Chapter 2 The boy in the well.1

The matter is very simple to say, at noon on a hot summer day, my girlfriend Linghong suddenly left our home without saying goodbye.So if it is logically confusing, I have to add that Linghong and I are not married, but just in love.It is not legal for us to live together. Living like that is called illegal cohabitation.That evening, I returned to Luo's small courtyard.Luo's Courtyard is in Luojiazhuang, 10 miles away from the urban area.It's the cheapest place I've ever rented.I walked in with a dozen nutritious breads in my arms, oblivious to the disaster.I saw the pigs, ducks, chickens and dogs raised by Luo's family doing their own thing, busy with their own affairs.The landlady tiptoed to dry the pickled vegetables on a bamboo pole. She turned her bitter face to me and said gleefully, "That woman is gone." I said, "Where did she go?" "Who knows? She carried I picked up a suitcase and carried potted flowers." The landlady turned her back to me and snorted again: "Who knows about your college students?" Then I smelled the catastrophic smell of rust in the air.I always smell rust when I'm nervous.I was stunned when I opened the wooden door.The room seemed to have been robbed by bandits, the curtains were cut into strands and drifted in the wind, the bottom of the beer bottle with flowers was broken, and the water flowed all over the place. The bamboo bookshelf was half leaning and half lying in the corner. Zhuangzi fell down and huddled together.The worst thing was my bed, the bed board was overturned and pressed on the black cotton bed.The sheets are missing, why are the sheets missing?Looking around the walls, Linghong took all her things away, leaving only a taupe-colored dress hanging behind the door.I sat on the ground panting, not knowing what was going on.I try to remember what happened before this.I think the problem may have been last night.Last night I broke in from the kitchen and crawled to Linghong's side, violating the gentleman's agreement of living together in different beds before marriage.Last night I finally couldn't take it anymore and died.I think it's a matter of time. Why is she so weird?I don't think I can do without revolution.What's wrong?Where did Linghong that stinky bitch go with that bag of messy things?I was stunned by the blow, sitting in the garbage and thinking of my rugged love with her, I wrote a letter to Lao Pi in Xinjiang.The sloppy handwriting surprised me.I wrote in the letter: "Old Pi: I have been fighting with Linghong for half a year, and I finally got her. Linghong was always a virgin, which proves that what you told me before was all bragging." I did not send Linghong away Tell Lao Pi about it.

one I have a hunch that Linghong is still in this city.She is likely to live in some inexplicable place, or in the night hotel in the bathhouse, or in the waiting room of the station wharf. She does not shy away from harsh environments.If she had a few bucks, she would sit in a café, watch the men and women on the street from behind the tinted glass, and eat ice cream by the glass.She was born to be a woman who eats sea flowers.She might have seen me cycle past through the glass window.She doesn't greet me, which is the tragic effect she likes.I don't go to her.I want her to come back on her own and obediently correct herself.Every day I go to the college library to sort out all kinds of nonsense books and magazines, and after get off work, I return to the Luo family courtyard in the suburbs to write my novels and poems.this is my life.I lived the life of a literati in Greenwich Village as I imagined, but the pig stables and chickens and ducks downstairs were too smelly, and I didn’t have sandwiches and hot dogs to eat, and I didn’t have money to pour bottles of beer down my stomach.When I was tired from work, I held a cheap Hundred Flowers recorder and listened to the great John Denver sing "Flying Away".I can get by without Linghong.But I always see Linghong's dress dangling behind the door.I can't contain my excitement when I think of its origin.One day I viciously smeared dirt on Linghong's dress while masturbating.

That skirt was bought on the streets of Beijing three years ago.Remember that it is also July, and we are about to get out of the warm university.Old Pi and I invited Linghong to visit Santiao Street.The Three Streets Movement was initiated by Linghong.She often skipped class and went out to visit Santiao Street.The three main streets are Wangfujing, Dashilan and Xidan.As long as you ask Linghong to go shopping on Santiao Street, she will always let out a "wow" and wrap her arms around your elbows.That day she wrapped both arms around Lao Pi's and me's elbows at the same time, and neither of them bullied.That day she hadn't decided whether to follow me or Lao Pi after graduation, so we carried her around Sanjie Street.My topic that day was Magical Realism and Borges. Lao Pi talked about the cliff-climbing sports of foreign warriors, but none of us could win Linghong's heart.She looked around distractedly along the way, but her eyes were dull.At the downtown entrance of Dashilan, she suddenly pointed to a clothing window and shouted, "Wow, that dress is so beautiful." Old Pi and I didn't respond.Linghong rushed over and knocked on the window and said, "Just right, 25 yuan a piece." Lao Pi and I said, "What's right?" She said, "25 yuan, you pay 13 yuan, Lao Pi pays 12 yuan, give it to me Buy this skirt. Don't be dazed, grab it now!" Lao Pi and I paid for Linghong's taupe-colored skirt.When taking out the money, Lao Pi was confused and didn't know why.And I know what it means to have one yuan more than Lao Pi, and I know that Linghong decided to leave with me.I think Lao Pi is really pitiful. He and Linghong have been dating for three years, but in the end they only want him to pay 12 yuan.I took my friend's lover because I paid 13 yuan.Linghong decided to go with me.I always win brilliantly in love battles.

Sometimes I analyze Linghong's mentality and personality based on Freud's theory, but the analysis is dizzy and still has no results.Neither Electra complex nor sexual apathy suits her.She only asks others to love her, but she is unwilling to love others. She has a thousand dreams but no sexual desire.I think Lao Pi is really pitiful, he and Linghong have been in love for three years, it is all fake, he has never even seen Linghong's naked body.For several days, Linghong's scream echoed in my ears. The sound was like the explosion of a blue hot air balloon, tearing the liver and gallbladder, falling one after another, and it will remain in my memory forever.My face was pressed against her face, which was washed cold by tears, and the first slap she gave after she became a woman was left on my face.She made me feel full that I was nothing more than a butcher of chastity, and then she rubbed her pale face against my ear and said, "He who does the knife must die by the knife." I don't know what it is mean.

I didn't look for Linghong.I presumptuously thought that Linghong still loved me.Maybe tomorrow she will return to Luo's small courtyard, kneel on the grass mat and peel potatoes to learn how to make vegetarian salad.If I saw her, I picked her up and said, "I forgive you, my crazy woman." One day I was sorting out Linghong's drawer and found a candy bag.The candy had already been eaten by her, and there was a thick stack of business cards inside.Zhang, San, Li, Si, Wang and Wu all exude elegant sandalwood fragrance on the business card.I don't know where she got acquainted with these powerful figures: there are evening newspaper reporters, fashion show team managers, taxi company dispatchers, and a weight loss guidance center doctor, and more second-rate and third-rate writers and writers gathered in this city. poet.I saw the business card of young pioneer novelist Shui Yang.The business card featured a giant X and a portrait sketched in ballpoint pen.In the portrait, Shui Yang's eyes are half-opened and half-closed, the corners of his mouth are slightly upturned, and his face is mysterious and surreal.I made a disrespectful face at Shui Yang.I thought the portrait was a gimmick by Shui Yang, but it was too late when I found out that it was written by Ling Hong.

two Anyone can be a writer.Your fame may be posthumous, ten years from now, or half a year from now when your first novel is published.That's what I wrote to Old Pi.I looked through more than 100 literary periodicals, and found an explosive social news: contemporary rising stars in the literary world are imitating gringos.I told Lao Pi that XX is imitating Marquez, XX is imitating Hemingway, XX is adding Salinger to Hemingway, and XX is Marquez minus Faulkner.I told Lao Pi that it has not yet been found out who imitated Shui Yang's works, and he can't avoid suspicion. It is very likely that he imitated a man named Wang Balovsky.I said, if they can do it, why can't I?The core of the problem is how do I do it, and who can I imitate?To find another way.I'm going to at least find a good unknown novel.It's sure to be interesting to try it out.

The novel I found was The Boy in the Well.Every Sunday, I put five yuan in my pocket and go to Xinhua Bookstore to buy books.The book was stacked under the counter by the salesperson. I saw the dark blue cover of the book, the well platform, the waterwheel and the moon.I was so excited for "The Boy in the Well" that the momentary emotion was real and natural to me.I read about my childhood in a small southern town in Stephen Andres's book.We have a deep well in our backyard.I was once a boy in a well, and my parents and relatives still live by that well.It seems that I have had no memories of the South for many years. I am surprised and bewildered by my inexplicable emotional stimulation. I always think that nostalgia is the vice of women and old people.

Andres is a German guy. He may have been a Nazi fascist and slaughtered Jews, or he may not have loved justice and peace as described in the preface.I don't care about that.I just think "The Boy in the Well" is unparalleled.The novel begins with the cradle, the parents, and the moon.This is the beginning of the most conscientious novel in the world, and the novel I imitated will begin like this: Beginning of "The Boy in the Well" There was a time when the left and right sides of the little bed I was sleeping in were always going up and down, the right side up, the left side down, the left side up, the right side down--always.The room was almost dark.But the moon came, and looked over the corner of the room.It looked at the wall in front of my bed.The wall looked at me, my little bed, and the big bed next to it.My father was lying on the big bed, and behind him was my mother. I couldn't see her, I could only hear her breathing.I carefully looked over the left side of the cradle.The wood of the cradle is brown and gleaming.Behind that, on the other side, lay a long man, this is the father.I glanced over him

child, from the head to his feet.I saw at the same time that his hand, holding the straps of the cradle, moved more and more slowly to and fro.Finally, the fingers stretched out, spread flat on the bed sheet, and stopped moving.The cradle didn't move anymore.The four walls of the room stood silently, looking at me.Their faces are all black, only the side that the moon shines on is bright.The ceiling is so wide and large that it just covers everything.I knew the ceiling was in danger of falling on me, so I said into the darkness, "Dad, shake!" I saw the weary hand shake at once, quickly and violently at first, then slowed down.

three My father, a middle school teacher in a small southern town, who rocked me with the cradle straps, wrote me a letter every month.His letters sparkle with the wisdom and sensitivity of the mother-in-law of a Chinese man.In his letter, he said that today's children are learning to be a realistic villain.How pure and lovely you were once.You are avoiding us by staying away from us now.You dare not let us see your ghost, your teeth are blackened by smoke, and your ass is covered with jeans that are about to explode. You may even have committed some crimes.Otherwise why don't you go home?I can smell the stench of your heart if you don't come home.You'd better take time to go home, we are all old, we don't worry about your life alone.I wish my dad would tell me what happened to the well in the backyard, but it didn't occur to him that I would miss the well.I wrote back that I had lived a life out of society.I said I was writing a novel called The Boy in the Well.The novel will be published in Wuyou magazine soon.As soon as I earn money, I will order a car to take you to Beijing.This is a tactic I have used to trick my parents since I was a child, and I still use it to this day.I thought about how heartless I was, how shameless I was.If my father had smelled the stink of my heart when I was five, would he have watched me fall into the backyard well and follow me?Will he throw down the barrel and let me grab the well rope and come back to this world?

Four About half a month later, I saw Linghong in a newly opened shopping mall in the downtown area.She was wearing an extremely loose nightgown, picking things from the shelves and stuffing them into plastic baskets, with the luxurious look of a noble lady.Her kitten-like eyebrows and eyes are black and white, obviously made up.I watched her nervously across a row of shelves, and then I spotted Shui Yang, who was standing next to her admiring her profligacy.Shui Yang is still chic and handsome, with such deep hair.The two of them are also a pair of pioneers in the optional shopping mall. I originally wanted to buy a bottle of rum and learn how to drink foreign wine, but I snatched a pack of dried fish from my side and rushed out.I was in a panic not because I stole the package of dried fish, I was following that couple.I saw Shuiyang's Suzuki motorcycle parked at the corner of the street, Linghong stepped on the back seat briskly, and hugged Shuiyang's waist.Then the motorcycle rushed up, and Linghong's reactionary nightgown floated up on the central road. I was so familiar with the folds and the lines in the wind, like a kite.The dream changed overnight, and it was Shui Yang who flew the kite.This is why I feel sad. They go home.Now I have to go to Shuiyang's house to find Linghong.I gnawed on the bag of dried fish while walking towards Xiaolongshan.I pulled my hair and scolded me for being an idiot.Why didn't I expect Linghong to throw herself into Shuiyang's embrace?She was born to be a celebrity-worshipping girl.When she saw some well-known writers, her eyes turned blue with admiration.Why did I forget that Shui Yang is a seductress?Girls who adore him cannot escape his net.I'm such a fool.How could I have forgotten the reason why Niao Xiang Gao Zhi Fei Ling Hong wanted to marry a great writer?When I walked to Xiaolong Mountain, it was already dark.The leading figures in the city's literary and artistic circles all live in the Xiaolongshan residential area.I have passed at least 50 windows of well-known people, and their light carelessly shone through the light-colored curtains, reflecting my weary and dejected face.This is probably the tenth time I have come to Xiaolong Mountain. I hate and love this hillside and this house.I ran around the homes of various chairmen, professors, editors, and actors, asking for advice, and when I went out, I bowed and said, "Mr. X, goodbye." My expression was simple and sincere, and the thoughts in my heart were always kept secret from them.Every time I leave Xiaolongshan, I fantasize about driving them out and letting me live there.I found Shui Yang's residence, and saw an X scrawled in red paint on the door. The X was Shui Yang's symbol, which added to his charm.And if you paint a Y on your door, it's useless. This is the difference between you and him.My steps when climbing the stairs were light and heavy for a while, completely out of order.In fact, I don't know what it means to kill Shui Yang's gate at all: Do I want to force Ling Hong to return to Luo's small courtyard, or do I want to fight with the great writer Shui Yang?Face to face, I saw a small wooden sign on the door, with eight large characters written on it: No visitors during writing time I stared at the wooden sign and gritted my teeth.A worm crawled through my veins.I clearly heard Linghong singing inside.Singing is my favorite "Fly Away by Airplane".I slammed down the door.The door opened a crack.Linghong's blushing face was caught in the crack of the door.Not surprised at all, she put out her hand and pushed me and said, "What are you doing here? Please don't come and ruin my life." "I'm going to kill you." "Are you killing me? I still want to kill you." She smiled and took a knife from her belt and flashed it. "Look, I carry the Yingjisha saber every day." She slammed the door shut.I heard Shuiyang ask in the room: "Who is here?" She said: "No one, it's a cat. I like talking to cats." I thought about the Yingjisha sword in Linghong's hand.That was brought by Lao Pi from Xinjiang last year, and the knife is of course used by men.But Linghong insisted that Lao Pi gave it to her.I didn't expect her to snatch the knife from our room and wear it around her waist.She might really want to kill me.I stood there in the dark of the stairs in a daze, and suddenly felt the stench of the dried fish I was chewing, so I decided to vomit here once.Stick your finger deep down your throat and you'll be sick.In this way, I vomited happily in front of Shuiyang's house, and then left Xiaolongshan with a tired and relaxed mood. I wanted to kill Linghong, but I was afraid that the criminal police would kill me.People are actually cowards. Fives Recalling the association with Shuiyang is like drinking a bowl of Sichuan hot and sour soup, with five flavors attacking the heart and mixed feelings.I took out a bundle of dusty literary magazines from under the bed, opened one of them, and saw Feng Er Shuiyang's photo.In the photo, Shui Yang is leaning on a huge geometric concrete body, with long beards on his temples, gentle and penetrating eyes, and two long legs sunken deep in the ruins.This image fascinated and fascinated college students.That was Shui Yang three years ago. He had just written a novel in poetic style and became popular in the literary world.I remember that I slowly became agitated while reading in the reading room, unable to sit upright, the wooden chair was shaken and creaked in the middle of the night, and people scolded me in disgust as if I were a manic patient.The old man in the reading room expelled me, I rushed back to the dormitory, pulled the old man off the bed, and shouted, "A real literary hero has been born, Shui Yang Shui Yang is so fucking good!" I think half of my obsession with novels is inspired by Shui Yang.Later, I gathered Lao Pi and Ling Hong to start the mimeograph publication "Red Sail", which also came from Shui Yanghe's passion. "Red Sail" was founded in the unlucky July.I came to the school's only all-night classroom on an unlucky July night to write my first letter to Shuiyang.I remember that it took nearly five hours to write that letter. The letter poured out my friends’ admiration for him, and I tried my best to show him my writing talent.Later I begged him to write something for "Red Sail".I was ashamed to recall that letter later, it was as passionate as a homosexual courtship letter.About a month later, Shuiyang wrote back to me.I remember that the envelope was made of a rare green wrapping paper, with a huge X marked on the lower right.Old Pi Linghong and the others heard that it was Shui Yang's reply, and the crowd surrounded me with outrage.I opened the letter but was stunned. Inside was a blank manuscript paper without a single word.I never thought.We sat in the cafeteria with lunch boxes and studied the letter, and then Lao Pi said, "This is the poet's thinking, he left you a blank space. Either there is no work now, or this blank space is his work. Right? ?” Then it suddenly dawned on me that Shuiyang’s status in our hearts became even more magnanimous.I continued to write letters to Shuiyang to ask for drafts, and I vowed not to give up until I achieved my goal.I waited for the second envelope marked with an X, and after opening it, I could see the scribbled handwriting: "Your enthusiasm for literature has touched me. Send me a recent poem, and don't hesitate to teach me." I turned over the letter paper and saw his latest work. untitled The delivery room is under the roof of the mortuary Shui Yang did not send the novel I expected.But this poem has taken my breath away.Linghong read "Wow", and her eyes turned blue in admiration again.And Lao Pi giggled and rubbed his well-developed chest muscles non-stop.Shui Yang's poem is undoubtedly extraordinary, and shocked a large number of ordinary people. I remember that this afternoon I went to the department to get ink, paper and mimeograph, and I was going to publish the fifth issue of "Red Sail".I walked to the door of the department office and saw Linghong crying in the corner of the wall.I said why are you crying?Linghong buried her face in her palms and said, "They won't give up "Red Sail". They won't give me a wax paper plate." I said why?Linghong stomped her feet and said, "Go ask the secretary!" I pushed open the door of the secretary's office and stood there, my eyes were angry and sad, the secretary looked at me through the lens, her voice was as gentle and peaceful as a loving mother. "The Party branch has researched it, and the publication of "Red Sail" has been discontinued. The department will no longer afford paper and printing." I was struck by lightning, and asked why? "The sentiment of "Red Sail" is too dark and not positive. Besides, your task is to study, not to run a publication. Otherwise, it will affect your energy and mental health." My anger could not be erupted, and I said to the female secretary, "We are learning to create, we don't have time to affect the health of our minds." The female secretary remained as calm as a loving mother. She smiled and said, "Creation? How crowded is the literary trail! You can become talented if you don't take this path. Isn't it?" I held a stack of manuscripts in the secretary's office Wandering around like a trapped animal, I was devastated when I saw Shui Yang's untitled poem, and a tragic plan was brewing in my mind.I later gritted my teeth and said to the female secretary, "You can't stop literature, the fifth issue of "Red Sail" must be born! Just wait and see!"