Chapter 7 tomb

The dusk of early autumn.The horizontal screen of emerald rock surrounds a vast grassland, with evergreen cypress trees as the canopy, and the winding and clear stream flowing with coldness.Outside are the fields like patterns on the broken porcelain, the rice paddies are connected up and down, the golden ears of rice undulate in rich waves, and the breeze sends out a mature fragrance.Dusk, like the evening tide, drowns out the chirping of grass insects and the wings of wild bees.The setting sun that is about to go down the mountain is like a gentle gaze, like a caressing finger stretching out from Pingchou, poking in from the forest leaves, falling on a small tombstone by the stream, rubbing the white stone, as if reading the words engraved on it: The tomb of Lingling, the little girl of the Liu family.

Sleeping here is a beautiful soul. Sleeping here is a peasant girl, and her sixteen years of quiet time passed by under the thatched eaves, through the wooden window where the mud bee made a nest, and chewed the ground grass. The horns of the sheep, and the passing away in the pond that washed her hands and responded to her lonely pounding. She has dark eyes, black hair, and a dark complexion.But her cheeks, her hands are sometimes reddish, when walking a short distance, recalling a shy dream, or when the March sun is shining on her.The brook that casts her shadow will tell you. She was a good-natured girl, and she spoke very kind words, and was always careful to place herself in a position of humility.The mountain grass that kissed her feet will tell you, the little ants she feasted with dead dragonflies will tell you, and all her little companions will tell you.

Yes, she had many little companions, and she was a tall girl who was no stranger to them. "Tell me a story, a happy one," she said to a flower that had just opened. "Tell me a story, a sad one," she said to the star that came into her little window. When she got up early in the morning and went to draw water from the well by the willow tree, to help her mother prepare breakfast, all the companions she met said to her, "Good morning." And she said, "Good morning." "Tell us about the dream you had last night." She said with a smile; "I won't tell you."

When farming was busy, she would send food to the fields for her father.When the silkworms first hatched, she would pick the youngest mulberry leaves and bring them back in a basket, wipe off the dew on them with a cloth towel, and cut them into thin strips with a knife to feed them.After four sleeps, she would pick up fat silkworms one by one with her fingers, see through the light, "Its belly is completely lit!", and then put them on bunches of cabbage stalks. She would go with her mother to cut off the hemp stalks behind the house, soak them in water, and then beat out the white hemp with a knife.She will divide the hemp into extremely fine silk, and then use her fingers to make fine yarn, and fill the bamboo baskets in circles.

She had a little spinning wheel, which had been passed down from her grandmother.She often spun cotton, listening to the monotonous song of the wheel, telling the same story forever.She wasn't bored, she just sneered in her heart: "What an old lady." She is happy.She grew up in the joy of loneliness. What is she expecting.She had a secret hope that was secret to herself.She has dreamlike eyes, and she often looks at the high sky or the distant and distant mountains in a daze. At the age of sixteen, the spring wind blew her clothes and hair, and she wanted to shed tears quietly for a while.The silver moonlight was shining, she wanted to stretch out her arms to hug it, and said to it: "I am so happy, so happy." But she shed tears for no reason.She has a little sadness on her brows and a little sadness in her heart.She holds each fresh morning with her hand, and lets go each evening with a sigh.Her little companions all said she was sick, only they cared about her a little and knew her. "You see, she is often silent." Say, what can make her happy? ’ They whispered to each other, worried about her health, worried about her dark eyes.

The red bean vines in the vegetable garden are still tall on the bamboo poles, the pumpkins are still fat and pressed under the fence, and the ancient osmanthus trees still have a golden fragrance. This autumn is exactly like the previous autumn. Lingling lost weight.What she was looking forward to finally came, the great power, the dark hand covered her eyes, the cold breath passed through her heart, and the silent spiritual language told her to sleep and rest. "It's not you, it's not you I'm expecting," she knew in her heart.But don't say it.The setting sun that is about to go down the mountain is like warm red lips. It kissed the word "Lingling" on the small tombstone just now, and it fell under the willow tree by the stream. Lin's shirt.He has the same melancholy eyes as Lingling, and he stares in awe.In those eyes, the autumn full of yellow leaves spread out, the autumn water blown by the golden wind unfolded, and the dream of the shepherdess who turned into the deep with the sound of sheep bells unfolded.After all, it's here, what Lingling was looking forward to.

In the spring night woven with the fragrance of flowers and green shade, who ever picked the first honey kiss like picking red ripe grapes in a dream? Who ever dreamed that the swallow came to sleep in the form of a young girl, wearing a dress the color of swallow wings?Who ever dreamed that a couple they didn't know would come to say goodbye, on the eve of her far-off marriage? Dreams in spring and March are like petals that you occasionally pluck and put in a volume of poetry in your hand, and you occasionally read them on the night of wind and rain. They are still red when they are in full bloom, and still have With the aroma of spring.

What Xuelin brought back from the outside world was only some dreams, such as some empty wine bottles, and the hometown he had been away for a long time should give him an unopened bottle of new wine. Xuelin sees Lingling's small tombstone and reads the name on the tombstone, like men and women who fell in love with each other when they met for the first time, saying a gentle "goodbye" before parting. From now on, his shadow wanders here every dusk. He gradually guessed about this girl's life experience, her temperament, and her preferences, just like we first met a beautiful girl.He thought of how she spent mornings and evenings in a lonely room, what color of clothes she loved the most, and when she smiled, dimples appeared on her face, and she lowered her head shyly.He thought of her planting a field of henna outside the window, and when the flowers bloomed, he would pick a few and use the red juice to dye her little nails, just because of her childlike joy.

Lingling's companions will even tell him when he guessed wrong or missed something. "Will she like me?" He secretly asked the talkative running water while walking by the stream. "I like you." He heard a soft reply. "She doesn't seem to have any friends?" He secretly asked the wild chrysanthemum by the stream. "Yes, except us." So one evening he met this girl. "Do I have the honor to have a few words with you?" He knew her shy downcast eyes meant permission. They walked side by side along the creek.He told her how old he was to leave here, and this was her hometown as well as his.Tell her that he has been to many places and heard the wind and rain in many places.Tell her that the embankment in the south of the Yangtze River is as flat as the river, and that the wind blows the sand in the four seasons in the northern country.Tell her about the sound of camel bells, the fragrance of Sophora japonica, the palace with red walls and yellow tiles, and finally said: "Our hometown is so beautiful."

"Yes, it's so beautiful." He heard a soft reply. "Totally a new discovery. I never dreamed of so many treasures in this little place, so much wonder, so much joy. I'm a little proud that this is my country.--but I beg you Great forgiveness, I didn't know you before." He saw her bow her head shyly. They walked into the depths of the evening, into the shadows of night.Night is such an absurd whispering dream, but I still cautiously advise this couple who have just met for the first time not to go.They stretched out their farewell hands, and they made an appointment for tomorrow's meeting with their warm hands.Sometimes, when they are tired from walking, they sit on a rock to rest.

"Tell me a story better than Twilight." He told the story of "The Little Mermaid".It tells how the youngest and most beautiful mermaid princess fell in love with the prince, endured the pain, and became a dumb girl to the world.When he spoke of the night when the prince married another woman, she turned into foam as the witch had predicted.Lingling was so moved that she fell into his arms.Sometimes, she looked into his eyes and asked, "Have you ever loved anyone outside?" "Loved..." He bent down and kissed her, afraid that she would be angry because of these two words. "Say". "But no one has ever loved me. I only love secretly in my heart." "who?" "One is wearing a white shirt with a slim appearance; one is wearing a light green jacket in autumn; the other is wearing a red apricot single shirt under the green willows in summer." "What kind of girl is she?" "The one in the white shirt has your figure; the one in the green shirt has your hair; the one in the red apricot shirt has your eyes." After speaking, she bent down and kissed her again.Late autumn evening.The rice in the fields has already been cut, and the withered and yellow stems speak of desolation under the blue sky.The chirping of grass insects and the sound of the wings of wild bees are unknown, the wilderness is shrouded in solitude, and the setting sun is like a cruel pen drawing the shadow of Xuelin by the stream, lonely and slender.He was talking to himself, smiling.He was emaciated.But his dreamy eyes shone with a strange light, the light of happiness, the light of contentment, as from Para dise. 1933