Mi Fei's Notes Prose

Mi city is a word, a lost and restored ancient city, and an ancient history.

Just listening to the name, there is already some mystery. Coupled with the depth of ancient history, mystery is not just written on paper. It also permeates the mountains, rivers and plants of Tang Huai in the city; I also fled to bat night, and the early birds chirped. Therefore, in the alternation of morning twilight, day and night, light and shadow, dream and reality, clarity and vagueness, dream and reason, delay and agility, singing and crying, and joy, in the quiet night, they all blend into a grand symphony in the depths of one's soul-the love song duet in The Book of Songs, and the evocation witchcraft in The Songs of the South, either beautiful or long. When everyone is struggling to live alone, or walking alone in the ravine, the ancient gods are scrambling to become attached. Many times, I am not myself, but a body possessed by God. I heard the mysterious call of an ancient corpse driver, and I stumbled in a hurry, only knowing that the road was at my feet.

When night comes, my heart is particularly lonely. But thoughts are always like undercurrents or magma rushing under the water. When the bright moon is in the sky or the dark wind is high, the stars are dead, turning into a swimming fish, wandering in the streets and alleys of Mi City and the wilderness trails in the suburbs, with a strange feeling completely different from that in the daytime. Dark, ghostly light blue, deep purple, and gray-black cover everything that the eyes touch. Passing through the gate of the ancient city and stepping on the stairs, the empty cultural square is silent and independent, like the theater of the palace and the decadent grassland and ruins in the distance. They are all ancient countries and monarchs that have been extinct for three thousand years, thinking, sighing, singing and dreaming. I clearly touched and heard it. It's just that these are too heavy and old, and I can't give a few words of comfort, just a sigh and a compliment. -this feeling is the same as ever and is interrelated.

I feel a little scared and cold when the yellow and obscure pages of history turn silently beside me, at my feet and in my heart. Between Shaanxi and Gansu, there is no water, which is extremely steep, but Mi Xugong and Mi Kang Wang still have nowhere to hide and are beheaded. The short-lived prosperity of the past will eventually become a dream. What are the benefits of owning the wealth of the whole country? Kang Wang, on the other hand, won the truest love of three girls, and the shortcomings of life seemed to be compromised; Isn't it sad that the rice flag is sacrificed with the respect of Wan Cheng? Life is alive, and it is a drop in the ocean to send ephemera to heaven and earth. At all times and all over the world, princes and nobles or ordinary people can't escape the fetters of this net, and a pile of grass is finally gone.

3000 years later, I also escaped and dormant here. Can we really avoid the disaster of alienation and occupation in this dust net by crossing this vast and continuous mountain? The bones of this life live only to walk upright. After death, they are either fossils, bone flutes, sealed a period of history, or unyielding souls. Not being made into crutches alive, but being made into specimens of lies after death. Otherwise, let it turn into powder and dust, floating in the boundless sky like snow all over the sky, and the earth is truly clean.

Or go alone. It seems that the state of my whole life is walking. To the west along the path crawling like a dark animal ridge at the foot of the cave mountain, the Daxi River in the dark night is as gray as a shroud, but the sound of running water is exceptionally clear and pure. There are cold stars in the sky, but there seems to be no light on the earth as far as the eyes can see. I know, I'm going my own way. Nothing to do with others, nothing to do with the world. As silent as this iron-cast mountain, withered bodies of plants and trees attached to it like rust, flowing rivers as calm as roads, the barking of unknown night birds and the barking of dogs in the dark mountains … Everything is black and shadowy.

Walking across a stone bridge is a small village. It is too old to calculate its age. It has the original bamboo luster of the original notes in The Book of Songs and Shangshu, and it is dark yellow and light gray. If it weren't for the smoke from the kitchen, it would be easily confused with the color of the land. However, it is dark now. There are no stars and no moon in the sky, and there are fewer lights in the village. Even dogs can't hear barking. It was dark and all was silent. The ticking sound of the river also quietly disappeared at the water's edge. The ancient yellow smells slightly musty and camphor, and the poems of the ancestors' folk songs are furtive and phosphorescent, like snickering or gazing at each other thoughtfully.

I suspect that this bridge is a bridge leading to the underworld, and the village opposite is just an illusion or a mirage. It's like crossing a national border unintentionally. On such a night, from the moment I crossed the bridge, I really walked into another world of time and space, which is absolutely different from the world during the day or other ordinary nights. I became Dante possessed by a soul. Maybe he obeyed the will of an unknown god and wanted to visit purgatory and heaven and write another version of Divine Comedy. When God is bored, he needs new music for entertainment. It's just that my mind is still clear-I've been on earth for forty years, and purgatory is destined to go; Whether heaven can go or not is unknown; The refurbished version of Divine Comedy is also very poor, just a fake of the original; Besides, I'm not as lucky as Dante, with Virgil, an ancient Roman historian, and my first love who died young as a guide. I don't need to live by these masks and auras. I am deeply tired and disgusted with the meaningless tossing and failure in the world. However, others don't think so. Maybe god doesn't think so either.

What's the point? -It's about meaningless. However, fatigue is real.

It's a lonely road through the village and a little further on. Even during the day, few cars and pedestrians pass by. Such a night is more like a desolate road. There is an old tree with a strange shape on the roadside, which is almost dead-maybe it is dead, and there are few green leaves in summer. Like a zombie, I'm afraid I'm dead. I suspect it's just a standing zombie. On a starry moonless night, its outline is a little eerie, and the ridge next to the tree looks like a homesick platform-but I have no hometown to look back on. But this tree still brings me some mysterious poetry with bronze luster. Further on, a few abandoned broken caves in the ravine really give people a feeling of uneasiness and doubt. The older generation said that Zhuangzi suffered from cave-in, and the souls of people who died for generations would often visit their former residences. Walking like this every night, there will always be some uneasiness at this point. I always feel that my spine is scared, and there is always a shadow behind me or a pair of bottomless black hole eyes watching. Fortunately, a brick factory built halfway up the mountain, such as beans, became an unknown lighthouse in the dark night. As I approached, I dispelled my fears and anxieties. The drowning man was dragged ashore, and besides being lucky, he gasped with his mouth open like a fish out of water. Security is actually as sweet as toffee. I just haven't seen the brick factory's production and brick pulling vehicles. It always seems to be just a still life painting.

After the relief of the Dragon Totem in the Western Zhou Dynasty, we crossed the newly-built Daxihe Bridge and crossed the seemingly ancient and heavy archway, and we returned to the street. I have a cold sweat and a sense of collapse after the return of light-naturally there are poems with bronze luster-after the failure to carve the realistic literary mind into works of art, poetry has actually become an indispensable air for walking in another time and space.

On such a night, I just walked back and forth in the city.

-and life has gone through a cycle.