Chapter 39 Characters

I was reading in the restaurant, and that year I was a junior. The restaurant is surrounded by trees, and outside the trees is a zigzag mountain path with mixed rhododendrons, on which are criss-crossed night stars. At one end of the restaurant was an empty room with a few ping-pong tables, and at the other was the kitchen, where a new cook lived. I finished reading the book, packed my things, and suddenly found that one book was missing.I was embarrassed to yell, so I had to ask one by one. Everyone said they didn’t see it. Finally, a girl said uncertainly: “I saw the cook holding a book at the ping-pong table. It's not yours."

I was angry and went to the cook, and I saw him holding the book at a glance, and I walked over without saying a word. The half-sentence stopped abruptly, and the cook stood up in a panic. He was a typical chubby cook with a greasy smile on his face. Under the dim light, a little person with a name is reading a warm poem, and the light blue ribbon is parked on the "humble room inscription". Do I really want to blame him? "Is it your book? You're not here, so I'll take it and read it. I just wanted to read a little bit, haven't I been reading it for too long?" With a humble apology on his face, he spoke in an incomprehensible Fuzhou accent , "It's been too long, I haven't watched it for too long."

am i going to be madShould those ancient, beautiful, and invaluable articles be placed on the desk of a third-year Chinese student?Shouldn't it feed all the people in the unknown mountain villages?How beautiful it is to read at night under the lamp with a face stained yellow by grease, can I still insist that the book is mine? "Not busy, just read more if you want!" He pushed it away again and again, his hands without books looked unusually empty under the lamp, he still smiled gently, that kind of old, lonely Chinese smile who is content with real life. I suddenly realized that from a basic spiritual point of view, every Chinese is a scholar.

Since then, I have loved Chinese books even more. How many kind Chinese people have admired them!Under how many low-eaved corners have they smelt the earth on the rake!How many bleak nights have they been sung by the Chinese-style flat and subdued Yang! Chinese people are deep because they read Chinese books, and Chinese books are beautiful because they are read by Chinese people. Once, when I walked along Roosevelt Road, the weather was fine that day. Because the road was widened, I accidentally got a plant of purple bougainvillea from a certain family’s house onto the sidewalk. , I don't know who to thank.In short, on a day that is neither spring nor summer nor autumn nor winter, it is a pleasure to see a bougainvillea tree in the dim and fuzzy yellow dust beside the highway.

After walking a few steps, I saw a small poster saying "Ah Shou Lu Dan Noodles is in the Alley". The red note had been blown to light red by the wind and rain—in fact, it might not even be light red anymore.I stood there blankly for a while, and felt that I and Ah Shou were very familiar.I think he must be a small man with narrow shoulders and a slashed face, with a pair of long chopsticks and a basket for scooping up noodles, and he often stands in the mist behind the noodle pot in the mist. To be able to call myself "Shou" with a self-deprecating smile is an amazing thing!How many people in the world are afraid of being called "bright" because they are bald?

Along with it, I also think of those magnificent market signs, such as "Tang Aidan Dan Noodles", "Zhou Fatzi Dumpling Restaurant", "Sound Loud Congee", "Old Man Beef Noodles". I also thought of "Wang Er Mazi" and "Ma Po" together. China is a harmonious nation, Wang Ermazi is, and so is Ah Shou.The Chinese are people who can accept their own shortcomings and face them squarely. Because of a high degree of self-esteem and self-confidence, they can accept themselves as they are. One year, a doctor who taught at Harvard University went to a remote town in southern Taiwan to practice medicine. He cured a poor mountain man without charging him a penny.

The mountain man went home, cut a bundle of firewood, walked for three days, returned to the city, and put the bundle of firewood at the doctor's feet.It's ridiculous that he doesn't know that in modern life, there is almost no such thing as "burning firewood", and his gift and hard work are in vain. But the fact is that nothing is in vain in love.When the doctor later recounted the story to others, he always said: "I have never received such an expensive and expensive gift in my medical career." A bundle of firewood is just a bundle of old branches that have withered in the barren mountains, but because of the sincerity of gratitude, it has become the immortal Kawatomi in memory.

The summer camp that year was really unforgettable, and the most exciting thing was that the boy's dormitory was visited by thieves. The thief stole some cameras and watches, as well as a pair of the priest's trousers.Although the big boys who were stolen were frustrated, they couldn't help but feel a little excited. This excitement was also dyed to the young pastor's daughter. She shouted happily when she met everyone: "The thief is coming! The thief stole my father's money." Suit pants!" The pastor is a very indifferent person, and the loss of a pair of trousers does not make his simple clothes any more shabby, just as the addition of a pair of trousers does not make him gorgeous.

That day, he quietly called his little daughter to him, and said sternly: "Don't talk nonsense, there are no thieves in the world, these two words are so ugly." "It was a thief, a thief stole it!" "No, not a thief—a man who needs those pants more than I do." I will never forget the shock I suffered at that time. A small and weak person has such a brilliant and strong heart!Thieves can never live in his kingdom - for by gift of love he has destroyed them. On the lightly rainy station, in order to read a beloved book, I couldn't spare my hand to hold an umbrella. The raindrops hit the pages of the book, like rows of beautiful eyebrows and notes.

Suddenly, a girl on the left approached with her umbrella and said: "Let's fight together, shall we?" I said dumbly for a moment: "No, no need, I have an umbrella, the rain is not heavy, I..." Suddenly, I felt remorseful, how could I speak like this to a noble girl?Maybe she, like me, is a shy person who is not used to talking to strangers, maybe she also took a lot of courage to come to talk to me, and I gave her that answer. I lowered my face, not daring to see if she had a disappointed expression. During the rainy season, the umbrellas all over the street are in full bloom like a blossoming wet fungus, which one is willing to let me live together?And the only shelter I refuse, how foolish I am!

Throughout the rainy season, I still often stand on the cold and rainy street waiting for the bus, and I still often bring an umbrella and have no time to open an umbrella, but where is the gentle voice?Where is the umbrella that is as safe as the eaves of the former residence? The night when my husband took the students to Mount Hehuan, the house was strangely bleak.The cold current froze the night, as silent as a piece of dark cold jade. Facing the classical night outside the window, the only sound in the small room is the sound of me turning the pages of the book. From Tao Yuanming to Du Zimei, from Jiang Baishi to Ma Dongli, it is just the rustling sound of a few album pages. In the middle of the night, I suddenly longed for some kind of sound, not the sound of the ancients, nor the sound of bangs selling wontons in the dark alley, but a closer sound. But where would I find such a sound on a night like this? The watch has stopped, and time seems to have stopped. Looking at the brown phone on the bedside table, I think of "117". "The sound below is one forty-seven minutes and ten seconds...the sound below is one forty-seven and twenty seconds..." I lay leaning on the pillow, amidst the scent of books scattered all over the bed, I couldn't put down the receiver for a long time, the simple sound of telling the time actually made me so excited! In fact, sometimes I rushed to class early in the morning, and often dialed the phone in a hurry to check the time. At that time, I never found this voice so kind and beautiful. What kind of girl is on the other end of the phone line?Although through the cold tape, she can still be heard as an extremely gentle and patient girl. When she was engaged in this boring job, did she ever think that her voice would become a voice in a cold winter night? The most beautiful music in another woman's ears? I used to hate the voice of the crowd so much, and I used to yearn for the quietness of living in solitude, but now I am moved by a voice that diligently tells the time at midnight, and I feel that it is a precious fate to be born as a human being with the same language and the same race. The clock tick of the universe has infinite scales, but I love this hour alone—the time in the world reported by a stranger.