Chapter 2 Lilies: 1-5

Tingsheng: Hi. I feel very presumptuous in writing to you. I was not one to take the liberty of writing to strangers. I have had the experience of being moved by words several times, and I have also had the urge to get acquainted with the soul behind the words.But out of indifferent and pessimistic nature, I would rather communicate with words silently in the end.I have never written a letter to a stranger so far, but Wang Xiaobo's death hit me hard because he was the person I wanted to write to.But now, the letter is still brewing in my heart, and the recipient has no idea where to go.I experienced pain and regret like never before.

The world is noisy and life is lonely.I always thought that the driving forces that supported my life were what Russell called three simple but extremely strong passions: the longing for love, the thirst for knowledge, and the deep-rooted pity for human suffering.And living under such motivation is doomed to loneliness, endless, almost hopeless loneliness. I think, under this sky that is no longer blue and no longer pure, if there is still a pair of eyes crying with me, then life is worth my suffering. So, because of Wang Xiaobo, because of loneliness, because of the fragility and helplessness of life, I finally raised my pen, and here I am, serious and sincere.

To make an inappropriate comparison, when Xu Guangping took the liberty to write to Mr. Lu Xun for the first time, he asked a big and unreasonable question: What should I do if I encounter a wrong path in life?I feel that although my letter does not ask any questions, it is too big and unreasonable.But Mr. Lu Xun answered Xu Guangping's letter seriously. He saw through the darkness, but never despaired.How about you?Do you still have a sensitive and sincere heart? Finally, I want to tell you that I am a girl, beautiful and young. Ning Xuan Late night on June 4, 1999 June 5, 1999 Last night, after tossing and turning, I got up and wrote a letter to a stranger--whom I know nothing about except a book he wrote.

I haven't written a letter for a long time.Although I sit in front of the computer every day, what I type on the keyboard are all words that have nothing to do with the mind - project feasibility reports that are more stereotyped than stereotyped, reports filled with data in the grid, and for other departments Routine notices... day after day, these papers have filled my brain. Suddenly, I feel very tired and tired.It has been more than a year since I came to this huge foreign-funded company—many people envy me, a little girl in her early twenties who became a department manager in such a short period of time.

I seem to be very "successful", at the party a few days ago, college classmates who rarely get together after graduation all said this in unison.The girl who was in my lower berth was just an ordinary salesperson in the bank.The most "promising" male student is only a small section chief in a government department.In contrast, I am particularly eye-catching. However, these are not my dream.There is a voice in my heart that says to me: "You don't belong here." This voice sounds in the depths of my heart every day, from far to near, from low to high, like fiery red lava churning in the dark crust.

So where does my soul belong?Where should my heart be "placed" in order to obtain peace and joy? The company occupies a whole building, my department is on the tenth floor, and the whole floor is an open office.Each staff member has a transparent compartment.Dozens of employees, like a flock of domestic pigeons, are housed in identical "cages". The huge central air conditioner emits infinite energy all the time, warm in winter and cool in summer.I don't like air conditioning, I'd rather have the exact same temperature in the room as it is outside.Whether it is cold or hot, it is best to keep the temperature of nature itself.However, our skin has adapted to the false temperature created by the air conditioner, but cannot adapt to the real temperature of nature itself.Our skin is numb to the false temperature, and so is our heart.We put ourselves in a false box with our own hands.

I'm in front of my computer every day, and I use e-mail and phone calls to connect with my colleagues.Although everyone is in the same room, there is no spiritual communication.This is the norm in "modern" companies.In the company's office with blue glass, everyone performs their own duties: either sit in their own position all day to deal with affairs, motionless; or walk around in a hurry, without a moment to look around. Everyone has a serious expression, but their faces are blurred. My location is near the window and I can see the scenery outside.However, in such a large company, no one can share the mood of seeing the scenery with me.The British writer Foster has an excellent novel "A Room with a View". I read it a long time ago. I can't remember the specific plot in the book, but I remember the small, simple, but visible novel. Room with a view.

I don't have a room, but I have a corner. I often look into the distance, and I can vaguely see the misty Slender West Lake in the distance, and the spire of the White Pagoda on the edge of the Slender West Lake also has a vague outline.It's a pity that there are more and more tall buildings by the lake, and the line of sight is getting more and more cramped.I don't understand why people build higher and higher buildings, and why the distance between buildings is getting closer and closer.People caged pigeons and ended up living in cages themselves. I like the small courtyard of my grandmother's house when I was a child. That small courtyard used to be on the edge of the Slender West Lake.There are traces of my shoes on the moss under the eaves, and sometimes a feather or two falls from the swallow's nest on the wooden beam.However, during the real estate development boom a few years ago, this lovely little courtyard was roughly demolished, together with my tender childhood memories.

I love wearing black, so much, most of my clothes are black.So my colleagues said to me, you are so young, why do you always wear cold, depressing black?Many times, in the face of such inquiries, I laughed and did not answer.But there was a dull pain in my heart. Black is introverted, sad, calm and strong.I remember a novel that wrote: "Many women with wounds only wear black clothes. Because it is not easy for others to see the pain." This is also my reason, I don't want others to peep into my inner world .Black is a barrier. "Bone lovesickness should be broken, Zen mind can't be compared with sword and Xiao", I keep myself a little distance from the outside world.Like a small insect frozen in amber, frozen but safe.

It has been a long time since I read the book called "Fire".Those strong sentences in the book touched me, but those weak sentences moved me even more.There are no books at hand.The already well-worn book I was reading didn't belong to me.After reading it, I also don't want to go to the bookstore and buy a new one.Because, after reading it, the book already belongs to me in the "spiritual" sense.I can almost recite many sentences in the book, and I can feel the mood of the author when he wrote them.They make me so anxious. From yesterday until today, it has been raining outside, and the sky is gray, like those chapters in which the author and readers cry together, the so-called "a thousand reds cry, and thousands of beauty share sorrow".

At this moment, I think of those sad and angry sentences in "Fire".In the wind and sand of the northern kingdom, does he have furious hair? I believe he has.He also has a sad and sad heart. The moment I wrote to him was not chosen by me, but it happened to be a moment of loneliness and sorrow.He must need reassurance as much as I do.Does he have friends around him to comfort him? I don't know his detailed address and everything related to him.However, it is enough to have a book written by him that does not belong to me-in a "material" sense, I only have the time of a day (or more precisely, a night) of that book. In the afternoon, before I got off work, I did the only thing I did after joining the company: I put this short message written on a one-page sticky note into an express mail, and filled in his name and address.When ordering the secretary to send a large stack of business letters, it was sent out among the "official" letters.Because I was really afraid that I would not have the courage to go to the post office and personally deliver this whimsical letter. According to his article, he was a student of the Chinese Department of Peking University.Then, simply write "Chinese Department of Peking University" in the address, I wonder if he can receive it? The campus with lake light and tower shadow haunts me in my dreams.In middle school, I had longed for it day and night for six years.Unfortunately, in the end, I still couldn't step in.Just because I didn't perform well in the college entrance examination, I missed a few points.As luck would have it, like a dandelion, I reluctantly floated down to the campus by the West Lake. "The warm wind makes tourists drunk, when will the West Lake dance stop", the West Lake is beautiful, but it is not a good place to study.During my four years in college, a strong sense of loss has been with me. After graduation, I gradually forgot everything about the campus.Photos fade, and so do memories; flowers fade, and so do dreams. His appearance brought back my old dreams and traumas.He belongs to that campus, the campus of Cai Yuanpei and Lu Xun, the campus where the gowns and white scarves of the "May 4th" youths flutter, and the campus where youth is eternal in blood and fire.That campus has become epic, it has become a monument, it has become a myth. The significance of Peking University has already surpassed that of a university. How lucky he is, I thought enviously. Whether or not he receives this letter is of no importance after my letter has been written. Writing a letter is a rebellion against nothingness.But after writing it, I would rather forget it and let it disappear in my life like a dream. Take it easy. Just like the famous story of "Visiting Dai in the Snow": When Prince You, a famous scholar in the Eastern Jin Dynasty, lived in Shanyin, on a snowy night, he got up and drank in front of the snow scene, and when he was half drunk, he suddenly remembered the famous hermit Di An , They took a boat overnight to see him.When they arrived at Dai's house, it was already daylight, and instead of knocking on the door, Wang Huizhi ordered the boatman to sail home.The boatman asked him why he didn't go in, and he replied, "I'm going on a journey when I'm happy, and I'll come back when I'm happy. Why should I see Dai?" I love this old story.Wang Ziyou with fluttering sleeves, snowflakes like goose feathers, boatman in coir raincoat, wooden oars paddling in the stream... If I were a painter, I would paint such a flowing ink painting. So, I also want to learn from Wang Ziyou? However, I have to go to work tomorrow.Go to sleep, go to sleep. Today's diary is too long. June 7, 1999 I "disappeared" from the campus for four days, and when I came back, the campus was still like a pool of stagnant water.Only the "New Oriental" classroom is still crowded with people. When I entered the library, I still went to the Hong Kong and Taiwan Documentation Center on the fifth floor to read the huge and exquisite set of "modern literature and history materials" printed in Taiwan.Many precious historical materials in this set of books are hard to see outside.I plan to spend a year browsing through this set of books.Zhuangzi said that life has a limit, but knowledge has no limit. Whenever I walk into the library, I feel the same emotion. Few people came to this reading room, I hid alone in the corner, and the whole morning passed in the blink of an eye. Poplar catkins flutter outside the window, like snowflakes in June.When I was tired from reading, I raised my head to watch Yang Xu flying all over the sky for a while.Every piece of catkins is lonely, unable to find direction.Like people, they fly involuntarily in the air, and then fly down to dust. The spire of the Boya Tower is in the distance, and the tower is surrounded by trees.It has been covered with dust, like an old man out of date, looking at this lively world coldly. Received another pile of letters today.There are publications sent by magazine editors, letters from familiar friends, and of course letters from readers who have never met before.Among them, the one that seemed abrupt was an express mail from Yangzhou.Who sent it from?After searching in the warehouse of memory for a while, I really didn't know anyone in Yangzhou. On the back of the envelope was the name and address of a foreign company, as well as a somewhat vague name of "Ning Xuan", which made me mutter in my heart for a long time.I have always had nothing to do with organizations like companies, but "Ning Xuan" is a poetic and imaginative name. The blue, crusty, and huge express mail envelope, when weighed carefully, seems to be empty inside. Who is this letter from?Who is this "Ning Xuan"?Although I receive a few letters from unknown readers almost every day, very few of them are sent by express mail.Most of the readers' envelopes are rough and worn out, perhaps because the road has been bumpy for too long.Moreover, those addresses are generally distant schools and villages, and have nothing to do with high-rise buildings. After tearing off the seal, it turned out to be a thin page of company notes, and the content of the letter was only written on more than half a page.The handwriting is small, thin, and even a little scribbled.It's not pretty, but it can be seen at a glance that it's a girl's handwriting, and every word has a bit of tenderness. In the "Homeland" fast food restaurant in the school, I bought a fast food, and while eating, I spread out the letter paper with the mentality of "reading it for now".As soon as I read the first line, I immediately changed my mood, put down my chopsticks, and "sit upright".Because the content of this letter is almost "unbearable to read"-it hits my heart exactly like a small stone.It was so heavy that I felt suffocated. The sun shines in from the window, and the thin letter paper is transparent in the sun. What about the heart of the letter writer? Obviously, the author of this letter has the same heart and mind as me, and also has the same trauma as me. Behind these words, the two forces of darkness and light are grimly competing, and the two emotions of sorrow and joy are violently churning.For a time, the two forces and the two emotions were indistinguishable.This critical moment is the moment when external help is needed.So, she wrote letters to the distant and unfamiliar me.She turned to me, a friend she considered trustworthy, for spiritual help. In this day and age, do girls like this really exist?Is she really thinking about the same harsh questions as me? After entering Peking University these years, I have become a "heretic" who is out of tune with the surrounding environment, and I am not understood and recognized by most of my peers.Fortunately, Peking University still has sporadic remnants of the spirit and academic traditions of Cai Yuanpei's era, and "tolerance" is its greatest quality.Therefore, although many people regard me as Don Quixote fighting the windmills and ridicule and ridicule me from time to time, it does no harm to me. Here, everyone does their own thing without interfering with each other.I am content to be free to do my own thing under the wing of this "non-interventionism".In China, there don't seem to be many places like this. So, what about the girl named "Ning Xuan" who wrote this letter?Will she also be regarded as "heresy" by those around her? I guess, she may be more lonely than me.From the address on her envelope, she works in a skyscraper.That kind of skyscraper looks like an ancient dinosaur. Will she be hurt there? I should write her back. I would like to write her back. Among the piles of letters, her letter was like gold in the sand, or a shell stranded on the sand. Ning Xuan: Hi.Glad to receive your letter.When I read your letter, I just returned to school from the suburbs.Along the way, I was thinking, I have been away from the campus for several days, will there be some changes in the ordinary college life?My mail must have piled up in a big pile, right? Among all kinds of mail, I opened your letter. Your letter touched me deeply.This is a letter that has to be answered - because of Wang Xiaobo, because of Lu Xun and Xu Guangping, and because of Russell's sentence, which is also my favorite sentence.I am in awe of this great thinker who is in prison at the age of ninety for protesting the government's nuclear tests.As an intellectual, he has achieved the ultimate in both academic research and social care. The great philosopher who wanted to "understand the human heart" and "understand why the stars are brilliant" also said: "As long as love and knowledge exist, they always lead upward to heaven. But pity always leads me back to heaven." The world. The cries of pain reverberate and reverberate in my heart. Children suffer from famine, innocent people are tortured by oppression, helpless old people become a hateful burden in my eyes, and the world is full of loneliness, poverty and pain --These are against the life that human beings should live." Even more important than knowledge is compassion.However, among Chinese intellectuals, how many people have a heart of compassion? At the same time, there is another reason why your letter moved me - because of my loneliness and fragility, and because of your "seriousness and sincerity". Text is an important channel for me to communicate with the outside world.In an era of turmoil, in an era when everyone is talking about "market economy", it is extremely difficult to communicate with each other.But words can pass through many obstacles and connect one strange heart after another. In the past two years, I have suffered many disturbances.There are praises, but also insults, "praise" and "stick kills", but they rarely get real spiritual resonance.Therefore, it is an indescribable joy in my life that my words can win a long echo deep in the hearts of others. Today, in this letter of yours, I find a sincere and true spiritual resonance. Thank you. The essence of writing is loneliness, but in the process of writing, people are also desperately resisting loneliness, just like the Sisyphus who worked hard to move the stone up the mountain in the writing of Camus-whether the stone will fall down the mountain again, he He doesn't care, his sweat, his joy, and his happiness have been cast in every move, every climb, and every placement. Sisyphus is a tragic actor with the happiest heart. However, if a person is always in boundless loneliness, no matter how strong he is, it is difficult for his writing and life to persist for a long time.People who travel in the desert also need to encounter pleasing oases unexpectedly.Behind the solitude, what sustains me is, as you say in your letter, "a heart-wrenching pity for human suffering."Of course, in this boundless compassion, the first is the compassion for the extremely fragile existence of the self. You wrote about Mr. Lu Xun in your letter, and I have sincere respect for Mr. Lu Xun.In a country that doesn't respect people and an era that doesn't respect people, he fights for the defense of personal dignity all his life, and never compromises with evil forces.His personality is better than his articles--and in China, for thousands of years, most literati are "human" rather than "wen". They have one set of sayings on paper, but another set of principles in life practice . You said in your letter that Mr. Lu Xun "sees through the darkness, but never despairs." Your judgment is accurate and keen.For Mr. Lu Xun, we don't need to give him too many compliments.I just want to add one more point: after despair, Mr. Lu Xun searched for hope "knowing what can't be done".Therefore, he was able to persist in living in an inhuman country and in an inhuman era. Mr. Lu Xun gave his own answer to the difficult questions raised by Xu Guangping in his letter.My husband said that in the long distance of "life", the most feared thing is to encounter two difficulties.One is "forked roads", and the other is "poor roads".I think what we encountered today is probably "poor road".Those roads that are not the right way, we all clearly know that they are some wrong directions.Our choice is clear and firm.For us, therefore, there is no real "astray," no danger of going astray.However, the problem we face is: the righteous path has come to an end, and when there is no way to go, how should we go? Wang Wei's choice is: "Walk to the poor water, sit and watch the clouds rise"; Mr. Lu Xun's choice is: "Let's step in and walk in the thorn bushes for the time being".I often persuade my friends and younger brothers and sisters to choose Wang Wei's way of life; but I am afraid that I will have to "search among thorns" for the rest of my life-the thorns will pierce my bare feet with blood Dripping, it will seep into my flesh and blood. This is my destiny, and I cannot and will not violate it. How about you? The evils of our era are not, as some people think, less evil than those of Mr. Lu Xun's era; on the contrary, I think the evils of our era are more rampant and more dangerous.Of course, this "evil" also exists in myself and in our own hearts. While I am fighting against the external evil, I am also eliminating the internal evil.I am still unwilling to give up the fight in the pinch of inside and outside.Especially the evil in my own heart, it will accompany my life all the time, and I will fight against it unremittingly. However, I am not disheartened that there is so much evil in the world.Without evil, good would have no meaning.I also firmly believe that those evil forces that seem extremely powerful will eventually weaken, retreat, and die.As long as we can stick to the goodness in our hearts, maybe we wake up after a long dark night, and the evil that was once omnipresent has disappeared without a trace. The Bible says: I have seen that the wicked are mighty, Like a verdant tree growing on its own soil. Someone passed by there, but unexpectedly, he disappeared; I also searched for him, but could not find him. ("Psalm 37:35-36") This letter is getting heavier and heavier.I almost forgot that you were a "beautiful and young" girl.Originally, your letter was heavy enough, and I couldn't bear to add a heavier weight to it.It's like writing with thick ink on a pitch-black piece of paper. However, I really can't write easy sentences. Let's share each other's burdens. I noticed that it was late at night on the 4th when you wrote to me.At that time, I was staying with my friend Mo Luo in the Tanzhe Temple outside Beijing. On the third day, Mo Luo invited me out, and I had exactly the same intention.Neither Mo Luo nor I are "Beijingers", and although we have both lived in this city for several years, we are still quite unfamiliar with it.The city of Beijing is like a huge steamer, which often makes people feel impenetrable. Beijing is a city of officials and businessmen, and Beijing is their paradise. The six-hundred-year-old Imperial Capital, with its bloody smell, stands at the foot of Yanshan Mountain like a dinosaur. Six hundred years, the omnipotent years can change everything.Here, rogues become emperors, literati become eunuchs, mengs become ministers, girls become resentful wives, no matter what kind of strange things happen, people have long been accustomed to them and are not surprised. For so many springs, summers, autumns and winters, officials and merchants have held grand feasts every day, and there may be large plates of delicious human flesh on the feasts.They drank with gusto, they chewed.They arbitrarily decide the fate of tens of millions of people at the dining table and in the bed, which is called "pointing the country". At night, the ghosts of generations of emperors and generals will come out to swim, passing on their strategies to seize power and the courage to kill enemies to future generations.In this city and this country, these experiences never get old. The world has changed, there are vehicles and neon lights; the world has not changed, the world is still their world. I seldom go out of school, only in the campus there is still a bit of "home" feeling.This campus is an isolated island in the northwest corner of the city. It shields the boiling waves outside and allows me to obtain temporary peace. Outside the school gate, cars and people are spinning tires and walking in a hurry.However, no trace of anyone was left on the concrete streets, including the blood of martyrs and the saliva of literati. As for me, I will always be a drifter.Moro has an article called "Passing Love", which I like very much.Life is like a journey, we are all passers-by without a home.Our soul has not yet found a place where we can "dwell poetically". Our real hometown is getting farther and farther away from us. This time out of the city, we chose the Tanzhe Temple in the southwestern suburbs. Yu Dafu once wrote that among the beautiful scenery in Beiping that he can never forget the most, one of them is "the bell of Tanzhe Temple".According to historical records, when Tanzhe Temple was most prosperous, it had thousands of monks and was known as the largest temple in the north.As the saying goes, there was Tanzhe Temple first, and then there was Beijing City, which shows its long history. After we got to the temple, a mage showed us around.There is still a big iron pot for cooking in the temple, which is a precious "treasure of the temple".This is the largest wok I have ever seen in my life.The iron pot can hold several people.The shovel used to wash rice is like the Zen stick used by Lu Zhishen.It is conceivable that the one who wielded the shovel back then must have been a fat monk with strength as strong as an ox. Today, there are only a few lonely monks here.In the silence of the afternoon, they watched the flowers bloom and fade in the spacious scripture room. Few tourists come to Tanzhe Temple, unlike other places of interest in Beijing, there are noisy voices and small banners of tourist groups everywhere.The monks are not outside the world of mortals. They complain that the temple is too far away from the city, the incense is not strong, and life is much more difficult than the temples in the city.And I am secretly happy, because my mood at the moment is suitable for such a bleak place. It must have been the night you wrote to me, and Moro and I were chatting in the spacious guest room of the monastery.It is said that Prince Gong once lived in this elegant and quiet courtyard. Outside the window, within reach, is the world-famous ginkgo tree in Tanzhe Temple.According to historical records, this towering ginkgo was planted in the Liao Dynasty and has a history of thousands of years.It is famous not only because of its age, but also because it has a certain "divinity". Emperor Qianlong once personally named it the "Emperor Tree".why?According to legend, every time a new emperor came to the throne, a new trunk would grow from the root of the tree, which would merge with the old trunk after a long time.Until the end of the Qing Dynasty, when Xuantong came to the throne, it gave birth to a small trunk for the last time. Today, the emperor has disappeared, but the ancient trees are still lush. "Trees are like this, how can people be embarrassed?" People are always fragile in the face of time. At that time, Prince Gong, who was in power for a while, tried to enrich the country and strengthen the army through the Westernization Movement, but was insulted by the conservative "Qingliu" faction as "Ghost Six" (he was the sixth son of Emperor Xianfeng).After being forced to step down by the Empress Dowager Cixi, he had to live in seclusion in a temple in the wilderness for a period of time.More often, he lives in the Jietai Temple at the foot of the mountain, and occasionally visits the Tanzhe Temple on the mountain. The pine trees all over the mountain are in various poses and with different expressions.The stone steps in the mountains lead to secluded paths.From the highest point of the temple in Tanzhe Temple, you can see the resplendent palaces and gloomy and dilapidated houses in Beijing. It is conceivable that more than a hundred years ago, Prince Gong, the pioneer and loser of the reform, retreated to the big temple in the mountains, how desolate, desolate, and desolate he felt.It is also conceivable how many times he has gazed sadly and eagerly at the capital city that is close at hand but far away in the sky outside this courtyard. Time wears away people's will like running water.Prince Gong is a warm-hearted person, and he can't read the cold Buddhist scriptures no matter what.He wanted to save this crumbling empire, but the old empire abandoned him; he loved this country, but this country didn't love him. The Chinese have always hated reformers.Throughout the ages, which one will end well, the reformers or reformers?Prince Gong is just another victim among them.Fortunately, he is a direct descendant of the royal family, and he always saved his life after losing his power.The Tan Sitongs who came after him could only spill their blood on Caishikou.At that time, Prince Gong, who was once in high spirits, had already turned into a taciturn and submissive old man.Alas, China, China, as Mr. Zhu Xueqin said, is a place that tests one's patience the most. Prince Gong wanted to alleviate the suffering in this land, but people threw stones at him.This reminds me of the fate of Jesus.Prince Gong is a mortal, of course not as great as Jesus; however, Prince Gong's compatriots who can only accept the blood and tyranny of the Boxers are more ignorant and despicable than those Jerusalemites who insulted Jesus before he died. After Prince Gong stepped down, the reforms of the Manchu Qing stagnated for nearly thirty years.Thirty years of long, cold time, a heroic young man, his temples will also be stained with gray hair. In June, the city is still hot and hot, but there is already a bit of chill here.Outside the window, the chirping of autumn insects can be heard. Every year at this time, I will leave the campus and "hide" in the wild for a few days.I am tired of the campus, especially the campus at this moment. On the campus at this moment, the condensed air is like a solid, hitting my heart one by one; pairs of eyes, emitting a wolf-like blue light.All this made it difficult for me to breathe, see and hear.I can't go to the movies laughing like my classmates, or rush to the TOEFL class. I refuse to forget, so memories often come to me in the form of nightmares in my real life. I don't want to be silent, but when I was about to shout out, I found that I still lost my voice. In the memories of Cai Yuanpei's students, there used to be a beautiful campus. However, it is gone now. Is it lost overnight, or is it lost slowly like flowing water eroding a rock? I have no idea. Although Peking University still bears the name of "Peking University".When I came here, there were decadent sights and breaths everywhere.Even the vigorous school celebration last year could not cover up the decadence born from the bones and the heart. Who can change this trend? Is it Cai Yuanpei, or Ma Yinchu? How many people still remember Lin Zhao at Peking University’s school celebrations?This female student of the Chinese Department who was prophetic during the "Cultural Revolution" defended the insulted truth of that era with her life.She is the pride and glory of Peking University, and I respect her more than those scholars whose books are worth their weight. At this moment, only one poet who had little connection with Peking University wrote a poem for Lin Zhao, titled "To Lin Zhao": I am like this looking into your eyes for a long time Gently remove the cotton ball from your mouth your lips are still soft your grave is empty Your blood scalds my outstretched hand such a cold and cruel death Let me sit alone in the bright sunshine of September can't be sad any kind of cemetery For you who love freedom too frivolous Every year on the fifteenth day of the lunar calendar The river will be full of river lights but can't bring back your soul you sit coldly On the ship of the underworld drifting around in Kafka's works Look at the world is still absurd A toast to Peking University's anniversary make you laugh drink drink drink drink this is blood you say in the dark After reading this poem, I think that the poetess Liu Xia is more like a real Beida native than those complacent Beida people.She is summoning the soul for Lin Zhao, and also for Peking University.She is the same woman as Lin Zhao, equally beautiful and equally strong.She is the wife of the Chinese Decembrist who lives beside me. I understand the pain and sorrow that these great women felt deep inside.And myself, because I can't bear the huge shame, I will choose to leave for a short time in such a season. This is a kind of avoidance, but also a kind of helplessness.My cowardice is the only thing I can do. That night, Moro and I talked late into the night. Is the night darker than when you wrote the letter, or lighter? Mo Luo talked about the pain of the farmers in his hometown in Jiangxi, and how the pigs they worked so hard to raise for a year were forcibly taken away by the township cadres, and tears flowed down unconsciously.After talking, we were angry and painful, and our hearts were so blocked that we couldn't sleep.We are all people with scars on our bodies and hearts.Moro was a year older than me, and he had deeper scars on his body and heart than I did. What about you that night?What else have you done besides writing to me? It should be said that I am luckier than you, and I have a friend who can chat with me, but you can only face paper and pen in loneliness.However, you will no longer be lonely in the future, you have me as a friend. I don't know if it was your deliberate choice or just a coincidence. We met on this special day, and there seemed to be a kind of divine power in the dark. Tingsheng June 7, 1999 (lack)