Mountain Aria

If your hometown is a picture in your mind, it will be full of mountains except for the blank space. There are more than 50 ridges and more than 30 hills in the mountains and ridges that extend from Ma'anshan and Shebizhai. The name of the mountain on the west side of Ma'anshan is called "branch boundary ridge". The mountain ridge in the east of the pen village is "the pen ditch". Every mountain has a name, and every name has a history. For example: "Yanmaling", legend has it that during the Warring States Period, Han Xin's generals Guan Ying had trained soldiers and horses here, hence the name. The entire ridge is shaped like a dog's backbone, and the upper part is the shape of a dog turning back. Most of the tall hills are named after their shapes. "Toad head", you can solve it by looking at the meaning of the text. "Tweezer top", which is shaped like an iron tweezer for spreading pancakes. These peaks, when I was a child, and Fa Xiao have been climbing, and more than once. The top of the pan is more difficult to climb than the pen village, the steep wall is ringed, it is cylindrical, and the top is a platform. When climbing, along the gap in the stone wall, use your hands and feet together, move up little by little, dare not breathe, carefully stand on the top of the mountain, and take a long breath of relief. It's hard to go up the mountain, and it's even more difficult to go down.

The whole village is surrounded by mountains. The dilapidated stone houses and the shiny red and white tiled houses are the horns of each other. The mountains and valleys are the bones left by the great changes in the sea. The stone cliff, I don't know how many years of sunshine, moonshine and rain and dew, only to faint out of the harsh black brown. The mountain is like an old man of time, not afraid of storms, thunder and lightning, eternal and eternal, looking at six roads, listening to all directions, and gaining insight into the ups and downs and bits and pieces of the surroundings. Carefully identify each boulder and you can read the old traces of the past.

Daisen witnessed the rise of his hometown.

It was the middle and late Ming Dynasty, and the Sun, Dong, and Zhai families crossed the Zihe River and came here one after another. A barren wilderness, high mountains next to each other, and a Laizi River interspersed from Oleyu (later renamed Xingfuyu). The ancestors walked all over each mountain, and only then did they open the mountain and split the ground at the branch boundary and the mouth of the pen, and built a stone house to settle down. The Sun clan was concentrated in the middle of the village and Hedong, the Zhai clan was concentrated in the north of the village, and the Dong clan was concentrated in the south of the village. At the foot of the mountain to the east of the river, a look at the "Zhuge Well". In the middle of the village, the "Guandi Temple" was built. On the side of the ridge in the middle of the branch boundary and the shelving pen village, a land temple was built each. An avenue runs along the river, through the village, from north to south. The ancestors said that the Guandi Temple town is evil and collects wealth, the land temple worships the land god and protects the harvest of grains, and a road connects the outside world. A village was laid out in this way, and it began to take shape.

After more than 400 years of development, by the end of the Qing Dynasty, the village had grown to more than 80 households and nearly 200 people. The surnames Zhang, Liu, Chen, and Wang moved to a few more households. In order to avoid banditry, the Sun family moved to the mountain of Shebizhai and set up camp, condescending. Once the bandits in the village robbed, the mountain got the information, immediately transferred the property, and the people went to the house empty. Therefore, this village, before the 40s of the last century, was also called put aside the pen orally.

In the scorching flames of war, Dashan has witnessed the growth of generations of villagers.

One evening in March 1938, before the birds had yet returned to their nests, the smoke of cooking with the smell of firewood drifted away in the wind. Sun Li, who lives at the foot of Weizi Mountain in Hedong, is spreading pancakes. Her eldest son, Sun Shoufang, squatted beside him and gulped down pancakes, eating five or six in a row. Sun Li had never seen his son so hungry, and said, "Haven't eaten yet? Sun Shoufang raised his eyes and looked at his mother and ate a few more. Sun Li found that his son did not leave after eating the pancakes, his eyes looked at her evasively, and he stopped talking, as if he was hiding some secret, and his expression was not what he used to be. After breakfast the next day, the village exploded, and in the streets and alleys, three or five people were in groups and discussions. Overnight, more than a dozen young people, including Zhang Futang, Sun Shoufang, Dong Zhanjiang, and Dong Risheng, disappeared, and they inquired everywhere, but there was no news.

Later, I learned that more than a dozen young people said goodbye, and by the faint moonlight, along the stone road by the Laizi River, crossed the Zihe River, traveled 30 kilometers that night, and under the leadership of Zhang Jingtao, participated in the fourth detachment of the Eighth Route Army in Shandong led by Liao Rongbiao. When the hurried footsteps of "sand, sand, sand" sounded in the valley, Dashan opened his eyes wide and watched the backs of the dozen or so young people go away.

Sun Li knew that after his son joined the army, tears slipped down and his clothes were wet, and he regretted not letting his son bring a few pancakes.

After the baptism of war, most of the more than a dozen young people have grown up to be cadres at or above the division level.

In the Battle of Ma'anshan in November 1942, the Japanese invaders' artillery bombarded indiscriminately, and Ma'anshan was covered with bruises. Wang Fenglin, deputy head of the regiment, Dong Hengde (from Xiaokou Village), head of the hoeing and rape unit of the joint office of the four counties, and other commanders and fighters fought bloodily, and a total of 27 commanders and fighters sacrificed their lives. Ma'anshan experienced this vicious battle. The blood-stained cliffs are beautiful and beautiful.

Dashan regards these iron bones as his descendants. They grew up drinking water from springs seeping from rocks, and grew up eating grains grown on terraces in the ravines. From the moment they wore open crotch pants, they formed an indissoluble bond with the mountains. When I woke up in the morning, I opened my eyes and saw the mountains in the morning light. When I go out, I follow the 100-step path of the valley or mountain ridge, cut firewood, dig wild vegetables, and help the family with farm work as much as I can. The mountains are familiar with their every move, know their three meals a day, and walk with them through the potholes. The majestic body of the mountain, the perseverance and perseverance of the character, and the high wind and festival of caring for the earth moisten the nature of the villagers like spring breeze and rain. The villagers here are industrious, simple, and resolute, and they are as strong as the mountains.

In order to turn over and become masters, the villagers in their hometown joined the army and supported the front. In the 40s of the last century, less than 100 households, more than 70 households were resistant. More than 70 people participated in the Eighth Route Army, guerrillas, and military engineering teams, and more than 80 people participated in the front support. By 1949, 26 martyrs had died. In the Battle of Laiwu in 1947, the villagers supported the front and transported back more than 60 bodies of martyrs and buried them on the soil slope at the foot of Weizi Mountain. In the early 50s of the last century, a small wooden sign was inserted on the grave, some of which had full names written on them, and some of which only had surnames written on them. The village planted cypress trees in the cemetery, and after sixty or seventy years of growth, they are now three or four years old. The trunk of the tree is straight, standing up with a lush canopy, guarding the soul of the martyr Cheng Ren and righteousness year after year.

When a dazzling lightning bolt streaked, several deafening thunderclaps exploded, and the wind howled and rolled dark clouds from the top of the mountain to the ridge, covering the mountain like a black net. Immediately, the rain pillars shot like arrows to the earth, and the water on the mountains splashed like streams - this is the mountain's mourning for the heroic spirits.

The deep and shallow stone patterns of the mountain are the marks left by wind, rain, thunder and lightning. These imprints represent the scale of time and have the dignity of a mountain.

Dashan will not forget that since the 50s of the last century, the villagers have sung mountain songs, shouted trumpets, wore stars and moons, and skillfully dressed up the land under their noses. When the hillside is full of fresh green, red and purple in all its forms, rows of shoots emerge in the terraces. The green willows by the river offer a touch of tenderness to the mountains. From the top of the mountain to the bottom of the ditch, it is full of life. With the increase of rain, the Laizi River swelled, wantonly hitting both sides of the mountain and rushing to the Zihe River. In the middle of summer, the mountains were dressed in fluffy skirts. In autumn, no matter how you look at it, the mountains are a colorful oil painting. When the autumn wind blew on the face of the mountain with the smell of the fragrance of the grain, the mountain was intoxicated.

Dashan looks at the simple villagers and looks forward to the annual grand ceremony to worship Dashan.

The sacrificial ceremony is held on the first auspicious day of the zodiac after the Mid-Autumn Festival.

Most of these non-governmental activities are led by highly respected people of all surnames. On this day, the tribute must be placed before sunrise on the square in front of the Guandi Temple in the village. "Friends drink and feast, and kill lambs every day. "Whole pigs' heads, chickens, ducks, geese, home-brewed sorghum wine, bunches of ears of grain, sorghum, unpeeled corn cobs. The heavy and vibrating drums, crisp and loud, and the sound of suona reaching the sky, invigorated every corner of the mountain. After the three incense sticks are exhausted, the organizer leads the villagers to kowtow three times and worship the mountain devoutly. It ends on time before the hour.

The mountains carry the good wishes of the villagers. The villagers are attached to the mountains. Some of the villagers here have never left for the rest of their lives, and they have stayed with the mountains all their lives, and when they die, their bodies and bones are buried in the mountains. There is an old man surnamed Sun, who walked out of the mountains at the age of seventeen or eighteen and went to the Northeast to make a living. After his death, he asked his children to bring the ashes back to the ancestral forest of his hometown for burial, and when he died, he would also be buried in the loess of his hometown, and the mountains and rivers of his hometown were rooted in his flesh and bones.

The mountains have sent away generations of villagers to witness the sunrise and sunset with the villagers. As far as the eye can see, although it is the past, it is imprinted on the mountain. When it is beautiful, the mountains will smile, and when they are in pain, the mountains will also throw tears. The villagers, the mountains, the mountains, and the villagers share the same sorrows and joys, and belong to a community with a shared future.

Since the 90s of the last century, the land under the mountain and around the village has been flat and fertile, and the villagers have planted in spring and harvested in autumn, which is still a landscape painting in the farming period. These lands total more than 400 acres. The remaining more than 600 acres are all mountainous, stacked from the foot of the mountain to the top of the mountain. The terraces are full of economic trees: pepper, toon buds, walnuts, etc., and the bushes grow wildly, and in a few years, the woods are patchy, and the original appearance of the mountain is covered by dense trees and vines.

The village also seems to be divided into two settlements, the old and the new. The old house that has sprung up with the village has undergone more than 500 years of earth-shaking transformation, and it seems that the living function has been interrupted here, and it is only used as a "cultural relic" for people to explore its condensed heritage.

The new area is built on both sides of the highway, on both sides of the Laizi River, with white walls and red tiles. This is the residence of those who stick to the countryside and have a skill, and then there are those who work hard in other places, their pockets are bulging, and they return to their hometowns to build houses, so that the old roots can sprout again.

The mountains are like mighty statues, watching over their hometown. The pictures collected in the eyes are spread out in the embrace of the mountains.

Sun Yuanli