Reading at night| people to middle age, I finally understood the "knowledge of friendship and half-drop"

Woolly River

Late at night, a friend suddenly said in the group that tonight is Mr. Chen's birthday.

Mr. Chen also has a name called "Old Chen". This group was founded by the brothers after his death that year. There are always a few special days every year, and someone will open a topic in the group, which will cause a lot of sighs.

18 years ago, I left the city where the troops were stationed, desperately bid farewell to the "prospects" and so-called "contacts" accumulated over more than a decade of hard work, and returned to my hometown of Nanjing to accept another violent bump in my life: job hunting.

That day the rain poured down, and the person who interviewed me was Mr. Chen. He said to me happily, "You are very good at writing, and I hope you will give me more polish." ”

He gave me all sorts of "out of the box," including becoming one of his middle-level cadres with important responsibilities two years later. He made me understand that there really is a selfless Bole in the world, although I often bump into him with a strong personality.

In the year before his death, because of his serious illness, we were more "attached" mentally. We said nothing, we were relieved of each other, we felt sorry for each other.

His departure was a blow to me. I haven't gotten out of my inner predicament for almost a year. I don't know who I can reveal and get guidance on the unknown blocks in my heart without him.

Occasionally, without a word, I would drive tens of kilometers to his tomb and sit alone for a while, and then return in silence. His tomb was in the corner of his hometown, gently held by his father and mother's grave.

He was in the newspaper office, and I kept it as it was for a long time until one day I was "occupied" by a new colleague. I sat next to this particular seat for seven years, and every night shift I could always feel he was still there.

After living for half a lifetime, I have two people who can be called brothers with different surnames, Lao Chen is one of them, and the other is my old class elder Cai.

When I was a recruit in the north, I was assigned to the engineering company with a life-and-death test, and later received orders from the regimental headquarters to walk out of the vast mountains. The one who decided my fate was Lao Cai.

When he got married in his hometown of Haimen, Jiangsu, I spent nearly a month's salary in Jiangning, Nanjing, to buy a blanket and took a night boat to the wedding banquet. At the wedding feast, I was stunned by the pure rice wine and slept with his father at night. Before leaving, I didn't even have enough to pay for the return trip, and I quietly borrowed twenty yuan from Old Cai. Later, I learned that the blanket I bought was "made in Haimen". In the past twenty years, Old Cai has told this story countless times in front of people, and every time he has tears.

He later went to school and worked, and transferred from a large organ to a ministry of the State Council. As long as I go to Beijing, I will drink quietly at his Beijing residence, nibble on pig's hooves, and eat braised crab. He does it well.

He has published two collections of essays. The first collection of essays is the title of the book inscribed by our general commander, a preface by Wang Guozhen. The preface to the second book has several chapters, the first preface is "The Original So Waiting for the Afterlife" written by Jia Pingwa, mentioning that Lao Cai tearfully recalled passing through the road in front of him, so he "liked this offspring".

Late last autumn, he brought his old mother to Nanjing. In the evening, my wife and I cooked a meal in the east, and then we traveled to Qinhuai in the same boat. The sound of the paddle lights and shadows, the silence of the words, makes people wonder whether it is illusion or truth.

In March this year, he came back to Nanjing, ignoring the doctor's advice, and talked to me for a long time. The most talked about is the days we have walked together, and I also said that I want to publish another book, "only let you write me the preface."

After that, the situation took a sharp turn for the worse, and he traveled everywhere to ask for a continuation. At the same time, my father was also seriously ill, so I sent my father's CT film to Lao Cai on WeChat, and he consulted a famous doctor in Beijing. A few times I couldn't bear it, but he said, "I'm your brother." ”

He replied to me on WeChat in June: "I'm afraid I won't see your brother this time." He had always liked to make jokes about life and death, and this was the only time he hadn't joked.

July is black for me, because Mr. Chen traveled far away in July, and Lao Cai also traveled far away in July. After they left, the most affectionate sentence I heard was: Living in our hearts is the best way to live.

We live in the world, still separated in both the physical and spiritual senses. Living in the secular world, we obviously do not have so much affection, but we share the so-called affection for every social activity. And the more so, the more I cherish those lovely people, still smile at me in the depths of my heart, light candles for me, and form emotional alliances with people who really miss them and remember each other's beauty.

Some might say that this is because they have not been gone for a long time. Not really.

"Outside the long pavilion, beside the ancient road, the grass is green in the sky", you didn't realize anything?

During this year's National Day holiday, my wife and children went to Gaoyou, the hometown of Wang Zengqi, who has been admired for a long time. This small city is still nostalgic for Wang Zengqi, still eating "Wang Wei", and still recommending the cultural heritage of a literati to the world. In the East Avenue and Fugong Bridge, where this "last scholar in China" had walked countless times, I walked slowly, looking at every cornice and stone beast.

I think Mr. Wang Zengqi has never left, and his "Ordination", his "fritter chopping meat" and his endless nostalgia and talent are in the sunset of the canal, in the wind chimes of the caravanserai, in the grass and trees of the world, in the sight of every talker.

The warmth of those who have left has not dissipated, and those who are alive will never forget. Inside and outside the world, the "living" and the deceased have finally reached an indescribable spiritual resonance. Throughout the ages, why do such examples stop there?

Editor-in-Charge: Wang Lei

Proofreader: Ding Xiao