Solutions to original Chinese reading questions

In the bustling Guanghua Gate, I seem to see a vast grassland. The Yuan Ye is covered with all kinds of nameless grasses and flowers. The horse is taking a leisurely walk and the dragonfly is taking a nap on its mane. The sky is blue, as if it were about to drip. The air smells of plants and animals. ...

This is the moment I picked up a cup of original soybean milk, and a fragment flashed in my mind: the aroma of pulp is unforgettable for a long time, as if in the depths of my memory, the gurgling spring is constantly spraying a clear source.

The man is of medium height, with heavy eyebrows and big eyes, and his face looks like a country. He skillfully put the soybeans into the soymilk machine, added water, stirred, filled the cup and closed the lid. Looking at him, I smiled and he smiled. Without superfluous words, a smile seems to be worth a thousand words.

On the way back to the company with soy milk, I kept thinking about a city, a square inch of land, a rice counter, a soymilk machine and a man. I am thinking that this man is in proper limit, this city. How insignificant is this? Like a dot, like soybeans stirred in a soymilk machine, humble, plain and inconspicuous.

But the seemingly insoluble thick soybean milk suddenly brought me into another world. True, pure and simple, I seem to have found another self in the noisy city.

In the face of a cup of pure soybean milk, will you cry because you are moved like me?

The advertisement in Shangri-La says that I won't hold you in my arms just because I know you. The flesh is fragrant, and I actually have pity and pain that I dare not swallow.

Similarly, I feel sympathy for that strong man. The distance and contrast between his strength and the weakness of a cup of soybean milk.

I will always buy a cup of soybean milk every time I pass by the soybean milk shop in the future. I think this is the only decent way for me to support him properly.

A few months ago, I moved out of Guanghua Gate. In the future, I will keep going. Everywhere I go, I will pay attention to the local soybean milk shop; Expect to find a hometown that has become a foreign land in a foreign land; Expect to find a present that has become the past in the present; I hope I can find myself who has disappeared without a trace among the people coming and going.

Every city has given me different beauty. But no city can make me relive the same fragrance and environment.

One morning, I took two buses and came to the familiar and unfamiliar soybean milk shop in Guanghuamen again.

The man saw me and smiled, so did I. Between this smile, time goes by, time goes by. Silently, the blessing keeps flowing and passing. He paced to get the soybeans in the bag. My heart suddenly got a fright-it turned out that he was a disabled person and a cripple. I can't help blaming myself in my heart.

The initial pity for him was completely overthrown by his limping posture and replaced by respect-respect from the bottom of my heart.

Life is colorful, but perhaps only those who have struggled and suffered in pain like him will grind out the original fragrance for us.

In the soymilk machine, a soybean is turning. In the huge soymilk machine of fate, aren't you, me, you and us spinning at high speed for the original life?

In autumn, the sun is warm and the breeze is slow. My heart, once again found the white clouds and blue sky over the city, and found the long-lost taste. Looking up at the sky, I gently said to myself: the original flavor is the real taste.

Yes, I am. The original flavor is, and the true color is.