whole dangjia village, and the culture was washed away by the rain once again, revealing once again the sanctity and inviolability of what it should be. I left in a hurry because I didn't want to be eroded by a damaged culture here. Culture is not sinful, but that pure culture, combined with the copper stench of sin, is immediately polluted, no longer so clear.
Back at my friend's house, it was slowly darkening. After two days of cultural baptism, I was deeply attracted to it. But it's also that culture, and it hurts people's hearts. It was nearly fifteen, and it was just night, and there were still some stars in the bright white sky. After dinner, I sat alone on the balcony on the top of the second floor, smoking a cigarette, and once again thought about what I had seen and heard in the past two days, and my heart was full of fear. Rest tomorrow, the day after tomorrow I will leave this ancient county, and my heart is a little clinging to it, and it is difficult to let go. Suddenly, the idea of going around Weinan City came up again, and I told my friend that he only responded lightly: Self-reliance. I am a confused person, hovering between going and not going, entangled in stopping and not stopping. I'm also a strange person, in fact, my feet are already very sore, but I still want to go out and walk around. I want to get on a car that goes straight to Weinan City, speed on the G108 National Highway, and go all the way southwest. Look for the things you pursue, whether it is a thing or a person. It is just a matter of secretly wishing that the person or thing over there can respond with the same as if they were pursuing her, this is a mysterious question. In the end, I still lost this sudden idea, the G108 national highway between Hancheng City and Weinan City, can only go next time. It's just that this time it's so slim, it's like looking up at the twinkling stars in the dark night, nothing. For the G108 national highway, I always have a sense of intimacy, and when I can see things that have a slight connection with myself when I am a stranger in this foreign land, I must have a sense of return. Because the G108 national highway also passes through my hometown, I have also run crazy on this road. It's just that at this moment, this route to the far side, I can't trust you anymore. Because of the ridiculous things that are worth pondering, I can only say "goodbye" to you in this darkness, maybe it is to say goodbye to the reunion again, or maybe it is also a farewell to not meeting again in the future.
The night always gives people endless reverie, and where the mind goes, it is also the place where the soul goes. Thoughts can lead the soul to soar, just like my thoughts at this moment. My mind was full of very childish thoughts, but it felt particularly subtle, and the soul was empty, crumbling in the breeze. Looking up at the blue light emitted by the moon, my heart became full again. The shadow of the moon is very suitable for missing, missing a person who is worth thinking about. Whether the other person remembers you or not, the moon will tell her in some peaceful way. Weinan I can't get there, a little regret, but I don't know which kind of it will be? Are they two different choices? Is it a long goodbye, or a farewell in the opposite direction?
Got back on the train, but this time it was a real parting. Not wanting to have two more options, it seems like it's easy to get hurt. Time can't hold back the pace of progress, and the pace of my departure cannot be slowed down by time, all because of this ancient city. Time is really a strange thing, time makes me forget a lot, it also makes me tough, and it makes me think of you endlessly. You are also very ethereal, and I have never been able to grasp it, Whether you are figurative or abstract, whether you are human or material. It is also this pronoun that gives me a lot of excuses to escape, to escape from reality, to live in the dreams I have created. You, I like it even more. The train "rumbled" and carried me on the way home, which was not wandering, not hiding, but like a toss-toss and turning escape. At this sad parting time, I reacquainted myself. It was also after this pilgrimage that I felt that I would change a lot, especially in the understanding of the word "you". In all that I will do about you from now on, I want to transform them all into a wind, blowing them all away in this spring, blowing down the branches, blowing down on the hearts of the flowers, blowing down on any pair of wings. Culture and history, history and culture, this tour is a success, not to mention whether there are any regrets, just from these cultures and history to understand the numerology, it is enough for me to absorb the real long time. Thank you, Han Cheng; thank you, my friend; thank you, uncle and aunt; finally thank you, Weinan...
This should have been a little article I wrote in college more than a decade ago, and it still seems to be full of emotion. I just don't know how the people were before, and what about Hancheng now?