I went to Yushan to chase Liu Hua.

After reading Mr. Chen Yinque's Biography of Liu Shiru, I've always wanted to go to the hometown of Yushan Muzhai in Changshu, and I'm still looking for Qian L

After reading Mr. Chen Yinque's Biography of Liu Shiru, I've always wanted to go to the hometown of Yushan Muzhai in Changshu, and I'm still looking for Qian Liu's footprints in Fushui Villa by the lake to meet for a lifetime. However, after more than 300 years of time and space, things have changed, leaving a garden for tourists to trample on. In the past, this was a private garden, where Qian Liu lived, and a pair of famous China scholars enjoyed plum blossoms and recited poems here, leaving a permanent farewell. Poetry and sentences are particularly popular. This village is not what it used to be. Businessmen's poetry and painting are dead, and the rock and water are not dead.

The car passed Changshu and stopped at the foot of Yushan Mountain. I didn't think about it. I tossed and turned and couldn't sleep. I had no dreams all night. The next morning, bathed in the early morning sunshine, I drove to Fushui Mountain Villa to visit.

The sky is blue, the wind is clear, the water is blue, the mountains are green ... On the roadside, the tall Yang Shulin is like a neat guard, and the green leaves release green light under the sunlight and fly in the breeze. Sunlight penetrates through the cracks of young leaves and casts golden spots and gray shadows on the earth.

? Under the parked cherry tree, a pink cherry tree was born at the water's edge, with lush foliage and flowers. The night wind blows, and the falling petals fall mercilessly, alone, covered with paths, and brighter in the light spot. I want to grab a handful of petals and splash them into the water. The fallen flowers deliberately float in the clear water, and the east wind mercilessly destroys Fanghua. Can't bear to let the wheels run over, fly to the jungle with the wind, and turn into spring mud to protect flowers. ?

? Outside Fushui Villa, the empty square is quiet and empty, with few vehicles, and the doors and windows of shops built near the water are closed. Simple and elegant imitation of Ming and Qing architecture, with white tiles and high eaves, hidden between clear water and blue sky, quietly bathed in sunshine, like an elegant and noble lady standing by the lake, waiting for tourists to throw themselves at her.

Stepping on the corridor, the blue waves rippled in front of you, and the shadow of the corridor plunged into the water, turning the clear water into dark green and green with an arc. The vegetation on the shore is lush, and a clump of yellow reeds seems to be still sleeping. Green has sprouted under the feet, and the faint green is covered with clear water.

Because they entered Fushui Mountain Villa too early, two old people chatted under the promenade. Wu Yin said softly, and I asked the way, "Hello, old man, how can I get to Fushui Villa?"

They looked at me, pointed straight ahead and said, "Go down the steps and turn left."

I stood on the edge of the steps and asked, "Are the tombs of Qian and Liu far from here?"

An old man reminded me: "Be careful of the steps." Afraid I'll step on an empty step and fall.

I moved my steps, and the two old people said to each other, "The tomb is at the foot of Yushan Mountain, not far away." An old man stood up and showed me the way. Through the layers of trees, there is a blue sky.

I said goodbye to the old man and went down the stairs. Two security guards in the scenic spot stood at the door and asked, only to know that the scenic spot began to sell tickets at 8: 20. The security guard had to wait for half an hour, looked at the clock and said with a smile, "Go in first!" "

I walked into the scenic spot for free, and there were few pedestrians on the road. Occasionally, I saw one or two photographers, carrying professional cameras and tripods, stopping on the road around the lake in Shang Hu and patting the lake with their cameras. I walked briskly to Fushui Mountain Villa, crossed a long bridge and stopped to look out. The lake is flat and wide, and the water and sky are the same. A green island in the lake shines brightly under the sunshine, and several stone bridges span the blue waves, connecting the island with the dike, looming. In the depths of the blue waves, white buoys dotted with pearls, such as ten thousand egrets, are submerged on the water surface, and the sun shines obliquely on the lake surface, making the lake waves show colorful colors such as milky white, green, muddy yellow, turquoise and blue, which fascinates my eyes and attracts my footsteps.

Wandering in the forest, the roads are winding and secluded, the birds are crisp and sweet, and the cuckoos are sad. Tall poplars stood by the roadside, and the leaves rustled and danced in the wind. By the lake, willow shadows are dancing and willow flowers are flying, but birds are singing, but there are no birds. Yellow reeds hold high flocs, which are higher than the bushes by the lake and sway gently with the wind. Metasequoia glyptostroboides stands in the water, and the greenery among the branches is getting richer. Reed stalks shake poetry in the wind with incomplete life, and greet new germination with a standing posture, which is endless. The green treetops and yellow reeds are more distinct from the sun, and the light and shadow are swaying and green is hazy.

Follow the signpost to Fushui Mountain Villa. A low antique building with white walls and tiles appeared in front of us, hidden among bamboo forests. The sun shines on the trees on the white wall, like a natural ink painting. The dark treetops are closely connected with each other, and you can tell the direction of the leaf corridor and branches. A wall of ivy covers the white wall and roof like a green curtain, covering a double-door meeting. If it is a moonlit night, when the host opens the door, a curtain of green comes into view, and the half-cage moonlight goes with the dream.

Walking along the scenery, a landscape of lakes and mountains came into view, and full of green on both sides of the strait. After crossing the stone bridge, a pomegranate tree stood by the water, like a girl looking in the mirror in the water, admiring the fragrance, with red buds all over the sky and stars, and soon a tree bloomed red. Clear water, fine ripples in the breeze, graceful posture of aquatic plants, swaying with the clear waves.

Build a quaint imitation Ming and Qing architecture near the water. A string of red lanterns under the promenade swayed gently with the wind, and a touch of red in the water became blurred and jumped. A fish comes out of the water, spits bubbles, wags its tail, makes a ripple, rings underwater, suddenly disappears, and only ripples are swaying. Concentric circles on the water are masterpieces of fish spitting bubbles, and the standard solitary line makes people sigh the magic of nature. Willow branches are swaying in the water, and pomegranate branches are dotted with red buds. Flowers fell into the lake with the current, and fish spat bubbles one by one.

? I stand on a long and narrow three-hole flat stone bridge, which is a simple bridge made of many granite strips. The trace of wind and rain is the chisel mark of years. Is it shallow or deep, the knife is ruthless but affectionate. Looking back step by step, the moss is blue, the water is moss, the water waves are dazzling, and the breeze engraves on the stone: "Rolling waves cross the Dongqin water and lead the boat to Xixi Mountain." The stone bridge moved to a different place, separated by blue waves, listening to the wind and rain, listening to the sound of the piano.

Behind the Qianliu Memorial Hall, like a girl who just woke up, wicker is her hair, willow is her eyebrows, and the window is her eyes. Suddenly, I heard a "squeak" sound. Someone gently pushed the wooden bottle away and looked back at Liu and leaned against the window. The hazy moon is a sad ending, and we don't miss each other. I stepped on the bluestone strips that have been influenced by history, crossed the round gate and walked into Fushui Mountain Villa, as if I were in a fairyland.

? Listen to the sound of water first, but you can't see the gentleman. Occasionally, pedestrians have Wu Yin. The water in the Rocky Mountains is like a waterfall, and the songs are hung by the water. The waterfall hangs over the stone stream, the sound of running water is endless, and the snow-white spray is splashing. Sunset falls on every possible block of wood, leaving traces of the passage of time through the squares of the blocks, printed on the mottled blue brick floor, reflecting a distant indifference and indifference.

Fushui Mountain Villa is named after the water rock. I wandered in the promenade of Fushui Villa, touching the post. The tenderness touched by the jade hand seems to be still there, and the warm eyes fall from time to time, and the laughter provokes acacia everywhere.

? I went to Yushan to chase Liu Hua, and Liu Hua flew into the depths of the forest. ?

? Liu Yiyi of Fushui Villa, plus the silence of Gengtang predecessors.

? Willow poems were sung in the hall of Faming, and Mulan looked at the fund-raising outside the window.

? There is only one red bean in the crimson cloud. Do you think it is acacia?

? In Farming Concert Hall, I was familiar with the stories on murals, and I unconsciously sang willow poems. Thinking back to more than 300 years ago, a pair of white-haired beauties were holding hands and having fun in the history of poetry, which made many Jiangnan celebrities jealous. Poems, couplets and Qian Liu's handwriting are engraved on plaques and wooden pillars, which are simple and exquisite or vigorous. The complete works of ancient books and Qian Muzhai are locked in the cupboard, quietly telling a beautiful and touching love.

I walked alone on the lakeside path of Fushui Mountain Villa, with water corridors, carved fences and jade, pavilions facing the water, delicate lotus flowers on the water, and lake waves swaying gently. I looked around the villa, and at a glance, there were towering trees and antique buildings. It was a typical Suzhou garden style, and I lamented that the rich girl in the wooden house was by no means available to idle people. In the past, Fushui Villa was richer and had more ancient and famous trees. However, more than 300 years later, the building was destroyed. Ten years ago, the Qian family donated money to rebuild the village, and the Xinfushui Villa in front of us became a paradise for tourists. The tranquility at that time was completely shattered in the long river of history.

The still quiet garden was broken by a group of students.

I walked alone in the garden, pruning bamboo bushes, red maple dots, green grass at the water's edge, passing through the cloister, entering the pavilion, facing the clear water, climbing upstairs and overlooking the blue lake, deep forest and spring grass.

People traveling in spring walk among peony flowers, or stop to take pictures, or smile at the flowers, or hold them lightly. I stopped in front of the peony flowers, and the fragrance of flowers came to my nose. Red, pink, white, purple, red and yellow, colorful, butterflies flying, bees flying, lit the garden of Fushui Mountain Villa, in the charming sunshine, it looks more luxurious and generous.

? In the noise of a group of students' spring outing, I walked out of Fushui Mountain Villa, lamented the teacher's openness and independence, and chose this place for spring outing. Maybe they don't know Qian Liu's story and marriage. Their immature eyes only have mountains and rivers and joy. Looking at the innocent children, I walked away silently.

The sound of Kunqu opera in the teahouse is sad and sad. I sighed and smiled at the tour guide's boring teasing language. I don't understand poetry, literature and history. It's nonsense. I walked up the stone bridge and leaned against the railing to look back. The past is like smoke. I walked along the road and bowed my head in thought. No matter how beautiful and prosperous you are, the end of your life is a short grave, and you can drive to visit Liu Qian's grave at any time.

I drove in the shade of the highway around the embankment, with lakes and mountains, rippling water waves and green willows and egrets. Follow the navigation, Yushan is close at hand, and the mountains are green. Clusters of heather flowers symbolizing love stretch out to the cliff, and the snow-white flowers make the green hills look more agile and elegant. The mountain alum by the lake is like snow, which is another spring blossom of willow after more than 300 years. The pistils are in full bloom, competing with the heather in the mountains.

After crossing the bridge, I finally arrived at Liu Qian's cemetery and stopped under the sign of Liu Ruru's tomb. There was no one around. Thinking that the cemetery was deep in the forest, I went to a garden and didn't know where to go. I saw several workers in construction, so I went in and asked a manager in a white shirt, "hello, sir!" Excuse me, how can I get to Liu Ru's tomb? "

? The man looked up at me, then at my car, took a few steps to the gate, pointed to the wall and said, "It's right next to you."

? My eyes followed his direction and I saw a gray stone pavilion standing in the jungle. I thanked him and went into the Woods.

? Under the shade of trees, pines and cypresses are tall and straight, white flowers are clustered, and red flowers are everywhere. I walked to a circle of blue-gray graves. The standard circular tomb is made of blue bricks and the outer ring is made of granite. A bunch of white flowers on the grave have withered, which is a cold food road in Yushan. Ruyan Liu is like water. Who worships Hedong Jun again?

I walked into the tomb, and in the quiet jungle, I occasionally heard the sound of traffic and birds singing. I feel a little embarrassed, but I have a lot of thoughts. You gave birth to me, but you died. I was born late, three hundred years after you, and I was with you the next day.

Separated by more than 300 years of time and space, in front of me, only separated by a layer of loess and blue bricks, the peach blossom beauty lay quietly. With the cold tombstone and the "Hedong Jun Tomb" at the foot of Yushan Mountain, she never returned to her hometown, including her soul. Her low voice of looking back was lost in the dust of history. Time is like running water, and it is another spring in a hurry. No one is quiet, and Yushan is poetic.

I walked around the tomb and came to Mr. Qian Muzhai's grave. The grass under the pine forest has been flattened by tourists who have come to admire it, and human footprints can be seen faintly on the bare lime soil.

A few hundred meters to the east, three tombs are connected together, one of which is Mr. Mu Zhai's tomb, which goes around the tomb three times to show respect and memory. There are many comments on the merits and demerits, and the world of mortals has ended in more than 300 years. The past is lost in weeds and farmland, and it is gone forever. Only sing stories and poems.

? Around the tomb three times, offering sacrifices to grazing, bowing three times and thinking about weeds.

? I stood in front of Qian Muzhai's tomb for a long time, a little quiet and infiltrated, and returned through the Woods. I sat in the car, unwilling to leave for a long time, and it is unlikely that I will come to Liu Qian's tomb at the foot of Yushan again in my lifetime, and my heart is getting paler and sadder. Sigh that the world is cold, the world is vicissitudes, and there is love before death. After death, there are different caves, separated by pine forests, separated by heaven and earth, and separated by many constraints.

I looked back at Liu's tomb through the window. A generation of talented women died, and the world of mortals was exhausted, but poetry remained in the world. That white-haired beauty's love has made many stupid men and women who believe in love follow. ?

I was fascinated by their poems, and I was fascinated by their stories. In the story, fresh faces are vividly on the paper. I want to meet them through time and space, in the poetry of April, and in Yushan. After more than 300 years, everything is disconsolate, like a dream, like a fantasy, like a bubble.

The mountain is pale, and the white flowers in the mountain bloom like stars. These have become the scenery in front of my window, drifting away until they disappear.

20 19.4. 19 for weeding