I envy those people from the countryside, they always have a hometown with endless aftertaste in their memory, although this hometown may actually be a poor, desolate and poetic remote place, as long as they are willing, they can imagine as much as they want. Some things are still reliably stored in that ignorant hometown, so as to be self-reliant and self-consoling.I left my birthplace at a very young age and came to this big city. I have never left since. I regard this city as my hometown.Everything in this city is changing rapidly—the houses, the streets, the way people dress and talk, and today it has completely changed into a new, fashionable city by our standards.

There are no remains, everything has been stripped clean. After my thirty years of age, I lived a decent life that I had not wanted for a long time.My hard work has paid off.I have created a clear image in front of people, this image fascinates and marvels even myself, whether people like it or hate it, it is in my arms.If the makeup is more or less a natural image, I was swayed by multiple complexities in the process of finally establishing it.I can ignore the outbursts of haters and become more stubborn and secretly happy, but I can't live up to the expectations and encouragements of lovers, just like water turns into beer and finally turns into vinegar.

I guess I should be honest. Her face changed so drastically that I was completely indifferent when I saw her.That day I went to the train station to see off a close relative, and when I was waiting to enter the station in the soft-seat waiting room, my eyes met hers.She was sitting on a row of sofas on the sloping ground, and her eyes followed a little girl who was running around on the ground playing alone. The little girl ran to the suitcase in front of my feet, so we met. She rested her cheek on her hand and put her five fingers together, almost covering her mouth, nose, and her cheeks were as thin as olives, and there were many folds around her eyes, the white folds like paper flowers.

Purely due to the monotony of the scene in the field of vision, the moving little girl produced an irresistible traction, and my eyes fell on her face again, and I found that the look she had just stared at me was still continuing. It was a searching gaze.The little girl ran up to her and spoke in a coquettish voice, and her replies were almost inaudible, distorted by imitating a childish intonation.She lowered her hands covering her face, and I looked away to confirm that it was a stranger. At this time, the electronic notice board on the door of the waiting room, which I had been paying attention to all the time, printed the ticket inspection notice for the train we were waiting for.

I stood up, carried the suitcase and accompanied that close relative out of the waiting room. In the crowd on the escalator going up, I suddenly remembered who she seemed to be.I kept moving forward, sent my dearest relative to the car, and looked at her vividly standing on the platform and smiling at me from the window until the train drove away.I doubted my own judgment as I walked through the tunnel leading outside the station. When I reappeared at the door of the cooking mat waiting room with hesitation, she and the little girl were no longer there, and a sad-looking female officer was sitting in her place.

After I was thirteen, I went to a middle school reunion. When strange men and women walked into the room and shook hands with smiles on their faces, especially when one of them called out my name, I felt a sense of being out of reality.I talked a lot with a couple of guys I know are good friends from the past.I have no recollection of the past events which have been brought up, and which describe with certainty my countenance, manner, and tastes at that time.I am overwhelmed by the fact that I can clearly remain in the memory of some people.A comrade who presided over the party said loudly to everyone: "Let's get to know each other again." As each name was spoken, the dusty years began to reveal their original luster and vivid outlines, and those unfamiliar faces appeared again. become familiar and familiar.Many people have not changed, but we have been separated by a distance, and we can't see each other. When we get together again, the old scene reappears without difficulty.That old, haggard woman had a charming face like a fox back then. This face would not make people fall in love, but it could quite arouse a grown man's unreasonable desires.It was only later, after many years, that I began to appreciate women with such looks.At that time, she was not attractive to me. I have long been obsessed with that kind of moon-shaped bright and clean girl.I was so impressed with her because she was always with Milan back then.In the mid-1970s, the city didn't have so many cars, luxury restaurants, shopping malls, and so many people.

Except for a few small-scale commercial streets, most of the main streets are just a few food stores and department stores. The goods on the shelves are also very monotonous when it is not in season. Most of them are basic daily necessities supplied by tickets.Four-wheel-drive military jeeps and some old Soviet and Polish cars are common on the street. During work and school hours, there are only some cadres on business trips hanging out on the street, and there are very few roadside buses and trolleybuses.The lively scene can only be seen on special days, and the streets and alleys are crowded by the parade crowd.

There are not many young people in the city, they have all gone to the countryside and the army. I was fifteen years old at the time, and I was in the third grade of middle school in a middle school far away from my home. I took a bus across the entire city from Dongcheng to Xicheng to go to school every day.This was an extreme measure my parents took to shield me from some of my old bad friends.The middle school I attended used to be a girls' high school, and since it started accepting boys, it has fallen into chaos and the school discipline has been abolished.In order not to be bullied, boys naturally formed a gang of unequal numbers.Every day after school, the gangs would brawl collectively in the alleys, using bricks, wire locks, and sometimes knives.Until one of them was beaten to the point of bleeding, he rushed away.This scene made all the parents of decent students tremble with fear.I am grateful for the era in which students were freed from having to learn useless knowledge that was later doomed to be forgotten.I sympathize with today's students, who can do nothing even if they realize that they are wasting their youth.I still maintain that young people are forced to study and lure them with promises of bright futures only to keep them from causing trouble in the streets.

At that time, I only went to class so that I would not be too embarrassing.I'm not worried about my future at all, it's already decided: I'm going to join the army after high school, and to be a platoon officer with four pockets in the army is all my dreams.I had no desire to end up in a high position because it seemed to me at the time that the old people who occupied high positions were immortal. There is no need to fight for everything, I just need to wait, and the eighteen-year-old couple will naturally be my turn. The only thing that can be called fantasy is the Sino-Soviet war.I eagerly look forward to being involved in a world war. I have no doubt that the iron fist of the People's Liberation Army will smash the war machines of the Soviet Union and the United States to pieces, and I will become a war hero that attracts the attention of the world.I am solely responsible for the liberation of the people of the world.

So my parents separated me from my comrades in arms, and transferred from that vibrant school to a dead school-this new school was one of the few remaining schools in the city that could still maintain order- You can imagine how bored I would be.I didn't find a comrade in the new school for a long time, although I made a few friends later.But I found them under the influence of teachers.I am used to being courageous, without allies, and I am afraid to single-handedly risk the power of the world without violating the teacher.It's as if the mouse was forced to compromise with its natural enemy, the cat, to accept and obey the authority of the cat, even though they are all famous breeds of cats, the distress of the mice is self-evident.

I think the reason why my vulgar tastes got out of control later has a lot to do with the situation at that time.At that time, I mainly found pleasure in the insults and quarrels between people on the bus, and a lot of exquisite obscenity was realized during that period. When man is forced into a life of mediocrity that conflicts with his own interests, as a gesture or a symbol, he must resort to a vice, because it is more passive than sickness. I became obsessed with keys. I collected a large number of various keys from my family, the street and other comrades, and used tough wire cutters to become the so-called "master key" to help friends who were locked at home. Started opening locked doors of other people's homes uninvited. I like to use an ordinary key to figure out with great concentration, and keep testing to finally open the lock with complicated mechanism.The bolt snapped open with a "click", and that moment brought me infinite joy. This feeling is familiar to people who love fishing, and it is also familiar to veteran Soviet soldiers who participated in the Battle of Berlin in World War II. Isn't the key locked in the natural enemy? From this activity I have obtained strong evidence, enough to overthrow the near truth of the folk adage: a key to a lock.In fact, some keys can open many locks, and even infinite locks if you add patience and dexterity-such as "master key".I swear I'm just picking the lock and not being a thief.In my short career of sledging, I have never taken anything worth more than ten yuan, and even if I did, it was purely out of love and not greed.People had no money back then, and household appliances that are now considered essential were unheard of. Most of the general cadres of the state agencies lived in the building area in front of the school I frequented. Most of the homes were wooden furniture issued by the government, and even sofas were rarely seen.The most affluent family in my impression is probably a director. There is an old-fashioned black and white TV set made in the Soviet Union with a wooden casing.I did think for a moment about removing it, and then the thought occurred to me: This is a crime! I can testify that at that time, apart from some cadres with questionable political qualities, there were very few corrupt officials.The buildings are all the same from the outside, with five floors and built of gray bricks; the interior furnishings are also similar, wooden beds, three-drawer tables, large wardrobes, and bookshelves. The newer ones are painted in beige, and the older ones are dark brown. During working hours, those buildings are often completely empty, so I wandered around in those unoccupied houses, lying on the owner’s bed, eating two bites of food left in the kitchen, looking at the furnishings in the room, and imagining how to live here. Those who live are all sloppy people, whether they are satisfied or frustrated. A few times I even fell asleep lying on the bed of a stranger's house, and I didn't leave in a hurry until I got off work at noon and heard people's voices and footsteps in the corridor. I was sure I wouldn't get caught, people never slipped away during working hours in those days, and since almost nothing was lost, no one was alarmed. Before I left, I sometimes cleaned the room for people who were too sloppy, and folded the quilts that I couldn't make in time.My literary imagination was cultivated at that time. Next to this building area is a piece of bungalows inhabited by Muslims belonging to ethnic minorities. I never go there.My stories always start in summer.Summer is a dangerous season in my opinion, the hot weather makes the crowd much more naked than other seasons, so it's hard to hide desire.That afternoon, the teacher talked about the great significance of the Paris Commune and Thiers' personality in class. In the first class in the afternoon, you just want to be self-conscious and chatter endlessly.I didn't listen to a single word of the knowledge taught from two to three o'clock in those summers. Maybe because of this I missed the most critical enlightenment in my life, and now my spirit is empty. In order not to fall asleep in public, I left the classroom in the second class. I slipped out of the school gate, walked through the open space between the buildings against the scorching sun, and entered a dark and shady building. The building is very quiet, and the "tick" of the clocks in the closed doors on each floor can be clearly heard.I opened a few doors and walked in, and found that I had been to these houses before, so I felt uninterested.I opened the door of a house on the top floor of the building and walked in.I am very impressed by the diligence and cleanliness of the owner.The austere furnishings were in order, the concrete floors were spotlessly polished and mirror-smooth, and all the glassware gleamed; the walls were not sooty and peeling plaster like most houses, but had a light green paint, which was the norm at the time. Very luxurious.There are no portraits of great leaders hanging on the wall, but a black and white silk embroidered landscape of Hangzhou is inlaid with a picture frame. On it is a vast, shimmering lake under the moonlight, a small boat, and a vague ancient costume on the boat. There is a human figure, with an ancient poem embroidered on one side: 30,000 hectares of jade fields, and a leaf of my boat.From an early age, I admired people's poise and contentment in difficult situations. This is a two-bedroom unit. The room I entered first had a large table with a few camphor boxes stacked on top of each other. There was a group photo of young men and women with hairstyles in the 1950s by the bedside. The bedroom of the host and hostess. The door of another room was ajar. I opened the door and went in, only to find that it was a girl's boudoir.On the single bed, there is a pink sheet with a pattern of catching a goldfish playing in water, under the bed is a pair of red plastic slippers, a pipa with a cloth cover is hung obliquely on the wall, and there is a table and a bamboo bookshelf by the window with some Old and yellowed book, then I saw her.I don't remember whether there was an obsessive fragrance in the room at that time, but there was in my impression. She looked at me with a smile in a silver-framed plexiglass photo frame, and the fragrance came from a corner in her direction. Let Li Yi out.She is so bright that even though I know there are no flowers in the picture, I still feel like seeing flowers.I had the distinct impression that she was wearing a swimsuit, although she later denied it, saying it was just a plain calico dress, and confirmed it when I got the picture, but I still Can't get over my first impression.Why do I feel so kinky about her shoulders, her thighs and the radiance of her skin?Isn't it only in the summer sun on the beach that such dramatic, contrasty, high-definition effects can be produced? Thinking about it now, Di's posture at that time was not very natural, rather showing off and posing, just like those little movie stars often do in the paintings. But at that time I regarded this shallowness and vulgarity as beauty!Fascinated, fascinated, fascinated, and lost in the most clumsy poses! Except for the great leader Chairman Mao and his closest comrades-in-arms, it was the first time in my life that I saw realistic color photos. Even with rational framing and factual verification, in my imagination, I couldn't help but enlarge that standard-sized color photo to the level of a large advertisement painting, so as to highlight the shock and impact I received when I saw her for the first time. At dusk, I came out of that building unhappily, and passed by adults and children who came back from get off work and school. A female student in our class who also lived in this building saw me coming out of the building , stopped and looked at me thoughtfully. In that dusk, I had already lost my normal reaction to the outside world, so the size of her image was as big as my field of vision; as much as my imagination was, so many hints were there in her expression.In our city, which is located in the temperate zone and the diet structure of its residents is mainly herbivorous, the girls of this ethnic group develop very late.Most of the girls my age are thin and sallow, except for the hair length and the subtle differences in clothing styles, they have no characteristics.After the men cut their braids in the Republic of China, they inherited this ridiculous hairstyle. This is also one of the reasons why some men grew their hair long again and girls untied their braids a few years later, which caused a public outcry. One—the moralists believe that the good people have lost their only feminine characteristics. The situation made me both pure and vulnerable. Of course, my feelings have not been lonely and sleeping until that day, as if a person was suddenly awakened from a dream.Almost from the shame of boys and girls in kindergarten, I have been changing love objects without interruption.It should be pointed out that I was not influenced by any adult and obscene books. At that time, there were more gentlemen among the adults than in previous dynasties. As for books, everyone knew that there were only "two newspapers and one magazine". Even the prejudiced cannot find obscenity.Later, when I actually read the famous manuscript "Memoirs of Manna", it was also out of the irresistible curiosity and natural need aroused by people's talk about tigers. It is the only way for young people to get lost, not the evil hand that drags me into the abyss.To be honest, the pamphlet's poor portrayal has for a long time caused me to dislike relationships between the sexes.Its main effect, in my opinion, is to desecrate the needs of human health, which is quite similar to the description in religious scriptures in order to exhort the world and make believers fear the flames of purgatory.That year the International Communist Movement achieved impressive victories around the world, first in Southeast Asia.The Viet Cong, which our country has been assisting on a large scale, conquered Saigon, and then swept across Indochina with such force.Princes Souphanovon of Red Gaojin and Batcha took power in their respective countries.America suffered a humiliating defeat. But these glorious victories didn't excite me anymore, and I was faced with a looming personal obsession that needed relief. I waited in front of that ordinary building day after day, eagerly waiting for the person in the painting to appear.I saw her parents more than once.They often came back from different directions on their bicycles in the evening, sometimes with a bunch of green vegetables on the rear rack or a few tomatoes in net bags hanging on the handlebars. Her father was very thin, always wearing a half-worn Chinese tunic suit, and greeted everyone politely. Sometimes he stood at the door of the building, holding on to the handle of his bicycle, chatting with a few people for a while before going upstairs.He wears a pair of glasses, so he always looks at people with a blank look. Later, when I saw the photo of the famous Chen Jingrun, I immediately found something in common between the two of them. Her mother was a late beauty, almost as tall as her father.At that time, people generally lacked maintenance, and when women reached her age, most of them described her as dry, but she still kept her white skin and black hair.A pair of eyes also glow from time to time.Her face was soft, but her demeanor was cold. I never saw her talk to a neighbor. Every time she got off her bicycle, she went upstairs without even looking at her husband.Her facial features actually resembled her father's, but at the time I thought she had inherited more of her mother's genes.I have also waited for her once.A few times I waited until night and every house was lit, but her window was always dark.Sometimes the light was turned on suddenly, but the figure that appeared at the window was either her father or her mother. I ventured into her house several times during the day, and there were always slight changes in the room: for example, a half-read book appeared on the table, a different brand of cream was changed; A few hairpins and long hairs fell, and the thin dust on the mirror was carefully wiped.I don't know when she came in and when she left, she came and went invisible like a ghost.Only traces and fragrances in my senses and smells confirm his existence.I extended the waiting time, and rushed across the city to get here before dawn, and left on the last train after everything was quiet, still nothing. This unusual pattern of activity aroused the vigilance of my parents.They thought I must be with bad friends again, because I couldn't explain why I was so famous.I was treated roughly by them, and from then on I had to leave and return strictly according to the schedule they set for me. I forgot what day it was, it seemed that it was not a celebration but a denunciation and a demonstration: I marched in the city for a day with the whole school led by the drum team, waving paper flags and shouting slogans with the teachers all the way. On that day, the entire city's government agencies, factories, mines, and schools were dispatched, and red flags were waving everywhere in the streets, and drums and trumpets shook the sky.At every street corner, several teams can be seen coming from different directions, raising their arms one after another and shouting slogans.Some workers marched majestically beating drums pulled by tricycles. This kind of demonstration is usually very tiring. You have to walk a long way to the central square, walk around the square for a week, walk back, and disband at the school gate. There were no leaders on the Tiananmen Gate that day to inspect us, and there was nothing between the red lanterns and the white marble railings. We walked around the arena majesticly chanting some slogans, created some momentum with other parade teams, and then walked back along the street. On the way back, everyone was exhausted and the sun was very hot. The strongest physical education teacher in the school who led the slogans became hoarse and quiet.Everyone walked lazily.While chatting back and forth, I saw an old lady selling popsicles on the side of the road, so I gathered around to buy popsicles, and then went to catch up with the team, looking around and eating popsicles in the middle of the queue.In the afternoon, the streets were full of dejected, hordes of workers and students walking back with their flags down, and the crowd was silent in the scorching sun. More than a dozen of them were wearing military jackets and loafers, sitting on the back seat of their bicycles, and gathered in front of the traffic police podium at the intersection, each with a cigarette in his hand and mouth. Swallowing clouds and talking happily while talking, it is very eye-catching, quite a bit suave and suave looking at the hero in the street. When the team of students of the same age passed by, their glances were full of indifference and contempt, which made those well-behaved peers feel a little embarrassed and uneasy, while the teachers pretended to turn a blind eye.They were my friends, former schoolmates, the ones my parents forbade me to have any more contact with.Gao Yang saw me first, and called my name with a smile. Others also turned their heads to look at me, pointed at me with a smile and shouted: "It's boring, it's boring." I automatically left the school team and walked over, full of pride in having such a group of friends.Many students in the class looked at me and were urged by the teacher to walk away.Xu Xun handed me a "Evergrande" cigarette, and I also stood on the street and smoked it. I looked at the parade that was still passing by us with a high air, and immediately felt a sense of superiority and incompatibility. A sense of superiority into the vulgar.