He grew more and more tired of the small town in which he lived. Born in Si, grown up in Si, every corner of the town, he knows everything. There is a saying that familiar places do not have scenery. He felt the same way about it.
Every day, he went to work and crossed two streets. The houses on both sides of the street, gray. Many of the rooms, in his childhood memory, have not changed year after year. The woman who opened the noodle shop, he almost looked at her old. Hours, on the way to and from school, he passed in front of her door. The woman was coiled in a shiny black braid, and a large cauldron was propped up in front of the door, and the pot was always steaming. The woman stood next to the pot and poured a basin of swill water under the plane tree in front of the door. At that time, the woman was still young, but thirty-four or five years old, and she could chase her two naughty children up two streets in one fell swoop.
More than twenty years have passed, and the woman is still under the article. It's just that the original thick black braids have been cut short, and frost flowers are scattered on them. The woman's waist has become thicker, her jaw is loose, and her movements are somewhat slow. Occasionally, I saw her throw a basin of swill water under the plane tree in front of the door. The plane tree had grown quite thick and tall, with vigorous branches, and looked like a house in the distance. There were few diners, so women often folded their hands and stood in front of the door in a daze, looking at the sky, looking at the ground, looking at the people walking on the street. Both of her children were out of town, out of town, to take her away. She refused to go, she said she liked it here, and it was only when she lived here.
He really couldn't understand this woman, what was there to linger in this little place? He stood at the window of the office building, looking into the distance. In the distance, in his eyes, it was like a huge crystal ball, flashing a seductive light. He must flee from here—he was tormented to the bone by this thought.
One day, he finally left everything behind, despite his mother's bitter pleas. He rode a long train all the way north, to the golden metropolis he had seen countless times in his dreams. There, a group of young people with the same dreams as him gathered, who lived in the basement and ate boiled steamed buns as a meal. They put away their young edges and wandered the streets of the metropolis, humbly selling themselves. They would fight for jobs like delivering newspapers and milk.
He was also caught in the middle of it, and it was a lot of hard work. Later, he won a job as a copywriter. He cherished this hard-won job and worked very hard, often working overtime until late at night to return to the basement. As a result, he fell ill and lay in bed for two days, leaving his job behind. When he was well, he walked out of the basement and stood under the sun in a daze, the original aura faded, and the metropolis was so unbearable. The woman who opened the noodle shop opposite, walked out the door, looked at him, "snapped", and threw a basin of swill water under a tree in front of the door. This familiar scene hurt him at once. Tears slowly oozed from his eyes.
He remembered a story he had read before about a young man, dissatisfied with the place where he lived, standing by a river and looking at the other side every day. Across the vast river, the houses on the opposite bank are full of shadows, all covered with golden light. The young people enviously thought, how happy the people living there are! He must go to the other side. One day, the young man really set off, trekking toward the other side. Needless to say, when he finally reached the other side, the houses that had shone with golden light in his eyes were gone, and there was nothing but a small fishing village. The eaves of the house are low, the dogs are wandering around the village, and the old fishermen are making up fishing nets in front of the houses. Everything is serene and mundane. The young man was disappointed and asked the old fisherman, where are your golden houses here? The old fisherman held out a finger and said, We don't have a golden house here, but the golden house is on the other side of the river. As soon as the young man turned back, he was surprised to find that the place where he had come was shining with gold.
It turned out that everyone's roof was covered with golden light. He thought it was time for him to go home.
This article is excerpted from Ding Limei's work "Ding Limei's Writing Class", click to learn more to buy