Cheng Er column|End of year

July and August last year were extremely busy, leaving early and returning late, nervous and almost abnormal. In the end, we rented a studio in Huairou for 20 days, rebuilding some of the scenes and building several new ones. Soon all nine leading actors and crew gathered again. I didn't say a word, my face was dull, photographer Cai Tao comforted me between shooting, say, look, at least get together again, don't you find that everyone also has a happy side? I said, well, okay, you hurry, you see it's so cloudy, let's go eat hot pot.

Until I was notified sometime in late September. So I suddenly had nothing to do. The inertia of leaving early and returning late is difficult to stop like work after receiving notice, so I still go to the office every day, but I change places to be in a daze, read, or sleep. The logic of behavior is somewhat similar to that of an unemployed person who fears being known by his family. After October, it became cold every day, one night I was awakened from freezing on the sofa, I looked around in the dark, probably who helped me turn off the lights, I listened to the conversation of my colleagues downstairs, someone was singing again, I listened to the song for a while, and I felt that it was useless and interesting to be stuck here and wait. I took out my smartphone and booked my ticket for the last day of October without thinking.

On November 2, he had dinner with Mr. Liang and went to his house to continue drinking after the meal. The first night I seemed to have drunk a whole bottle of whiskey, and he drank two bottles of champagne and a bottle of red wine. We sat on the sofa in front of the window and looked at the quiet and bright city night sky, and the figure reflected on the window glass and the long silence reminded me of the screen of the crew monitor. This is mostly the case when sober, and gradually more talk after a slight drunkenness until you get drunk. So what exactly was talked about often becomes a blurred memory. Once I asked him the next day how he had left the night before. He asked rhetorically, "Did you come last night?" But I was still able to walk twenty minutes back to my apartment, through the entire cemetery in between, neat and solemn in the moonlight. A few times I walked and even gradually came to my senses.

During the day, I go cycling. Probably worried about my unfamiliarity, he tried to take me through the sidewalk. Staying about five meters in front of me, he quickly looked back at me every few seconds and determined my position, as if worried that I would fall off the bike or disappear out of thin air. But it was hard to ride and look back, and while sitting on the side of the street drinking coffee, I reminded him that I was the one who grew up riding a bicycle, and although I hadn't ridden for more than 20 years, the skills I had mastered as a child could not disappear. Oh yes oh. He nodded in understanding. Soon he was still holding back, but extended the frequency of turning back to ten seconds.

One afternoon, after his ride, a few hours before his dinner with his friends, he proposed to go home for tea. We watched as the sunlight outside the window suddenly disappeared, while the wind began to blow and flocks of birds roared through the hazy sky. I was drinking the piping hot tea in my cup, and soon I heard the sound of a red wine stopper being opened behind me, and soon another bottle was opened. Probably because I had just finished exercising and on an empty stomach, I felt drunk before it was dark. After that, I walked back in the first night, and it rained halfway down, and the cemetery in the rain was more lonely than usual. I think we think we think of loneliness a lot, but it's hard to find a place that's more lonely and peaceful. I sometimes silently recite the names on the tombstones, and for the first time in months I feel my heart cheerful, those contradictions and tangles, those humiliations, even those strong shameful feelings, even if they cannot disappear, are slowly unfolding at this moment, no longer twisted together. Is it the joy of being a living being? Or face some kind of fear? Which is more like a salvation, death or life? Walking through the cemetery is a bustling city, and I thought it was time to go back. I often couldn't control the wine, and on rainy nights, I no longer wanted to eat dinner, so I lay down and went to sleep before 8 o'clock.

One day before leaving, I set off in the morning and cycled 30 kilometers west, looking out over the Tama River from the long embankment. He had shot her, in the reeds of Shanghai under the pouring rain. He had his throat slit on the streets of Hong Kong, at least, facing the harbor and lying on a stone step. Thirty kilometers back, I looked at the stiff and angular saddle of the road bike with poor power assist system lying flat on the side of the road, and finally had to walk slowly towards it. Before 10 p.m., I finally returned to my accommodation. "Will go to the destination", I remembered this sentence.

At the end of November, I finally joined my wife and daughter in Wuzhen. For precautionary reasons, we needed to stay outside the scenic area for one night, we walked the streets in our memory, most of the shops were closed, and the whole city was depressed. The next day, he went to Wuzhen to participate in the drama festival. During the day, my wife and I went to the theater, my daughter went to Teacher Huang's house, wandered around with her younger sister and brother, and the shop where she had been talking about the stick and bone porridge for several years was nowhere to be found. But after finding delicious sauce ducks, they had to close their doors after thinking about the festival, and their wife ordered dozens of them and sent them back to Beijing in batches. Of course, that doesn't help. Every night we gathered at Mr. Huang's house. Soon after, we watched the play together from morning to night for a few days. He is also a rare lighthearted and happy person, seeing his favorite dramas and dance dramas. Afterwards, I found out that from beginning to end, whether with Mr. Liang, Mr. Huang, or Yibo, we did not say a word about the movie.

Because there were so-called close contacts in the hotel where we stayed, we were notified to stay in the room for isolation. Always getting notifications. My daughter accepted reality more calmly, saying that I had never been isolated anyway. Feeling unwell, I hurriedly put my arm around her and said that you should read in your room for a few days. The next day before dawn I woke up, lay down and looked out the window, felt something strange, and with the help of a window that didn't turn off the lights, I noticed that it was snowing. Soon the sky brightened and the snow outside the window became heavier. I opened the door and went out, and outside the door was a terrace, and beyond that there was a narrow river, and I looked at the snowflakes and shallow river smoking cigarettes, thinking that it was rare for such heavy snow to fall in the south. Large snowflakes fell silently on the surface of the water and disappeared without a trace. The sky was getting brighter, and the small fish that had been sinking under the water were less than a foot awakened. They also seem to notice something strange, more restless than usual, and swim in a spiral towards the surface of the water in a row. Probably mistaken for food or just out of curiosity, large snowflakes leap out of the water with their mouths open, intercepting the snowflakes one or two centimeters off the surface, their bodies twisting, making arcs that can't tell whether they are handsome or struggling, and instantly fall back into the water. But they enjoyed it, as if it really meant something.

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