Chapter 38 Chapter Thirty-Two

What he said was not to go down the mountain. No matter how evil you say it, he doesn't care.A person has planted trees on the mountain for decades, and has seen the forest for decades, what is he afraid of?Life and death are also on the mountain.I heard that the secretary of the county party committee will come to the Fenghuangling brigade tomorrow, and he will file a complaint with the secretary of the county party committee to see how the forest has been chopped down. The old man who looks at the mountains and forests on Fenghuang Ridge—his name is Zhao Xiaomen—is still his stubborn sheep temper, no matter how softly begged and angry his son is, he will keep silent and hunched over. With his back on his back, he was busy chattering and turning back and forth in his small thatched house on the mountainside.The fence of the small courtyard made of sour jujube thorns, piled up the dead branches and branches on the pile of firewood, and scooped some water from the blue stone pool behind the house to water the few vegetables planted in the front and back of the house: beans Tomatoes, zucchini... The vegetable bed was wet and had been watered a long time ago, so he still ordered half a scoop here and half a scoop there.His hands cannot be idle.

"The secretary of the county party committee can control the fart. Who can control whom?" The son was really impatient, and he raised his eyes and shouted angrily: "Father, why can't I talk to you? Haven't you had enough in this life?" He punched the pillar of the small thatched cottage, shaking the small thatched cottage tremblingly, and sat down on the big tree stump. His son's name is Zhao Dakui, and he works as a section chief in an arsenal a few miles away from here.He has a fat and round body, which can be said to be thick-backed. He is only in his thirties, and the top of his forehead is already shiny and bald, and he has a hot temper.He is an only son.It is said that his father had good intentions and accumulated virtues, and he had this son when he was in his forties.It is rare for an only son to be unfilial to his father.For several years, he has been persuading his father to abandon the thatched cottage and go down the mountain, and go to the factory with him to enjoy the happiness of his old age, but his father is stubborn.Been there once and stayed for five days.Uncomfortable sleeping, saying that the house is stuffy; uncomfortable going out, saying that crowded places are narrow; unaccustomed to eating, saying greasy stuffing your heart; staying uncomfortable, saying that you feel panic when you are idle; uncomfortable walking, saying that it is not as good as the road on the mountain It's easy to walk, it's flat, and the feet are not solid; the electric light is good, but it's too dazzling; the tap water is convenient, but it smells like medicine, which is not as clear as the water on the mountain.After staying for five days, he planted two rows of trees in the front and back of the house, dragged a broken basket to search through the garbage dump in the factory, and brought back a pile of rags to the house, making Da Kui red-eyed with anger. He threw them all back in a rage.He watched his son get angry, couldn't go out to pick up the broken things, and stayed at home, but he couldn't eat or sleep, and he was groggy as if he was sick, saying that his chest hurt from holding back and he couldn't breathe. Come.In the end, I couldn't say anything, and I went back to the mountain.In the blink of an eye, a few years passed, and he was already a seventy-seven-year-old man. If there was no disaster or illness, who could rest assured that he lived alone on the mountain?In the past few days, the Fenghuangling Brigade has blown the wind to cut down the forest again. My father ran back and forth hunchbacked to block the felling.In the past few years, because he mispronounced the quotations, he was paraded across the street, he was stimulated, and now he still suffers from mental illness from time to time.What should I do if something goes wrong?Zhao Dakui sighed violently, turned his face and saw his six-year-old son standing outside the fence, looking up at the birds chirping and jumping on the branches, and he tried his best to calm down his fire.

"Haihai," he beckoned his son to come over, "quickly ask Grandpa to go home with us. Will you say it or not?" This time he brought his son here specially to invite his father down the mountain.On the mountain, my father had only one thought, and that was his only grandson.Haihai looked at his father, walked to the side of Uncle Men, grabbed the arm holding the ladle with both hands, then looked back at his father with twinkling eyes, asking for instructions. Da Kui waved his hand and told his son to do just that. "Grandpa," Xiao Hai shook Uncle Men's arm and let go, "I want you to go home with me." He shook Grandpa's arm vigorously, spilling the water in the ladle, "let's go , Grandpa. Don’t want you to be alone on the mountain. Did you hear that?”

"Haihai, come here, grandpa will pick some beans for you and take them home to eat." Uncle Men hurriedly coaxed Xiao Hai.If you can ignore your son, you can't ignore your grandson. "I don't want it. We can also buy beans there." "Silly baby, the food on the mountain is fresh, and there is no disaster or disease after eating it." "No, I want grandpa to follow me." "Come, Haihai, come into the house, Grandpa has left some food for you." The old man hunched over, with his hands stretched behind his back, and walked slowly into the small thatched house.

The creaking sound of the thatched door being pulled open made the misty mountain forest more open in the morning.My father has been on the mountain since 1952, built this thatched house, and planted trees for 30 years.Zhao Dakui stood up, glanced at the downhill path that was gradually disappearing in the fog through the half-person-high fence, sighed, and followed into the house. The room is dark and gloomy, and the wooden bed against the wall is covered with dog fur mattresses all year round.There is a red lacquered wood cabinet with carved decorations, full of drawers, and four small doors.There are also several wooden boxes stacked next to it, large and small water tanks, washbasin stand, and a thermos pot, lantern, flashlight, and semiconductor radio on the round table.These modern goods were bought by Da Kui.Uncle Bo opened a drawer, fumbled out a box of snacks, took Xiao Hai's hand, and handed it to him.When Da Kui saw the colorful pattern on the snack box, he became popular: "Father, this is a cream cake that someone brought from Beijing half a year ago. Why haven't you eaten it until today?"

"I'm in my 70s and 80s, it's really expensive to eat these. I'll save them for Haihai." Uncle Bored muttered. Da Kui took the snack box and opened it to see that it had been damp and moldy.He threw it on the ground with a bang: "It's all spoiled, and I can't bear to eat it. What are you trying to do?" He opened more than a dozen drawers and four doors in one breath, and he became more angry.Brown sugar, white sugar, fruit sugar, tea, canned pork, snacks, soap, new towels, socks, gloves, tufted hats...all of them are there intact.Brown sugar and white sugar have become lumps due to moisture.There is a drawer where all kinds of Chinese and Western medicines for bronchitis that he sent to his father are neatly arranged.

He slapped these medicines on the table: "Father, you have asthma all your life, why don't you take medicine." "I'll just pick up some cypress seeds and boil them to drink. Those medicines are expensive, they're all money." Da Kui glanced at his father, he was dressed in rags and trousers, cotton trousers were exposed (his old cold legs, he wears cotton trousers all year round), he got angry again, went up to open the box, and sent him The sets of new clothes and trousers that came up were all piled up on the bed: "The clothes are just for wearing, you keep them for retting?" In the past, bring that thing over, while staring blankly at his son's rummaging through boxes.When he saw that his son was about to fall to the bottom of the box, a trace of nervousness flashed in his eyes.At the bottom of the box lies his greatest secret.The son didn't turn over again.He picked out a new pair of black cloth clothes from the pile of clothes on the bed, and put them in front of his father: "Take off yours."

Uncle Men wanted to explain something, but seeing his son Lei Ting furious, he changed his clothes without daring to say a word.The worry that his son would dig up his secret further increased his obedience at this time. The son piled up the tattered clothes and trousers he had replaced, took off the towels from the washbasin stand and put them on the pile of clothes, and put some rags and shoes in the corner, broken bottles and cans—this is all because of father’s work at the foot of the mountain. I picked them up at the Fenghuangling Railway Station in Beijing—I dragged them all out, stuffed them together with the tattered clothes into a big back basket, carried them on my back, and walked out.

"What are you doing?" Uncle Men hurriedly stopped him and asked. "I threw them in the ditch." The old man didn't dare to stop him, and watched helplessly as his son left with the basket on his back. After a while, the son came back.He put down the empty pannier, took out a snow-white towel from a drawer and put it on the washstand, took out a bar of soap, peeled off the wrapping paper, and put it in the soap box.He caught a glimpse of the stove again, went up and lifted the lid of the pot, and there was a drawer of steamed buns.He slammed the lid on the pot, opened several large rice noodle urns next to them one by one, and grabbed them to see that there were no white ones, but yellow ones.

"Father, where's the white flour I sent?" "I'll carry it down to the station and change it." Uncle Men sat on the threshold and weaved a basket of thorns.There are already a dozen or so woven baskets stacked one on top of the other in the yard, and they can all be brought down the mountain to sell for money. "If you don't eat good white noodles, what are you doing instead of whole grains? If you don't have enough, I'll send you some more white noodles." "Enough is enough, enough is enough, I am enough... I have bad teeth, white flour sticks to my teeth, or this cornbread is refreshing..." Uncle Men raised his dim old eyes and looked at his son carefully, explaining naggingly road.There was another nervousness in his eyes.There is another secret of his in this grain.

"Father, are you saying that you won't go down the mountain anymore?" "If you want me to live a good life for two years, just let me stay on the mountain alone." The son stared at him for a moment, shook his head helplessly, opened the black leatherette travel bag he brought, and took out a bottle of sesame oil, two bottles of soybean oil, a bottle of special soy sauce, a bottle of smoked vinegar, and a can of bean chili sauce. He stomped on the table, and finally with both hands carefully brought out a large blue and white porcelain kimchi jar, inside which was a stewed hen in soup: "Haihai fucking stewed it for you." He took out another box of batteries, took the semiconductor radio and flashlight, and replaced the batteries. The waste batteries were thrown in the corner.Uncle Men glanced at the corner of the wall distressedly, put down the basket in his hand, picked up a small basket, and went to the yard to pick beans for his grandson. He has a heart of stone, and he will never leave the mountain until he dies.But when he stood at the gate of the fenced courtyard and watched his children and grandchildren lead him down the mountain, he felt as if he had lost something.Xiao Hai held his father with one hand and jumped up and down, and turned his head and shook his head with the other hand, "Grandpa, take care of yourself." Eyes are wet. He went back to the house and packed the things his son had brought.The three new ten-dollar bills pressed under the transistor radio made his throat a little choked again.However, the mountain people are not so sad.He coughed twice, and the choking passed.He felt comfortable and solid as the new banknotes scratched and pulled his callused and chapped hands.In his eyes, things bought with money are never as good as things grown at home.The vegetables you buy are not as fresh as the ones you grow yourself, the fruits you buy are not as sweet as the ones grown on your own trees, and even the water you buy (tap water) is not as cool as the water you get from the spring.However, money itself is still a god in his mind. Since ancient times, it has been impossible without money. He opened the box and rummaged all the way to the bottom with trembling hands. Finally, he took out a small red lacquered wooden box like a treasure. It was two feet long and eight inches wide, like a dressing box.He carefully put it on the bed.He was startled when the outside door creaked, and he was relieved after seeing that it was the wind.Close the door, open the box, inside is a red cloth bag.Opening the red cloth bag, there was a black stained butter cloth inside. After opening several layers of oil cloth, his eyes lit up in the darkness.It's all money.There are 10,000 yuan bills that count as one yuan in the early days of liberation, and there are various layouts and denominations of large and small renminbi over the past 30 years, ten yuan, five yuan, two yuan, one yuan, two jiao, and one dime. , new ones, old ones, red ones, green ones, and crackling steel bars. He added three more ten-dollar bills. He knew the total number and remembered it better than his own age.Together with today's thirty yuan, it is five thousand three hundred and thirty yuan.This is what he has accumulated over decades of weaving baskets and selling baskets, and saving money on food and expenses.He knew almost every note and could tell its origin. He never told anyone about the money, it was his secret. However, what worries him now is his secret of the day.He was going to do a very important thing tonight, so he had to leave quickly.The secretary of the county party committee will be here tomorrow. He wrapped the money three layers inside and three layers outside, pinched it again and again, still uneasy, opened it again and looked, and found that there was nothing missing, then wrapped it up again and put it in the box.When I was about to put it into the box, I felt uneasy about the weight of the box. I opened the box and looked at it, and I was sure that the money was still inside. Then I put my head on the bottom of the box, covered it with clothes, After pressing the layers of clothes, he put all the clothes piled on the bed in, and closed the box. He lifted the lid of the pot and put five or six steamed corn buns, a pickle lump in his pocket, a flashlight, a lawn mowing sickle, and a basket on his back. Just as he was about to go out, he saw the semiconductor radio with a black leather case on the table again.Should I bring it or not?Of the foreign things in the city, he likes this play box.Carrying around on the mountain, you can listen to a play, and if you don't have a play, you can just listen to it casually to relieve boredom.What's more, I can often hear about the protection of mountains and forests on the radio, which is the most important thing.But today, the weather is wrong, it might rain, and my old cold legs are sore.Forget it, don’t bring it, it’s ruined by the rain.He also put the transistor radio into the box rustlingly. But he saw more than a dozen award-winning mirror frames standing against the wall on the cabinet, all of which were distorted by his son.He went up to set them up one by one and line them up.I looked around several times.He is illiterate, but he knows that he is rewarded for planting trees, watching forests, and afforesting.Some mirror frames had peeled off the paint, and the award paper was burnt yellow through the glass;Regardless of whether the certificate is new or old, it is stamped with a big round red seal.He knew that the big round red seal was more useful than money.The leaders of the commune, county, and higher ups who handed him the certificates all smiled and shook hands with him.He can't remember other things, and he will never forget the person who gave him the certificate. He finally figured out the door of the thatched house. The green trees around the fenced yard are surrounded by mist and birds are singing.He sprinkled a few handfuls of millet and sorghum on the bluestone slabs in front and behind the thatched cottage.That is what he left to feed the birds before leaving the thatched house every day.He lowered his head and chattered roughly to the bird on the tree while spitting: "I left the food here for you guys, did you see it?" As soon as he closed the fence gate and walked out of the yard, he raised his head vigilantly. In the mist, laughter came from the path up the mountain below.After a while, several young men slowly emerged from the fog with two shotguns on their shoulders. "Master Mong, when will the fog clear today?" the boys asked.Here are a few railway workers at the Fenghuangling Railway Station at the foot of the mountain, and most of them know him. "It's raining when the fog clears today." Uncle Men replied, feeling a little nervous. He was most afraid of people going up the mountain to hunt. "Come on, what's the use of it?" A young man with an authentic Beijing accent said to his accomplice. "Old man, is there anything to fight on this mountain?" This is a young man with a mustache and a peaked cap. "No no." "Not even a rabbit or a fox? No one alive?" Mustache looked suspiciously at Uncle Men. The old man's appearance couldn't be more honest: his back is almost bent at a right angle, his head has to be lifted with great difficulty, and the head and back are at a right angle.Wearing a black dress, the posture of the whole body is like a "sentence" written in ink.Completely bald, with small cloudy eyes staring blankly at people. "There was a leopard here two days ago." The honest man was in a hurry, and he uttered nonsense. The young people stuck out their tongues and looked at each other. "Don't be afraid, six or seven people, two guns, still afraid of a leopard?" Mustache said toughly, "What else is there on the mountain?" "It's because there are so many snakes. On the roof of my thatched house, I saw a sky snake with its tail hanging." The young man scratched the back of his head, hairy. "Come on, let's go back, it's not a place." Old Beijing said. "For nothing?" said the mustache. "It's not in vain, it's not in vain," said the old man nagging, pushing open the gate of the fence, "Pick some of the beans and cucumbers that I grow on the mountain." He is willing to pay for everything. Old Beijing waved his hand: "Forget it, let's find another place to fight." He took out a cigarette, threw one to each of his partners, and touched the fire again. Uncle Men was in a hurry, and pointed to the wooden sign on the side of the road that said "Forest Protection Convention", "Young students, go down the mountain to smoke." "fine." "Go down the mountain and smoke." "Forget it, forget it. Go down the mountain and smoke again." Old Beijing waved his hands to persuade his colleagues. Seeing the young man walking down into the mist with a gun in his hand, and the sound of rolling gravel on the path, the old man breathed a sigh of relief.He frightened the young man by making up nonsense just now, he felt vaguely regretful and vaguely satisfied.Forget it, don't worry about thinking too much, tonight's matter is important. He walked on the rugged path through the fog like a black "sentence".In order to maintain balance, both arms are stretched toward the back, and the back basket is also as far back as possible.The low-hanging treetops brushed his face wetly, which was cool.The dew from the trees was cool on his bald head.The mist, with the fragrance of pine, cypress, locust tree, and grass, penetrated into his lungs and made him feel refreshed.He looked at the leggings that tightly bound the legs of the cotton trousers on his calves, the red cloth belt tied around his waist, and the pull-back sneakers on his feet (the only shoes he admitted to spend money on were better than those made by himself, and they lasted longer). The whole body is agile and strenuous, and it is nothing to catch up with the thirty-mile mountain road until dark. He stopped beside Guichou Stream.This is the throat road to Fenghuangling.The path is half a foot wide, on one side is a steep slope full of jujube thorns and thorns straight up into the air, and on the other side is a dark and dark ravine of strange rocks.He looked at the gloomy stream bottom, and stopped hesitantly.It wasn't the deep and dangerous roads that made him tremble. He dared to touch the road with his eyes closed. He had seen a bunch of things at the bottom of the ravine.The basket of old clothes and rags was thrown by the son at the bottom of the stream.The torn cotton trousers were hanging halfway up.Everything is thrown away, thrown away, it's too wasteful.The rubbish dumps of city people are the most unpleasant to him, and no matter how many family fortunes he has, he will have to throw them away poorly.But now go down to the stream, can you reach the place before dark?He took two steps forward, turned his head to look at the bottom of the stream reluctantly, walked, stopped again, and looked at the bottom of the stream; finally made up his mind, picked up his back basket, and walked towards the bottom of the stream without looking back. go forward.It's not too late to pick it up tomorrow, things are in the stream, so they can't be lost, right? The road ahead diverged from the mountain stream, and the stream swam away obliquely like a black dragon.The road is wide enough to pass a flat car.On the left and right sides are V-shaped steep slopes full of thorns.Gradually, the road narrowed again and was blocked by rocks, rotten soil and jujube thorns.Uncle Men walked forward with difficulty pulling the jujube thorns with a sickle, while looking at the slopes on both sides, his heart was full of complacency.The stones and rotten soil that blocked the road were all laid down by him from the slope over many years, and the jujube thorns were also hewn and piled up here over many years.A layer of jujube thorns and a layer of soil and stones are piled up to the height of a person. No one should think about whether the woodcutter or the woodcutter is a man or a horse.Didn't they say closing mountains for forestation?This is the mountain he sealed off. With a chirp, he lowered his head, and the black cotton trousers were torn at the knees, revealing the white cotton.He felt sorry for the new cotton trousers, and complained about his son who forced him to change clothes, but he was also a little proud.The trousers were torn by a piece of barbed wire netting that was exposed out of the ground, which he picked up from the railway at the bottom of the mountain and dragged it up the mountain road for several miles.He never knew the story of Jingwei reclamation.But when he filled the ditch, he seemed to be possessed. As long as he saw things with thorns and thistles, he would pick them up and throw them here like treasures, whether they were near or far.As time went by, the half-mile-long, wide and open road was filled so that no one could walk.He looked at the clumps of jujube thorns growing on the steep slope. He didn't have time to cut it today, "I'll make it up next time..." He muttered to himself, and left the valley full of thorns. In the hazy mist, Fenghuang Ridge appeared faintly.Surrounded by clouds and mist, a small lone peak looks like a phoenix head looking forward. There are three arc-shaped ridges in succession, one lower than the other, and the other stretches more gently, gently and gracefully depicting the shoulders, back, and The trailing curve of the tail.Fenghuang Ridge is not big, but the mountain range of dozens of miles is named after it.According to the legend of the ancestors, the mountain was originally covered with cypress trees of the same height and size, which looked like a green phoenix from a distance, and it was so cool in summer that not even a mosquito could fly.But since then it has been a barren hill.Uncle Mong has been planting trees on the mountain since 1952, and the main sweat is here.Now Bald Mountain has become a green phoenix again.There are shady trees everywhere.The year before last, an old forestry expert wearing gold-rimmed glasses led his students around the mountain to make an estimate. There are now 3,000 acres of pines and forests on Fenghuang Ridge, and 40 acres of mountain peaches, apricots, locust trees, willows, poplars, birches, and elms. There are tens of thousands of plants, all of which were planted by Mr. Men himself and the people he led. As soon as we arrived at Fenghuang Ridge, the fog became cooler and the trees became greener and greener. The old man felt his throat was choked again as if he had seen his relatives.He coughed again. He came to his real home.He knows every tree here, he can walk smoothly on every rocky path in the dark, every tree with peculiar eyebrows and eyes, and every large and shapely stone, he has given them names.The names all start with the word "small".This crooked-neck pine is called "Little Crooked Neck". When it was planted more than 20 years ago, it was blown down by the mountain wind.The Zhutian Yang standing tall among the cypress trees is called "Little Big Man". I don't know how it came out of the cypress forest, but it shows its height.The locust tree on the side of the road is called "Little Misty", and it looks like a foolish kid with a runny nose.The half-person-high flower stone next to it is called "little fat pier", and it is like a fat doll squatting there and grinning. As soon as he entered the forest in Fenghuang Ridge, he started chatting with this big family non-stop.Your "little crooked neck" is getting more and more crooked, you "little confused" can't wake up all day long, what are you so silly about, "little chubby"?He scolded and muttered, all the way endlessly.Along the grassy slope of the path, he stepped over a stone as big as the sole of his foot. He hunchbacked and slowly retreated step by step, picking up the stone and putting it back in the original mud nest.In his eyes, Fenghuang Ridge is a living thing with sentience, flesh and blood, and he can't just hurt the skin and bones. When he walked along the winding path through the pine forest that covered the sky, the little squirrels above his head blinked and jumped up and down the branches cleverly. He had seen them twenty years ago, but now it is unclear how many of them there are.While wading across the grassy slope, a long-tailed pheasant fluttered its wings and jumped up, and fell far away on the opposite grassy slope and disappeared. The first pheasant I saw was 13 or 14 years ago.There seemed to be an eagle hovering over the dark clouds above his head. He looked up for a while, but couldn't see clearly.But he knew that there was a pair of black-headed vultures on Fenghuang Ridge. They were born the year before last and gave birth to their chicks last year.There is also a pair of bald eagles, which were born in the year before last. I have not seen them give birth to babies.There are more trees and dense forests on the mountain, and more birds and animals have migrated, including yellow-winged, black mallets, woodpeckers, owls, pheasants, chubby pheasants, hares, badgers, foxes... He knows all of them.He has a booklet of household registration where they moved.Every time he finds a new customer, he is as happy as if he was drunk, which is his greatest pride.Thirty years ago, Tulingzi didn't even have a sparrow.Isn't it his fault? What he misses most now is a wild goat he found for the first time on Fenghuang Ridge on Qingming Day this year.That day, it stood stunned on the grassy slope by the pine forest, looked at him from a distance without moving, then jumped up the steep slope and ran away without a trace.Later, I saw it three or four times.When I came to Fenghuangling yesterday, the wild goat stood on the top of the cliff and looked at him high. He put a pot of corn kernels that he brought specially on the grassy slope where it haunted, and left.This is not the place where it was yesterday.The black earthen pot on the grassy slope is still there, and there is not a single corn kernel left in it.Is it eaten by wild goats?He lowered his head and waded through the grass with his feet, and found the feces of wild goats around the pot.He was happy, and quickly put down the basket again, took out a heavy small cloth bag from it, and poured another catty or two of yellow corn kernels into the earthen pot with a clatter.Little baby, Fenghuang Ridge must keep you. He never has enough food to eat, and the secret is here. He also knows not to feed them.When the forest grows larger, the birds and beasts will come by themselves; when the forest is dense, the birds and beasts will stay by themselves.But for newcomers, there must be someone to take care of them. Right now, the forest-cutting wind was blowing coaxingly from all directions, and it was getting closer and closer to Fenghuang Ridge. Even the birds and animals on the Ridge started to startle, and it was obvious that they were a little restless.What a mess.He couldn't care less about chattering.Quickly put on the backpack and move forward.Far away, separated by a few foggy mountains, I seem to hear the honking of the train, which means that the ticket car is coming up again.It's almost noon to talk, so don't miss the evening. As soon as he got out of Fenghuang Ridge, he was so angry that he trembled a little.The gentle slope in front of me is called Luofengpo. It turns out that he led the people to plant all-white birch trees, which cover the sky and block out the sun. When the wind blows, the slope is full of rustling sounds.But in the first two days, it was coaxed and chopped down overnight.Now it is bare, with only half-knee-high stumps and scars.If you want to say, who is in charge of this Luofengpo, and who is it, he can't make a fuss about it.Whether it's the big team, or the small team, the first team, or the fourth team, whether it belongs to the collective or divided into individuals, there has been a lot of quarreling and bickering all over the world a while ago.Before the fight was over, they rushed to strike first.Yesterday he went to the commune and brigade to file a complaint, but no one cared.He didn't know who went to the mountain cutting, he was going to catch them with the bandits tonight. To catch a thief is to catch the stolen goods. He became more anxious, and his body trembled more violently.Several waist-high tree stumps brush past him.He stopped, looking at the white stump of the tree stump, touched the still wet and juicy stubble with his calloused hands, and touched the two-foot-long bark attached to the stump. It is still smooth and tender, and the inside of the bark is smooth and sticky, cool and sapy, and it has not yet reached its age, so the waist-high skin is pulled away alive.As if seeing his grandson being murdered, he touched the stump with his hand and began to tremble violently. "You are a royalist." A voice yelled at his ears from far away and near, and the whole mountain reverberated loudly. Dark figures began to flicker around him, and finally the yelling and the black shadows were embedded in him. What's going on in his head.Humming shook his head. "You are the royalists." He roared in a voice as thick and resonant as a bronze bell. His madness has returned. "You are the ones who hold the red flag and oppose the red flag. . . . ride on the heads of the people and shit and piss. . . . You have broken your conscience. (a resounding roar from the bottom of your heart) . . . You have broken your conscience. (More Gao roars)...You and Little Japan wear a pair of pants....Carrying rocks, I won't go....Building bunkers, drinking human blood....You cut down trees and bully the illiterate. You lack morality." He stood there yelling curses at the unseen crowd in an extremely loud voice.After cursing for a while, I got tired, stopped, and then cursed more forcefully.Then he walked forward with his eyes blank, while continuing to argue and curse with the invisible object.After walking for a while, he stopped again, turned his head and cursed at the back, as if the crowd were following him far behind. Probably no one in such a big world knows that in the Yellow River Basin, where the civilization of the Chinese nation originated, in this remote and unknown misty mountain, a black word "sentence" is moving at this moment, and at the same time, a crazy old man is ringing loudly. Loud, incessant curses.The scolding sound was high and low, sometimes mixed with some grunts talking to himself.Some of these crazy words clearly recorded the stimulation he received during those turbulent years, while others were related to specific references that he could not figure out throughout his entire life.It was also said that he was faking mad, since he never said these words when he was sober. The mountain walked along amidst cursing. This is Niutoushan, which looks like a bull's head from a distance.He led people to plant all over the mountains for 20 years. They were all fruit trees. He was led by the commune secretary to learn from Dazhai.The grass was also burned.It is said that Niutoushan will become Hutou Mountain.Now the mountains are yellow and bald, and from top to bottom there are layers of wide terraced fields, with a few pitiful beans growing sparsely. The land is dry and the seeds are scattered in spring. What a crime.Kill people! This is Dustpan Valley.The gentle slope is yellow and bald.It turned out that he was the one who led the people to plant Manpo Valley Green.Twelve years ago, when it was said that a tank factory was going to be built, thousands of troops and migrant workers came and cut down the trees in three or four days. trapezoidal flat.The railway shop came in, several rows of dormitories were built, and half of the factory buildings were built, but they all stopped. In the past 80 or 90 years, they all left without telling the length. An endless sin. He stopped scolding, he was tired of scolding.The dark clouds in the sky and the fog in front of you are connected together, covering the mountains near and far.It's raining.He woke up.What are you crazy about?It's half an hour later, hurry up, there is serious business.In the cooling rain, on the rugged mountain road, splashed with mud, slippery and stumbled along the road.The overwhelming rainwater merged into thousands of yellow muddy water streams, cutting the loess barren mountains mercilessly like knives, washing over his pull-back sneakers one after another.Seeing the layers of terraced fields being opened by hula-la, the rushing became bigger and bigger, and muddy water waterfalls of muddy yellow hung everywhere on the mountain.The trees were all cut down.The mountain has lost its skin, and its flesh has been cut.He shivered all over again, but this time he didn't yell. The wet cotton trousers were tightly wrapped around his legs, and he couldn't lift his feet. He only coughed all the way. When it was dark, the rain stopped, the stars blinked in the sky, and he finally arrived at Huanglong Beach. This is the junction of Guling and the three counties adjacent to the two counties.The sea of ​​lights twinkling like stars on the dark mountain at the far end of the sky is the Hushan Copper Mine.Huanglong Beach is an empty and desolate dry river beach, and Huanglong Mountain stands on the other side of the river beach in a dark and dark space.In the dark night, on the road beside the river beach, through the sparse tree shadows, you can see lanterns, electric lights, and torches shaking from a distance, and there are many figures. This is a secret wood night market. There are many people here, but there is no noise, and it is shrouded in a secret silence.Piles of wood, almost all freshly cut bark trees, are placed on both sides of the road like stalls in a market.The piles are big and small, some are as high as half a person, and some are only two or three.Most of the sellers are farmers from the three surrounding counties, each guarding their own stalls, lighting lanterns lit by beans, leaning forward, and whispering or silently gesticulating to attract customers.Bicycles and carts were leaning against the roadside ditch behind them, and donkeys were also tied there, and they could be heard chewing grass and sneezing.The flow of buyers pulled flat carts and pushed bicycles slowly in the narrow lanes of wood stalls on both sides, bent down to look at the goods and negotiate prices at each stall, and from time to time turned on the flashlight in their hands to look after the wood, and at the same time illuminated their own face.They have farmers who want to build houses, and workers in copper mines—most of them are masters who want to build their own houses and bring their wives from the countryside to settle down.They also gestured with their fingers quietly and bargained with each other more quietly.There are also a few brokers who specialize in being brokers, standing in the crowd wearing long-sleeved clothes, frowning slightly, listening to the whispers of the people around them with an impatience that knows everything, and then nodding their heads , stretched out his hand, pinched his fingers in the sleeve and negotiated the price with the other party. On the dark road at both ends of the market, there were still a dozen carriages and seven or eight trucks parked dimly.The horse stomped its hooves from time to time.One red and one dark cigarette butt flickered in the dark window of the car, illuminating the face of the driver who was leaning leisurely there. Uncle Men stumbled into this night market in the wilderness.Carrying a basket on his back, he squeezed through the crowd, leaning up from one stall to another to look down for wood, his flashlight was blinded by the rain, and he was more likely to use his hands to identify stands of trees.His haste and recklessness as he pushed forward in the flow of people regardless of his or her turn, his back basket that kept bumping people from side to side, and his look of looking at wood as if he was looking for something lost, are all similar to the slow, silent, and regular work in the night market. The atmosphere of the prologue is diametrically opposed, attracting people's attention and eyes.Some people began to cast wary glances at the hunchbacked old man.Two brokers who make a living in the night market exchanged glances, and quietly followed this strange hunchbacked old man with their arms folded. With common interests and vigilance, all the sellers and buyers who come to this night market every day are like a temporary group with tacit unwritten rules.For example, no noise is a principle that everyone naturally follows.Stepping into the night market, as long as you are buying and selling wood, no matter what the asking price is, you are a family.If you spy and interfere with ulterior motives, then you will be regarded as an enemy by everyone. Uncle Men didn't know how powerful this was, and he didn't know that he was followed by two long-sleeved brokers. Of course, he didn't even know that behind the broker was a girl in her twenties carrying a military satchel.She quietly mingled in the crowd and observed the night market discreetly. She also noticed the hunchbacked old man who broke into the night market and his heeling tail. 闷大爷的手激动地哆嗦起来，他终于摸到了他的白桦树。连着好几摊都是。长短粗细都没错。特别是树皮，他一摸，就有一种直透心髓的熟悉感觉，它凉凉地贴在粗茧干裂的手里，有一种此时让他十分伤心的滋润和驯顺。这是白桦，而且都是落凤坡上的。它们在哭，那是他摸过千万次的树儿树女呀。 “是你们偷砍了落凤坡上的白桦树。”他声音打抖地说道。这在他，不算高声，在整个夜市上却不啻是个惊雷。 几个卖白桦的农民都惊愣了。整个夜市都停住了买和卖，惊疑地朝这儿望来。 “闷大爷，是你来了？”卖桦树的人中有个装着一只假眼的矮个农民认出老汉，心虚地讪笑道。 “你们为啥砍落凤坡？” “这不是落凤坡上的。”那个装假眼的农民遮掩地嘿嘿一笑。 “我认得。” “你咋认得？” “我种了它们多少年了。我不认得？”闷大爷气得浑身哆嗦着。 人群围成一圈。手电筒的光柱在驼背老汉身上扫来扫去。who is this凤凰岭看林的？闷老汉就是他？他不是个疯老头吗？人们相互打听着。那个背着军用挎包的姑娘也在人群后面静静地观察着，她从挎包里小心地掏出一件东西。 “你们拉上木料跟我回去。”闷大爷用他那粗重洪亮的声音对那些卖白桦的人喊道。 "What are you doing?" “交赃认罪。” 那个装假眼的矮个农民索性撕开脸：“不去。你凭什么管我们？” “我，”闷大爷哆嗦着从怀里掏出一张裱糊了好几层的东西来，那是一份盖着大红印的反对乱砍滥伐的“通知”，不知是哪年哪月的，纸都黄了。他颤抖着伸出手，“凭这个。这上面盖着印呢。” “我看看，”跟踪他的掮客之一，一个露着颗金牙的瘦高个一伸手把通知拿了过去，打开看了看，“噢，你怎么把这两半裱糊倒个了，嗯？”他瞪着驼背老汉，审问道：“什么意思？” “我……”闷大爷说不上话来。 “哼。”瘦高个冷笑着扫了一眼“通知”，“这个早过期了。”说着哧哧一撕，扔在驼背老汉的脚下。 “你们无法无天。”闷大爷吼道。 “我们就无法无天，怎么了？”那个装假眼的矮个农民也火了，“白桦是我们砍了，怎么了？我们砍得太晚了。我们没富起来，就是因为我们前一阵胆太小。” “别啰嗦了。”一个高个工人不耐烦地拨开人群，气汹汹地挤上来，对那个装假眼的农民说：“我把我的木料抬走。”他回头挥了挥手，又上来两个人，一人一根地帮他扛。 “你们不能扛。”闷大爷上去拽住他们。 “我花钱买的。” “这是贼赃。” “去你的吧。”高个子工人推着老汉的背篓就势一拨拉，闷大爷被呼塌塌撂出几步远，脸朝下摔到人群的脚底下了。他挣扎着从地上爬起来，鼻子、嘴角都往外流血了。 “闷大爷，得了，你管那么多闲事干什么？明天他们四队的还要去砍凤凰岭呢。”卖白桦的农民中有个小眼睛的后生好心劝说道。 “你们才是保皇派。”驼背老汉哆嗦着大吼一声。 人们吓了一跳。有几个年轻工人愣了一下，却笑了：“你是造反派，'四人帮'。” “你们打着红旗反红旗。……你们喝人血，架机枪。”老汉又疯了，站在那儿破口大骂起来，他的声音在旷野黑夜中格外粗重洪亮。 整个夜市都骚乱了。胆小的人们匆匆地卖着，买着，好赶紧收拾离开这个地方。嚓，一片雪亮的光一闪，照亮了夜市中骚动的人群和一摊摊木料。嚓，又一片雪亮的闪光，照亮了一张张正转过头来的惊愕的脸。 惊惶的人们看见那个姑娘正拿着照相机，躲在后面拍照呢。 “你是干什么的？”那个露着金牙的掮客上来凶恶地问。 “我是新华社记者。”姑娘掠了一下头发镇静地答道。 农民一听是记者来了，都匆匆忙忙地收拾起摊子准备走了。 刚才抬木料的大个子工人有些流里流气地晃着膀子走上来：“我看看你的记者证，别是冒充的吧？”姑娘含着讽刺打量了他一下，坦然地把褐色塑料皮的记者证递给他。他拿过来装模做样地看了看，又不怀好意地端详了一下姑娘：“这是假的。”说着往后一扬手把记者证扔到了路边的沟里，“走。” 几个人上了一辆卡车启动了。 姑娘用手电照了一下卡车后面的车牌号，掏出本记了下来。人们看着大事不好，自行车、平车、驴车、马车、卡车，一起哄乱拥挤着离开。 “你们站住。”闷大爷清醒过来，上去拦拉桦木的马车，哄乱中又被人推倒在地，挣扎了几下，起不来了。 “老大爷。”那个记者姑娘蹲下来扶起他的头，叫着他。他两眼愣怔地看着天，嘴角流着血。这时，马路上已经走空了。一辆停在黑暗中的吉普车开了过来。穿着军装的年轻司机跳下了车。 “老大爷，我们用车送你回去吧，你不是凤凰岭的吗？”姑娘继续说道。那个司机也蹲下身来帮她搀扶老人。 他们明天要去砍凤凰岭。这话像电光一样照亮着老汉的心。他在两个年轻人的扶持下吃力地站了起来，木呆呆地推开两个人的手，两眼直愣愣地顺着公路一瘸一拐地走了。 “老大爷，用车送你回去吧。”姑娘又跟上来劝他。 他听不见，他驼着背往原路蹒跚地走着，他只知道要回去保住凤凰岭。 姑娘呆呆地目送着他走入夜色。 当她在司机帮助下打着手电在沟里寻到记者证后，在对面黑魆魆的山上响起了一个老汉粗重洪亮的骂声：“你们缺了阴德了……断子绝孙……” 那声音在空旷寂寥的黑夜中显得格外苍凉凄厉。