I fell in love with this lake at a glance. When the car was already unable to climb higher, the front of the car let out a loud gasp and suddenly fell down.A huge piece of blue suddenly popped up, making the mood of the passengers feel empty and cool.The road ahead is still being built, and the car is parked on the dam and cannot go any further.If passengers still want to go forward and visit the misty place on the other side of the blue water, they can only pack their luggage and go to the water's edge to find a boat tiredly.This reminds me of the scenes in classical novels: the heroes came to the water's edge in desperation, but fortunately the bartender came to meet them, a loud arrow shot into the lake, and the rebels' fast boats flashed out of the reeds...

This sounding arrow shot from ancient times pierced through the new China of Song Dynasty, Yuan Dynasty, Ming Dynasty, Qing Dynasty and Republic of China. I've never seen this reservoir - it was built in the mid 1970s after I left.It is said that it is adjacent to and connected with two other large reservoirs, forming a stepped shape. It is one of a large number of water conservancy projects left over from the red era. So far, it has benefited hundreds of thousands of acres of farmland outside the mountain and also benefited people in the old mountain. It brought new livelihoods such as sailing and fishing.This made me somewhat curious.I am familiar with the old mountains before the reservoir appeared.As an educated youth at that time, I would often walk tens of kilometers with a bag of rice and a pole to buy bamboo and wood. I was frightened by long snakes, wild boar dung, and the cries of leopards along the way.In order to deal with the country's ban on logging and avoid the blockage of the local forest station, we were like thieves at that time, traveling day and night, and more than a dozen men formed a gang, ready to break through and even fight at any time.Sometimes someone who falls behind and can't find his way calls out in panic in the moonlight, which will cause the dogs in the distant village to bark one after another.

At that time, there was also an educated youth spot here, most of whom were my classmates in middle school. They once provided me with sweet potatoes and glutinous rice cakes, and used bamboo tubes to blow the flames in the fire pit for me again and again.The place where they settled down is now submerged by the flood, and they are nowhere to be found in the vast expanse of blue waves.When the motorized wooden boat plowed through the blue waves, I did not participate in the joking and joking of the local boat passengers, but silently observed and measured the water surface.I know that at this very moment, right under my feet, in the depths of the dark water under the boat, there are stone steps and walls that I am familiar with drifting, and there are stoves and thresholds that I am familiar with that have decayed and are being visited by fish and shrimp.One of the stone slabs may still have my scratches: a shapeless chessboard.

Mi Gouzi, Gujiazi, Lipozi, Xiaozhu, Gaoli... These nicknames that are unfamiliar to readers can be blurted out without me remembering.They are friends of my educated youth, and they are stories in the deep water, which are enough to make my thoughts dark.Thirty years ago, the birds threw themselves into the forest, and they could not feel that old age was approaching at the flick of their fingers-is there a chug-chug sound drifting in their sleep at this moment? Ba Tong didn't sleep, and he had to sail in the middle of the night.This is Du Fu's poem.Walking alone at the bottom of the pool, counting the trees around you.This is Jia Changjiang's poem.The shadow of the tree is lost among the clouds, and the shape of the peak is lost in the fog.This is Wang Bo's poem.In the open sky and low trees, Jiang Qingyue is close to people.This is Meng Haoran's poem.The reeds are wild and cold, and the sound of night insects chirping all around.This is a poem by Zhongyu Junqi. ...The engine boat cuts through the reflections of mountains and forests in the water, bypasses deserted islands in the center of the lake, enters a narrower and narrower wrinkle in the old mountain, and sinks in a narrower and narrower sky between the two mountains Down.I feel that this ship is not only sailing in space, but cruising in the gallery of Chinese history and culture, sailing into the deep poetic realm of the ancients.

I received a call from a friend on my mobile phone. I couldn’t hear it clearly amidst the roar of the diesel engine. I only heard him say in surprise: “Where are you? Did you really go to Baxi?”—he meant this township name. why not? "You plan to live there?" can't you? I find his pause a bit odd. Isn't it the freest and cleanest life to live in the mountains and rivers, and to live in constant sweat and labor?Isn't the life close to the land and the grain the most reliable and authentic life?I have been accepted and nourished by the city for thirty years. If I don’t pretend to be hypocritical, I should be grateful and longing for it.Many of my relatives and friends are in the city.My work is also inseparable from the boom city.But the city has become more and more unfamiliar since when, and it has nothing to do with me on both sides of my hurried commute line, and it is difficult for me to take a closer look; Out of place, even looking at it will make you tired.I have always been unwilling to be squeezed by the city's tall buildings, burned by the noise of the city, and detained again and again by the city's elevators and sofas.The traffic of cars intertwined with steel rats on the street, and the steel spots covered with air-conditioner boxes on the walls of the buildings, just like the modern plague and leprosy, made me horrified again and again, almost thinking that the ancient plague had once again entered the city.The Jurassic has also appeared, and concrete monitor lizards and concrete dinosaurs have already rushed towards my window in the name of an overpass.

"What is the meaning of life?" The men and women in the bar asked tiredly, but most of them couldn't find the answer.Like an old-fashioned gramophone malfunctioning, the stylus stays forever repeating this sentence, unable to read the subsequent sound.These men and women usually hang some framed landscape photos or landscape paintings on their walls, which can be regarded as stubs of their childhood memories and memories of nature, or a few promissory notes to themselves promising a better future.The future has been delayed, maybe never will be realized - by what force have they been locked out of the picture frame for a long time?For urbanites, are the mountains and rivers in the picture frame really so out of reach?

I didn't believe it, so I jumped into the frame with a plop.