Chapter 7 new year test pen

New Year's test pen. Because it is "testing" the pen, so I have to pick up the pen and talk about it. I still have nothing to say when I pick up the pen; many times when I don’t speak, my words and brushes are also dull, and even the dead branches sweeping on the window at this time make a "squeaky-squeaky" sound. I would like to have spring water, lake water, and sea water of 100,000 dendrobium, cool, green, and blue, splashing, splashing, and rushing to my head, washing out a fresh and lively me. The water of one hundred thousand dendrobium not only washed me clean, but also cleansed the mountains, rivers and figures in the universe. ——Just like after the flood in the beginning, there was a snow-white dove flying in the clear sky with a green leaf in its mouth.

There is light everywhere on the earth, and there is no cloud shadow to be seen.There is not a broken tree on the mountain, and there is not a single scorched leaf; at a glance, there are towering pines and cypresses, and violets, daisies, and dandelions are randomly growing under the trees.In the pine paths and in the crevices of the rocks, there are splashes of rapid spring water. There is no yellow mud, no rotten paper and melon skins floating in the river; only the light smoke from the morning mist envelops the vast flowing water.On both sides of the river, there are thousands of miles of fertile fields, criss-crossing rice paddies, and neat gray-tiled farmhouses. Every family has an open back window, men are farming and women are weaving, and singing is heard from each other.

The city is like a garden, where the flowers are protected by the shade of the big trees.On the tidy road, there is no mad man, demon woman, or filthy child.Those who went to school and went to work, all walked with their chests upright, their faces radiant, and they greeted each other with unconcealable smiles. It seemed that everyone knew each other. At dusk, countless old, young, rural, and pretty people poured out from one building after another.A day of solid and successful work reflects infinite joy and satisfaction on their faces.Go home, under the warm lights of every house, have a delicious dinner, dear talk.

The blue sky is fading, the stars are gradually growing, and the children are already on the soft bed, under the wide open window, smiling to the sky in their dreams. And in the study room, on the corridor, under the flowers, or by the water, there are one or more pairs of people talking about their past, present, and future nostalgia, plans, and hopes in low voices or in high spirits. The pens of ordinary people can only draw out this ordinary hope.Yet this ordinary hope— When will the flood, the flood of 100,000 dendrobium rushing head-on, come? (This article was originally published in Volume 2, Issue 1 of "Literature" on January 1, 1934.)