Chapter 2 Self-order makes memory resist

Kundera once lamented in the novel - in the afterglow of dusk, everything is tender; even the cruel gallows will be illuminated by the light of nostalgia. That is to say, human beings are essentially forgetful animals.Pain or hatred are easily weathered by time; especially after the evil person disguises himself on the altar and turns the blood into paint and ink, the moaning and sobbing in the past may turn into adultery for entertainment.Just like some people who are intoxicated by the red songs at the moment, they seem to be nostalgic, but they no longer remember the human nature trampled under those horrible melodies; in the years of food and clothing, the fragmented youth is re-stitched into a frivolous and superficial The lyric poetry of our time—such is the absurdity of our time.

I'm just a reactionary in this degenerate tide—going against the tide in the years of madness and blindness, stubbornly entangled in the grass at the beginning of the wild; Everything looks so sneaky.I tried to go back to the original point of its era to look at the origin of all this, and tried to pry into the original sin that it should have known shame in the harmonious lip-syncing of the qin and flute.Some scholars once said that Chinese culture is a culture of shame, and the sages emphasized that knowing shame is close to courage.However, the glory of this world is not even confirmed by the shame, as if all evils have never happened, and everything will be lost after the blood is messed up.

Therefore, I firmly believe that the starting point of Chinese characters is the depiction of those who endured humiliation and hatred in the dark night-they used stone knives and iron pens to record the remaining pain buried in their hearts on the hard tortoise shell blue slips.The history and prayers of this nation are hidden in those inscriptions and lines, so that believing in history has become our true religion.Only in the face of these painful histories, the bullies are prosecuted through the ages to wake up those who come, the kindness and innocence are commended, and they can line up in the sky to avenge their grievances.

Everyone's memory will have a starting point, just like every giant splash-ink freehand painting, only the author can distinguish its starting point. On winter nights in the early 1990s, I always curled up in a corner, facing the windows covered with steel bars, and searched for the starting point of my life alone.A prison building in a certain city is impressively located in the midst of the busy city, and the lights of the free world can still shine on those glass windows with a warmth that seems to have passed away. At that time, my father had just passed away, and the prison guards took me thousands of miles to the funeral. He witnessed with my own eyes that I kowtowed to hundreds of mourners in front of my father covered with party flags.In the face of so many officials and people, I choked up my sobs to pay my respects—here lies my father. Many years ago, he embraced his ideals and devoted himself to the revolution. .The basic integrity and nobility of such mortals are becoming more and more rare today. I believe that my father can say goodbye to this world frankly and without shame.The most precious legacy he left us is - how to be a dignified person, let me know that conscience and honor are above all fame and fortune.

In that moment, I realized again that life is so short and death is so authoritative, that good people don't live long because they are good.The earth buried all good and evil right and wrong, and my father walked to the end of the road peacefully.In the long river of time, all sorrows and traumas will be erased by time.Without memory and history, everything would seem nothing. From then on, I started to pay attention to family history.In the will that my father left us, he hoped that the ashes would be scattered on the Qingjiang River, which we shared day and night, and that the flowing water would send him back.I know that this river will pass through the green hills in front of his former residence far away, and then flow to the Yangtze River and the sea.The wandering soul of my father will dissipate on the surface of the endless waves. If I don’t record it for him, his pain of destroying his family and family will escape into the black hole of the times—in that river of forgetfulness, everything will fade up.

So, I began to review history, and I had to find the difficulties of a generation from the hidden past. Under every cross lies a novel—Hugo's statement is aimed at literature only.In fact, literature pales in front of history.Literature, because of its fictional character, seems to soften the seriousness and heaviness of suffering.In our land, history, from the beginning of its birth, shoulders the mission of literature, history, philosophy and even religion. A person's life and death cannot be summed up in gorgeous literature, and the background of his existence is the territory of history.Everyone dies eventually, whether young or old.But there are always only a few tombstones, and the endless lonely graves hurt our eyes like thorns everywhere.What is even more tragic is the nameless death that fills the ditch and turn the ditch, and even the bones have never bloomed.

Fate has given me a cold heart, and my relatives have passed away in a few days, so that I can calmly search for the hurdles they have endured in their lives after tears have dried up and my eyes have dried up.When I put the ups and downs of the paternal and matrilineal families in the context of the 20th century, I was horrified to find that everything seemed doomed—they would inevitably be involved in wars, political disputes, and party struggles—this was almost It is the similar destiny of most aristocratic families in China; the dramatization of the family past is no more tragic than the bitterness of the entire Chinese people.

The pursuit, betrayal, fighting and disillusionment of several generations have all been lost in the current Shengping Huaqiang.If there were no publications and dissemination of folk private histories, countless ancestors who sang and cried vividly would seem to have never passed through this world.And the tragic and tragic pain of beheading and neck killing can easily be covered up by official history and forgotten in the next life. I humbly believe that a nation without a long memory is shameful.Beauty and goodness become meaningless, and evil deeds are forgiven in advance when so many innocent deaths have lost even their names.Even if it is difficult for good and evil to share rewards and punishments in this world, in principle, they should be honored and shamed by history.Otherwise, evil will have no scruples, and goodness will not be encouraged.Then how can such a nation evolve in the world?

People without writing are pitiful, such as my father's family, the Ba people, the Tujia people—their history is nothing but legends.A nation that has writing but is not allowed to record it is hateful, because it is degrading the quality of human beings.A language without words cannot last forever.Characters that cannot truly record events lose the dignity that made ghosts and gods cry at night when they were created.Language and writing are the material shell of thought. When this shell is distorted or even castrated, thought will inevitably shrink, and ethnicity will become more obscene.

For three thousand years, the martyrs of all ethnic groups in China have sought to solidify their memories with words. This is the intention of heaven and earth.Sima Qian said——"Xi Bo detained and played "Zhou Yi"; Zhong Nier wrote "Spring and Autumn"; Qu Yuan was exiled, but wrote "Li Sao"; If you can’t understand the way, you can tell the past and think about the future.” And the fundamental value of all this is “when you want to study heaven and man, understand the changes of the past and the present.” Long songs should be cried, reviewing the past to learn the new, and the intrinsic motivation of the history is to resist forgetting and distortion.The memory of any nation is not only made up of official revision history - there, too many secrets are concealed and rewritten by twists and turns.In my reading, I found that what is even more funny is that the ancient history of the motherland seems to be clearer than the contemporary history, and there are countless unofficial history notes of the predecessors there to confirm it.However, today, a family's personal experience often becomes confusing, not to mention a country's chronicle of events, which is full of countless fictions and obliterations.

Therefore, I want to reveal a glimpse of the history of civilian life in the 20th century by retrieving the fate of relatives and friends in the past.Any political history is just a bluff grand narrative. Only through the experiences behind these specific names can we get a glimpse of the truth of the years we have gone through. In fact, such an unforgettable family history is not unique to my family.From the mouths of wild old survivors I often meet in wine shops, I know more about the pain of bones and flesh.The earth is covered with deep snow, and too many innocent people are buried.The remains of bamboo and silk are desolate on the loess ridge.This kind of retelling is not difficult for me. As long as I uphold my conscience, it is enough to restore those broken pottery fragments. The significance of history to a nation-state is actually equivalent to the treasure of the family tree by the descendants of the same surname—its essence lies in the admiration of the patrilineal blood.Father-worshiping consciousness is the collective subconsciousness of the nation. The secret desire to clarify the origin drives us to explore, write and study Jiabu Jinzhen, so as to understand the origin and direction of life. As the father of a Communist Party member, he lived his whole life in a cautious manner, keeping a close eye on Yuanyuan and keeping his mouth shut.Before he was alive, I basically didn't know its origin.He conspired so well with the organization he was part of to kill his own memory that it was impossible for this son of mine to know his secret pain. Perhaps it was because of his few last words—that he asked me to cover the sinkhole where the corpses were dumped for my grandfather—that I began to pursue the tragedy of killing the family back then.He seemed to be able to imagine what a gigantic project it would be to cover up a tiankeng; but what he failed to imagine was that I would start to uncover the secrets of another historical tiankeng, which is a really huge and unfinished task.My book "The Landlord's Death" is my survey of patrilineal history, where I found the inexplicably dead bones of millions of people in those years. The joys and sorrows of a farmer's family in a remote village have always corresponded to the joys and sorrows of a single husband in Gyeonggi in Asia.The life history of individuals has been an indispensable component of national narratives since ancient times.Regardless of its historical significance or sociological value, it is not inferior to those giants of hypothetical graffiti. The shortness of life compared to the long history cannot help but make people suddenly feel nothingness.In the long prehistoric and posthistorical times, the life and death of individuals are really insignificant, but why do human beings care so much about history? If the world is really godless, life is a one-way trip with no return.What human beings subconsciously fear is not the death of the body, but the hidden worries about not having come to this world in a trance.Therefore, we have the culture of historians and the worship of history - because of the existence of history, it is possible to resurrect the past creatures in the common memory of mankind. Just like my grandfather’s violent death, the violent corpses in the past were not enough to open the eyes of the heavens. It was my private narrative that made his death find meaning-he was used to prove that the legend of the evil world is not fictional, and it is used to warn the awakened. Let the evil repeat itself.It is also because of this that his humble life has entered his true eternity outside the daily life of emperors and generals. What my writing essentially inherits is the great tradition of Chinese folk history writing. It is passed down to us by history to falsify those martyrs who risked implicating the nine clans and queued up on the long road of exile but refused to throw pens. Craving and impulsiveness.Think about those wild old people in the wild river under the lonely night rain in those days, adding axes and axes without fear, cutting the spring and autumn with pens and scaring the rebellious officials and thieves, this is the truly evocative quality of this nation.Although this quality is also diluted in the blood in the cold modern age, it can still shine like a starlight in the desolate and cloudy sky to summon generations of blood-singers. Zheng Shiping finalized in the Netherlands