After the rain, I sat by the Xiliao River, looked around, and found that the red of the Rainbow Bridge was like wet oil paint, which was very beautiful. Under the bridge, cars come and go, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, dotted with each other, light and shadow floating, like a spirited river, running to the peaceful Sillamulun Street...
As I was confused, a voice drilled through the arm bend of the Rainbow Bridge, followed the footsteps of the car, and came to me, like a little rain ticking. I heard it clearly, and what it said was—"Here, there." ”
Where is this place? Where is it again? No one answered. Only a few petals floated under the tree in an instantly still gaze, like an invitation that had not been sent out...
"Ah, Syrahmulen! Here is Syrahmulen... My lovely Syrahmulen..." In the distance, a thick voice alternated with a childish voice, pulling my wandering thoughts back to reality in an instant. It turned out that it was a father and son practicing poetry recitation. Looking at the little boy's body trembling slightly from the force, and his father's hand caressing his hair, I suddenly remembered that the first time I heard of the river called "Siramulun" was also through my father.
His father's knowledge of the Sillamulen River came from a Naiman banner companion.
My father used to be a post and telecommunications worker, riding a bicycle every day to deliver letters and newspapers, and he had no time to wander around, even the Naiman Banner, he only went once. However, he had a good feeling for it, because the people there spoke in accents similar to those of my old family, and all had the smell of the land and the shadow of metal. Every year, when the buckwheat blossoms in his hometown, his father would say lightly, "Naiman's buckwheat has also blossomed." "I imagined that a sea of tiny flowers had crossed the border of the Naiman Banner and was greeting the old river head of my hometown...
My father was a little sorry that the Sylamulun River had never smelled the buckwheat aroma of my hometown. He knew that it joined the Laoha River at the junction of the Ongniute Banner and the Naiman Banner to become the Xiliao River. "It's a mile from our hometown." He said.
The river in the hometown is nameless, and the soup in the early years flowed, soaking the father's youth and youth, and by the time his father was in his early forties, it quietly withered, like grandpa's aging body. Grandpa had been busy in the land all his life, and witnessing his life was the river that had lost its teeth. "How good is that river..." Before Grandpa died, he still looked in the direction of the old river, and his gray beard trembled. At that time, his old man did not recognize people, but the dense wrinkles on his face clearly expressed his heart.
In fact, the people who are hurt by a river are not only my grandfather and my father.
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Liang Heng Essay Middle School Student Reader ¥29.8 Purchase
I still remember that when I first read the famous work of the female poet Xi Murong of Taiwan Province, "Father's Grassland, Mother's River", my mood could not be calmed for a long time, because we, who were not in harmony with each other, actually had memories related to the Xilamulun River at different times.
Murong Xi wrote in the poem, "My mother always loved to describe the mighty river that flowed in my distant hometown on the Mongolian plateau." - The birthplace of the Xilamulun River is the Keshketeng Banner in Chifeng City, and Murong Xi's mother was born in Keshketeng. When he finally saw this "Grandmother River" that had haunted his mother's dream for more than 40 years and that he had been looking forward to for more than 40 years, Murong Xi cried uncontrollably...
Rather than saying that Murong Xi found his roots through this verse, it is better to say that every wave in her tears is a tribute to life and a fascination with the prehistoric civilization of the Hongshan culture.
The Xilamulun River means "yellow river" and has historically been named RaoleShui, Huangshui, Liaoshui, Juliuhe and so on. The ancient book Huainanzi lists it as one of the "Six Great Rivers of China", and Li Daoyuan also left a place for it in the Notes on the Water Classics. For thousands of years, no matter how many winds and frosts have been encountered, the reckless Sylamulun River has always been unchanged in its original intention, carrying the affectionate stories of the sun, moon, stars and poet Wanderer, and the nine-curve loop, and moving forward. According to some sources, "The Xilamulun River has flowed through the Kashketeng Banner, the Ongniut Banner, linxi County, the Bahrain Right Banner, the Arukorqin Banner ... And other places, the total length of about 380 kilometers, the basin area of about 32,000 square kilometers", I really don't know, it has benefited the lives of generations on both sides of the strait!
When I was studying in the Western District, there were many Chifeng alumni among the alumni. The quietest of them, when he talks about the Syrahmulen River, will also have a glint in his eyes.
I once heard a conversation from two neighboring qi counties in Chifeng City—"Hey, when I was a kid, I grew up by the river all day." I am willing to listen to the sound of the panicked water and see the dark shadows where the water flows. My grandmother called me to eat, and I couldn't hear..." "My dad and my brother are rare in that river." They were working next to them, so I boiled two brown rice, a few eggs, and a book. Oops, in the blink of an eye, the day is over, the time is short! "Their accents are similar, but slightly different, and I think that the Time of stay of the Syllamulen River in different parts is different, so that the flat terrain is a little more sweet, and the higher terrain is sprinkled with light salt everywhere...
Zhu Ziqing prose selection ¥26 purchase
There was a female classmate from Chifeng, two or three years older than me, with broad shoulders and a red and round face. When she first entered the school, she shared "tribulations" with me. It is said that the school organized military training that time, and I was punished by the instructor for running 5,000 meters because of my unsatisfactory movements. I stepped onto the runway with my head bowed, shy and sad. After running around, I found that a tall child was also punished. It was a very hot day, and there was a big playground, and only the two of us were crawling like snails. "Hey, my name is Cloud." She offered to say hello. I listened to it with great affection and wondered if this was a northeastern fellow. Years later, I can still think of the picture of the two people walking together—sometimes like two rivers flowing in parallel, whispering, sometimes like a river, divided into two sections at the bend, and the process of catching up and connecting is so natural, with a little autumn warmth. I think this may be the ordinary and dramatic encounter between the Chifeng section of the Xilamulun River and the Tongliao section?
……
Now, I was sitting by the Xiliao River silently thinking about my thoughts, and the fragments related to the Xilamulun River were slowly stretched out like crumpled old photographs.
At some point, next to the father and son who practiced poetry recitation, there was a woman wearing a Mongolian robe. She leaned slightly sideways, stroking the water of the Liao River with her hand, and sang, "The river is singing the blessings of the ancestors, blessing the wandering children to find their way home... I'm also a highland child, and I have a song in my heart..."
I don't feel like smiling. The sun shines in my expectant gaze, transforming into a soft white dandelion, sometimes snuggling in the green space of the heart, sometimes chasing the other side of the dream, just like the water of the Syrahmulen River - here, also there...
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Author Profile: Wang Suyan, a native of Tongliao City, Inner Mongolia, is a lover of literature. He has published essays, novels and other works in print media such as "Story Society", "Inner Mongolia Daily", "Tongliao Daily" and some public account platforms.