Chapter 11 The first day of land reclamation

The moment the skin on the palm was torn, everything in the past flashed back with a bang of pain.I recalled the wasteland reclamation more than 30 years ago, blunting and shortening the palladium teeth and hoe mouth, so not only the blacksmiths were tinkling and busy, but everyone also seized the moment before going to sleep, Sharpen their tools on the stone steps.The sound of grinding iron resounded throughout the night and sky throughout the work area. It was a time when even steel melted quickly, but flesh outlasted steel.Those who were dug by palladium heads, those who were pricked by hoes, those who were cut by thatch, those who were scratched by stone flakes, those who were bitten by poisonous insects... Everyone had various blood scabs on their legs, and old wounds were piled up with new wounds.But the ragged youth has long been used to it.Spit on the wound, or wipe a handful of dirt, it will be considered as a hemostasis treatment.We don't even care about the wound, because the bleeding can no longer cause pain, and the numb and rough skin has long been outside the nerve response.Our mind and body can also be divided into two parts: when we go home at night, our brain is already asleep, while our body is still moving forward automatically. By touching the grass on the side of the road with our toes, our feet can automatically move forward. Find the road between the grass, like a wandering corpse without a soul.Only when I accidentally stepped into the ditch and screamed, my consciousness would suddenly wake up in the ditch and find the grass and mud in front of me.

One day when I woke up in the morning, I found that my legs were covered in mud. I didn't know how I fell asleep the night before, and I didn't know how the mosquitoes didn't wake me up when I forgot to put down the mosquito net.Another day, while I was eating, I suddenly found that the rice bowl in front of me was four empty. That is to say, I had stuffed a total of two catties of rice into my stomach, but the rice bowl below my belt That place is still empty, and I don’t know which corner has been filled with two catties of rice... Right now, I have almost forgotten such a day, a day when every organ of the body did its own thing.

I also almost forgot my own fear of labor: since then, no matter where I have been, no matter how long I have been away from the countryside, my worst nightmare is to hear a sharp whistle, followed by footsteps in the aisle and hoarse voices. shouted: "Squad one! Palladium head! Ruoji!" This is Hal's voice—he was my former captain, and he always omitted a lot of words. More than 30 years have passed, and Ha Lao should be old, or even dead, but his yelling flashed back at the moment when my palm was cracked, and his voice was loud and ear-splitting.For some reason, I now hear this voice without fear.Just as too much light once blinded, but with enough darkness, the light can be missed again.When the compulsion and despair of the educated youth era gradually dissipated, when the happiness around me was tracking corruption, sorry, labor became a fiery word, re-radiating light, and awakening my sleeping muscles.

Let’s be honest: I miss labor. To be frank: I look down on those who don’t work, those little white faces who slant their noses and mouths and mouths and poop after just three minutes of working on the construction site. I have no prejudice against white-collar workers and gold-collar workers, and I am full of admiration for the brains of geniuses. But if a person who has escaped manual labor, will he feel flustered about being uprooted and ruined?Will it wither accidentally at the very end of the product support chain?Will it become an outsider and a dissociated person in life practice?Even Heidegger admitted: "Contemplation" can only produce dubious knowledge, and "working hard" is the most appropriate way to understand things and enter into the mystery of existence—this is almost a laborer's philosophy.I also mentioned Chinese words such as "experience", "experience", "experience", "recognition" in a book.They all refer to cognition, but all of them emphasize the importance of "body", and all of them imply the core position of the four "body" in the process of seeking knowledge-this is almost a set of workers' vocabulary.However, the popular theories throughout the ages have always regarded laborers as aliases for losers and humble people, and have repeatedly copied the boast of those who work hard.

A fat-headed and big-eared academician of the Academy of Sciences, with two doctoral students, used a CD as an example in front of the projector, saying that the cost of the CD itself was less than one yuan, and it could be one hundred yuan after recording information.Ladies and gentlemen, this is the value difference between ordinary labor and knowledge labor, and it is the meaning of knowledge economy. I heard what he meant: his worth should be hundreds or thousands of times more expensive than a stinky laborer. But in a catty of grain, how to calculate the knowledge he said? In a foot of cotton cloth, how to calculate the knowledge he said?

The question is not whether knowledge is important, but the reason for the 1:99 price comparison.I almost asked the applause: Ladies and gentlemen, are you going to eat and wear CDs?If you write this stupid example of Mr. Academician into the CD, will the value of the CD definitely increase? I didn't ask any questions at the time, but was stunned by the warm applause: I didn't expect that the applause was all the backbone of the era who thought they could earn 99%. A science fiction work once predicted that all human beings in the future will be shaped like octopuses. Apart from an overdeveloped brain, useless limbs will degenerate into some thin whiskers, as long as they can press the keyboard.I don't doubt whether the keyboard can directly produce food and clothes, and I don't doubt how profound knowledge a keyboard can output beyond the practice of seventy-two lines, but the image of an octopus at least makes me despise.A multi-tube blood-sucking machine shaped like an octopus disgusted me even more.This thought made me immediately buy a hoe and a palladium head, a straw hat and rubber shoes, choose a quiet barren slope, and walk towards the imaginary field full of crops.The sun is so warm, the land is so clean, and a mouthful of moist and clear air is enough to wash every cell in my body.From this day on, I will work in this valley invisible from the map, and I will directly produce potatoes, corn, sunflowers, winter melons, pumpkins, radishes, and cabbage... We must restore the strength and dexterity of our limbs, and restore the hearts of our hands. Calloused skin and powdered salt on cheeks, regaining the ability to pant and ache and blurred vision in the sun.We have to create plants, animals, and microorganisms with our own hands, take over our lives at the most primitive place in the chain of life, and take back our right to contribute when we should contribute in this life.

This by no means means that I despise intelligence, quite the contrary—this is the happy moment when I use it to its fullest.