Text/Li Kangxin
When we met that day, we could only glimpse a large outline of the Nakaiwa Temple and hurried away, and since then we have been separated from each other. Today, I can reunite with Su Shi again, I can understand the past of Dongpo, and when I think of this, I wake up early at four o'clock in the morning, and there is no trace of sleepiness.
Simply pack up, eat a bowl of steaming noodles, with admiration for Su Dongpo, according to the agreed time, set off to the agreed place, ready to re-walk the road when Dongpo came, imagining whether this would be able to get closer to him and understand him more comprehensively.
On the second day of the first lunar month of the Year of the Tiger, we left the county seat of Qingshen early in the morning and descended along the Min River to the Zhongyan Temple, a thousand-year-old temple. It was raining heavily, the river wind was coming at us, the cold was compelling, the wind was shuttling through the crowd, and I couldn't help but shiver and tighten my clothes again.
This year's rain came exceptionally early, so densely that it was too late to count, and every time it rained all over the branches. The rain that has been blowing has added a clear feeling to this Spring Festival, which seems to indicate that it will be a year of smooth wind and rain. Just after Chinese New Year's Eve, the raindrops could not resist the temptation of fireworks in the world, jumping from the sky one by one to the mortal world, sprinkling the Zhongyan Temple with transparent pearls. The mist by the river rises, casting a mysterious white veil over the Temple.
The mountain path has also become slippery due to the infiltration of rainwater, and pedestrians holding umbrellas in one hand and holding their companions in the other, follow the sound of the rain, along the red stone road of Zhongyan Temple, heading deeper.
On the way, I happened to meet Deng Youquan, vice chairman of the Sichuan Micro Film Association. He said that the Zhongyan Temple in Qingshen County was the place where Su Dongpo first fell in love, studied, and grew up, and it was from here that his life path, political boat, and love sail set sail.
After passing through a curved path and pulling away the branches sticking out from the cliff, the three big characters of "Calling Fish Pond" appeared in front of me. Underneath the big characters is a statue of Su Dongpo and his wife Wang Fu. The two stood under the cliff and next to the fish pond, and with just one look, they saw the flame of love between a pair of lovers burning. "Ten years of life and death are two vast" is in stark contrast to this scene, and it is difficult to imagine how sad Su Dongpo was when he lost his lover, and how he spent countless nights.
The world changes, the bucket turns to the stars, and the pace of time never stops. The more up the mountain road is more difficult, strolling in the mountains, the towering dense forest shades the sky, and when winter comes here, it stops, perched among the bamboo knots, and sleeps quietly. Who, by the railing, is looking into the distance? Who is in the deep seclusion of the winding path? Between the water and the sky, who danced between the cliffs in a red robe?
The rain in late winter is no warmer than the snowflakes, and in these nine cold seasons, there is an art troupe performing here. It is said that the members of this Qingshen Bamboo Yun Qipao Art Troupe are the oldest in their 70s and the youngest in their 50s, and their spirit of having fun and doing something for the elderly, combined with the elegant qipao art and the beauty of nature, complement each other and have a good taste of happiness.
Dressed in Chinese red cheongsam and holding oil-paper umbrellas, they danced in the rain. The rain on the ground has not yet evaporated, reflecting their clear shadows. A cheongsam, a flower folding umbrella, looking back at the moment, the elegant collar nest is restrained and reserved, the buttons are stacked without leakage, and the heavens and the earth are uniquely dyed. The elegance of the years comes from the money; the accumulation of history, step by step. The catwalk performance blended the strong classical art with the culture of cultural tourism, and I was pleasantly and satisfied, like a cave flower candle and a gold list inscription, soaking every inch of my skin.
From the Fish Pond to the Yuquan Temple to the Bamboo Forest Trail, I heard a cry from afar. He came from ancient times and whispered to me, telling stories and dings from thousands of years ago. Since then, countless stars have perched on my crooked eyelashes. The world is flowing with the flow, and it is only a floating dream. But I saw the red color here, and they told their persistence and happiness.
Whether it is a majestic green mountain wall standing on a thousand feet, or a rolling river with a long history, whether it is a Buddha statue that has gone through a thousand years or a pedestrian on a mountain road, when they meet one day, time has a unit of measurement, and the landscape has been sad and happy since then.
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