Chi Zijian's article (selected article), please help online brothers and sisters ~ ~ ~ urgently needed! ! `~

Don't say what you saw, but how you felt when you held your breath. What is that? Sad beauty glides to you quietly, like a cold and dazzling sleigh. It seems to come from the Milky Way, because it brings the breath of heaven, more precisely, it gives people the courage to hold their throats.

When I was eight years old, I was still in Arctic Village, Mohe, the northernmost village in China. The heavy snow all over the sky almost sealed all my memories, but the fishing season in that winter was still clear. When the fishing season comes in winter, almost every family stays on the river for one night. People carry dry food. Braziers, fishing tools and cheap cigarettes came out of the wooden house. A hole in the ice eye emits milky water vapor, and the hay next to the sled is piled with all kinds of beaten fish. Some dogs know their owners' psychology very well. They shook their heads and saw many fish on the table. Occasionally, there are miscellaneous fish out of the water, and the fish is picked up and swallowed at the moment when the owner disconnects. For those precious fish, they have always been loyal to their owners, not smelling or touching them. When the fishing season ended that year, it was dusk and the clouds were low and light. The adults put the fish in sacks, put them on sledges, and withdrew from Heilongjiang to go home. The snowy road is very long, and it is gray-blue at dusk. The adults walked slowly behind the sled in handcuffs. There are no words between them, and the world is so quiet. As we approached the door, it suddenly began to snow, and the scenery in front of us was a blur. All I can hear is the breathing of the dog pulling the sled. The adults are gone, and so is the village. I feel that only the dog's breath and snowflakes accompany me. I have a desire to cry, which is the first time I have experienced the beauty of sadness.

The growth of age is a terrible process to deepen people's own mediocre behavior. Since then, I have learned more about the chaotic clouds in the city. Narrow and vulgar streets, quarrels between people, treachery and even mutual spitting, the sad beauty of people, feelings and scenery seems to have escaped. Or the beauty of sadness is to hide your face and cry because of difficulties.

199 1 At the end of the year, I finally relived the sadness and beauty in a foreign country. It was in Hokkaido, Japan. After leaving Sapporo, I went to Dengdeng, a famous hot spring resort. Before that, I had experienced the beauty of Stratigraphic Gorge Hot Springs. During my trip to Hokkaido, it has been snowing heavily, the air is humid and fresh, and the scenery is wonderful. It was already dusk after staying in the antique hot spring hotel on the mountain. I took a bath and put on a kimono specially prepared for travelers to eat in a restaurant. During the dinner, when asked about the uniqueness of Dengbie Hot Springs, Japanese friends blinked humorously and said that Dengbie Hot Springs had a long-standing reputation. In other words, people are directly bathed in the cold wind and sky in1February. I spit out my tongue, a little excited and a little scared. Open-air hot springs are only open to women after 3 am. I tossed and turned that night for fear that I would miss the beauty when I woke up. At five o'clock in the morning, I came to the hot spring area with a golden bath towel on my shoulder. The following is a passage from my notes on my visit to Japan:

The hot spring room was quiet, and it was still thick white fog. I took off my kimono and walked into the fog, then disappeared. Natural skin color blends with white fog. I walked in the fog almost by feeling-first I picked up the shower head and then I walked slowly to the hot spring. There are two people in the indoor hot spring besides me. After I went in, I looked around for the location of the open-air hot spring. I can't speak Japanese, so I can't ask those two women. I seem to see a door on the east side of the hot spring with five big red letters written on it: open air. The Chinese word "open-air gale" needs no explanation, but the word "land" is a bit confusing. In Chinese, the word "Lu" is not only a surname, but also an ancient musical instrument made of bamboo tubes, representing a musical temperament. Linking the meaning of "land" with "open-air gale" produces the idea of "playing according to the wind and tuning by land". Anyway, I have to stand up.

I walked out of the indoor hot spring and walked to the door facing east. Standing by the door, I felt the cold, and the other two women looked at me in surprise. Imagine going to an open-air hot spring in Hokkaido in the dead of winter. It really takes some courage. I hesitated for a moment, but I pushed the door open. I was almost scared by the snow. The cold and the snow came at me together, but I was naked. And I don't want to look back, especially when someone looks at me, I will never back down. I went up to him and closed the door.

My whole skin is breathing the real wind, the free wind. The pond is covered with snow. I walked to the hot spring, and I went down, slowly making myself a part of the hot spring, spreading my hands and limbs. Sitting in a hot spring is like sitting on the moss at the bottom of the sea. It is slippery and warm, with only the head above the water. I'm the only one in the pool. How quiet. The sky seemed bright, but it was a little blue that day. Snowflakes came at me, but the hot springs were warm and harmonious. There are several trees around the pool, and there are lights on the trees, so the snowflakes falling on the trees are bright and colorful.

I think my pen is pale at the moment. Until now, I can't accurately express my feelings at that time. I only remember a mountain not far away. Pines and cypresses were scattered on the hillside, and three springs poured down and made a noise. The spring in the middle is straight, but the area on both sides is very large, much like a fisherman standing there with a hat. There is snow on one side and spring water on the other, but there are icicles on the other side (on the rocks near the water). This is the scenery of three seasons I have experienced and I saw it there together. I breathe fresh, humid and cold air and feel unprecedented emptiness. Only people will be moved by a kind of scenery and a special life experience.

How do I feel? Is it the swan song of heaven? That incomparable beauty of sadness! I thought your back was turned to my dusty face, but I didn't expect to meet you happily in a foreign country. After you left this world with beauty, I am still looking forward to seeing you again.

At the beginning of September last year, I fell ill unexpectedly because of tachycardia and dysentery. A person lying in the crisp autumn season, sad and desperate, no matter how brilliant the sunshine outside the window is, I don't think it is necessary. I look forward to the opportunity to go out for a breath of fresh air. I am exhausted in this city. On September 20th, I finally set foot on a luxury yacht after recovering from a serious illness. The ten-day trip began. The leaders of the provincial people's congress visited the great channel along the Yangtze River, accompanied by two reporters from Xinhua News Agency and Guangming Daily and one of my leading colleagues, but only 20 people. The ship is "Heilongjiang", neat and comfortable. We watch the scenery on the deck during the day, watch the silver waterfowl hovering on the river, and stay on the boat at night when the boat is moored on the shore. The ship arrived at Fuyuan, a border town. I stayed for a day and came back at noon the next day. At that time, the ship was sailing on the Heilongjiang River, with China and Russia on both sides. There was civil strife in Russia at that time, but Yeltsin quickly took control of the situation. It was the evening of September 25, and I came to the bow deck alone after dinner. Autumn is cool, the wind is already hard, the sunset has passed, and a vigorous flaming cloud is surging on the horizon, reflecting half of the river. At this time, a group of waterfowl suddenly appeared not far from the bow, and red clouds dyed them red. They flew to the other side with water vapor. I followed them and suddenly found that their red color disappeared instantly. The sky on the Russian coast is white and windy, and waterfowl reproduces its pure color there. It's incredible. On one side is the gray-blue sky and the half-dark moon, and on the other side is Xia Hong. The conductor found me in the cab and made melancholy and touching music with the loudspeaker. I can't help dancing to the music alone. I am spinning and enjoying the strange beauty of this red and white world. I have long hair, and I felt like a witch at that moment. No one bothers me and dances with me, except the music near Wonderland, which is rivers, Yun Ni, the moon and boundless wind. Sad beauty suddenly crashed into my heart at this time, making me forget the vulgarity and noise of the city and all my diseases. I wanted to keep it in my heart, but it perched for a moment and disappeared like a wisp of smoke.

Why can the beauty of sadness touch people's hearts? Just because it is immersed in a religious feeling. A sacred and inviolable beauty of sadness is irreplaceable by all the gold and precious stones of an empire. I believe that everyone with religious feelings has encountered a sad beauty, and I am also convinced that it will be one of the few precious moments in a person's life and will become a beauty that people will always remember.

Muddy:

The pollution in the early spring in the north certainly comes from the pure snow that we once warmly praised. In the long winter in the north, the cold gave birth to one snow after another. They spread their beautiful tentacles from heaven and fall gently.

To the earth, let the whole north fall into a world of pure ice and pure jade. If you walk on the street in the snow, look at the trees covered with snow wool on the branches, look at the snow on the roof of the church, and look at the silver endless road, your heart will be filled with a passion: for unparalleled grandeur or desolation. However, the spring breeze is coming. The spring breeze melted the snow, and in the process of melting, their faces became old and gaunt, as if they were one.

Dying old woman: snow has exposed its duality without reservation at this time: its beauty is attached to the cold, so it is a static beauty and fragile beauty; When the cold has become the sunset in the west, and the sunny day reflects them, its ugliness is helplessly presented. Pure beauty does not exist, so I still love snow for its beauty and simplicity, its fragility and forced disappearance. Of course, I love the unprecedented mud they created for this land when they melted. Muddy water is everywhere in the alley; The drainage ditch has increased the flow rate because of the addition of sewage after snow melting, which sounds very noisy; Swallows nest under the eaves with wet mud in their mouths in humid air; Chickens, ducks, geese and dogs bring paw prints back to the master's yard, which is covered with countless paw-shaped mud prints, just like the huge projection of pine trees under the moon; When the old man walked, he accidentally lost his crutch and picked it up to become a mud crutch. When the child was running and frolicking in the alley, he accidentally dropped the sugar in his mouth into the muddy water. He looked at the muddy water and sobbed absently, but the mother of the child who saw this scene smiled happily. ...

This is a scene I often experienced when I was a child. Its background is a small mountain village in the north, and the time is of course muddy early spring.

I like this natural soil. Mud often reminds me of this great Russian nation. Lomonosov, Tchaikovsky, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Bunin and Pushkin are coming to us step by step. Russian art is permeated with a noble, broad, gloomy and indomitable spirit, which is related to the mud in spring. Mud gives birth to trudgers. It gives light and strength to those who endure humiliation, and peace and courage to those who suffer? A great nation needs soil to hone and exercise, which will never bend people's spine, make people understand the loveliness, vastness and indispensability of the land in the arduous journey, and understand the true meaning of the motherland to people: when we love the soil under our feet, it means that we embrace a spirit.

Now, the mud I feel in the northern cities is not as deep as when I was a child: but when I walk on the dirt road of the farmer's market in the snow melting season, I can still meet that kind of long-lost mud. Waste paper, grass clippings, rotten vegetable leaves, fish viscera and other sundries are looming in the mud, and a rancid smell comes to the nose. Of course, this feeling is not as pleasant as always holding an umbrella on the West Lake surrounded by green land and indulging in fantasy in misty rain, but it can still make me fall into another kind of nostalgia, thinking of the mud beads splashed when the wooden cart was heavily run over, thinking of the difficult back of the people in the north, thinking of our sufferings and humiliation, and being glad that my feet can still be touched.

We will never go back to relive history, nor will we deliberately create a kind of mud to make it appear on the road in the future. However, when we walk wearily on the bluestone road washed by drizzle, when we are at a loss in the face of endless fallen leaves, and when our pens are no longer pale with passion in the face of white paper, are we eager to trudge in the mud again and again? To this end, we should really thank snow, which breeds silence, simplicity and unobstructed beauty, as well as dirty, shocking and empowering mud. So it's chinese odyssey.

Who killed sadness:

Modern people often refer to the word "sadness" with contempt. It seems that material civilization is highly developed, and "sadness" has to pack up and leave like a long-term worker in the old society. So, what we see is a picture of life that publicizes all kinds of secular desires. People seem to have released the shackles that have imprisoned them for thousands of years, jumping and screaming selflessly, as if they had set foot on the paradise of human freedom, and they seemed so excited.

Sadness recedes like a tide. Without sadness, people even have no dreams. The night without dreams is so chaotic, and the dawn without dreams is so pale.

Perhaps because of my special life experience, I like sadness so much. I have never regarded sadness as a synonym for decadence and decay. On the contrary, true sadness is a feeling of sympathy for others, which can increase people's wisdom and strength.

The growth of sadness needs soil, and my soil is the vast frozen soil. It is a few wisps of cock crow in a lonely place, and a beam of moonlight in a snowy area. In such an environment, sadness quietly drifted into my heart.

I am familiar with an old man who is good at telling ghost stories. When he said no, he was gone, but the cigarette pot he smoked was still there. How can it not make people sad? Lightning and strong winds destroyed a birch forest as bright as a candle, and there were fewer wild flowers there, so it was not difficult to live; I look forward to the fruits and vegetables in the garden all summer. When they were about to mature, they were destroyed by early frost. How can it not make people sad? Snow came, the river was closed and the boat stopped. I can't see the ship entering the dock for half a year. How can you not be sad!

The folklore I have heard and witnessed, the desolate world and the changeable nature are like three strings. They twisted together and played a "sad" melody. So at the beginning of my creation, my brush strokes naturally extended to this sad sky, and I especially appreciated those works that exude sadness. I found that sadness especially likes to stay in Russia, where the forests and grasslands smell like yeast, which can ferment a mediocre life and show the poetic luster of dispatching people, thus penetrating people's spiritual world. Their art, music and literature are full of sadness. For example, Lie Bin's Volga Tracker, Tchaikovsky's Pathetic Symphony, Aytomatov's White Boat, Turgenev's White Grassland, Astafyev's The Fish King, etc. They are deep, desolate and vast, like ancient pastoral, cold and warm. So when I heard the news of the disintegration of the Soviet Union, when many people all over the world were worried about the future of this nation, I once told people that Russia is immortal and will recover! The reason is: this is a grieving nation.

Human sympathy is wrapped in sorrow, and art without compassion will not have vitality. Sorrow is the dew on the flower, the wet and brilliant sunset scattered on the water, and a sigh of satisfaction in the depths of love. However, in this era, life is either full of the howl of desire expansion or indifference. Sadness is wandering around like a SangGuQuan at this time. Life seems to change with each passing day, and new information emerges one after another, almost to the point of explosion. People are afraid of being labeled as outdated and old-fashioned, and are tired of learning new things and coping with new trends. As a result, our steps become mechanical and slow between the glass curtain walls of skyscrapers that are constantly being pulled up, our eyes become dry and poor in the fireworks of various celebrations, and our hearts become vacant and thirsty when they learn the news that happened in any corner of the world at the first time.

In such an era, we no longer seem to be sad. Intensive life squeezes our dreams, and dogs looking for new things drive us away. We have realized our material dreams and gained so-called spiritual enjoyment, but our hearts are like floating fruits in the autumn wind, gradually losing moisture and sweet fragrance, drying up and shrinking. We fell into a mental dilemma because of blind obedience, lost ourselves, imprisoned ourselves in cages and tied to corpse beds. The sad artistic life has left us.

Who killed sadness? Is it the street cries or the flashing neon lights that darken the stars? Is it the psychedelic spirit emitted by more and more dazzling high-tech products, or the rolling dust produced by nature after suffering?

We are isolated from the green mountains and green waters, we can't smell the breeze and birds, we can't see the bright moon and colorful clouds, and the sad soil is lost inch by inch. The works we create that are advertised as art are either boring or confusing and pretentious. Those seemingly full things that claim to be close to hooligans exude a strong and vulgar spirit. There is no sadness in our hearts, so although we are lively, our hearts are empty; We seem to live a rich life, but what we hold in our hands is just an empty bowl for masturbation.

My tenderness for the darkness:

When I returned to my hometown, it was already late autumn. Farmers are picking potatoes and cabbages in the fields, and mountain climbers want to make a final gold rush in the mountains. They are covered with fallen leaves, looking for furry mushrooms. In the market of the small town, there are more people selling cotton shoes and caps, and winter is coming in Daxinganling. The grass under the dam outside the window has withered. In summer, stars usually twinkle on the grass beach by the river, and there are no wild flowers. Yesterday, my mother's flower beds were full of flowers, and the frost overnight made them lose their waists and turn pale.

The flower season of nature has passed, but the flower season of the bedroom is still there. The pots of flowers my mother put in front of the south window of my study are in decent bloom. Bees have no recyclable nectar outdoors. I opened the window to ventilate, and they flew into the house to look for it. I wonder if they prefer autumn chrysanthemums or pink flowers?

That afternoon, when I closed the window, I suddenly found a golden bee. It curled up under the window lattice, as if tired of collecting honey, and went to sleep sweetly. I never even thought about it. I caught it and wanted to set it free. However, just as I raised my arm, my left thumb suddenly felt a sharp pain like a needle. I realized that the bee had stung me and quickly threw it out of the window.

The bee left, and it left a bee needle on my thumb. The bee needle is not long and thin, and there is white floc attached, so I pulled it out. When I was a child, I was stung by bees more than once. I remember once in Arctic Village, I met a hornet's nest. The wasp in the hive stung my face so red and swollen that I rolled on the kang in pain.

Although this bee has no life, its energy is really great. My thumb swelled up instantly, and the pain was unbearable. I'm very upset. The bee must think I'm going to kill it before it plays its trump card. The stinging bee will die, even if I put it outside the window, it will not fly again, and it is destined to turn to dust. It and I both lost.

I thought the pain would disappear like lightning, but I was wrong. An hour passed, two hours passed, and when it was time for dinner, my thumb was still stinging. As soon as it gets dark, I get into bed and want to fall asleep, so that I will forget the pain. However, tossing and turning until late at night, the pain has not been alleviated, but like rising sea water, the waves are higher than the waves. I had to get out of bed, turn on the light and look at the wound. I think the bee needle left on my finger must be very toxic, but when I pulled out the bee needle, I pulled out a needle for sewing clothes without tweezers, struck a match, simply disinfected it, and tried to pick out the possible remaining bee needle. The needle went into the meat, but the blood couldn't come out, as if the meat had become lifeless, which scared me. Thinking that cold water can relieve pain, I pulled out the needle, went into the bathroom, stood under the faucet and gave my thumb with cold water. This move is effective and the pain is relieved a lot. Ten minutes later, I went back to bed. However, as soon as I lay down, I looked up arrogantly from the pain I had just relieved. I have no choice but to stand up. I went to see a doctor in a hurry and applied essential balm, toothpaste and anti-inflammatory ointment for a while, but the pain was still as cold as snow lotus in the mountains. I was discouraged, so I turned off the lights, opened the curtains and asked heaven for help.

It's already midnight. If the weather is fine, I can see the moon and stars outside the window and the silhouette of the mountain. However, it was cloudy that day and nothing could be seen outside the window. The human heart is really strange. The more you can't see, the more you want to see. I put my face on the glass window and stared, but night is night, which unambiguously wiped out all the scenery I saw during the day. I am looking forward to the sudden flash of fishing fire at the foot of the mountain, or the passing of cars on the dam, so that light will cut through the darkness. However, no, my eyes are still deep and boundless night.

I haven't tasted such darkness for a long time. At night in the city, because there are lights, there is no darkness; In my hometown, I can stand in front of the window at night because of the temptation of moonlight. Who will appreciate the darkness? However, on this sad night, facing the virgin darkness, I felt a special touch, and my body gradually warmed up, as if I saw a fire in the ice and snow. How many places can we see the real darkness now? In this sleepless world, darkness is torn by artificial light and lost its soul. In fact, the darkness is clean, and the prosperity of singing every night desecrates the sacred darkness. God gave us darkness, didn't he give us a hotbed of dreams? If we give up our dreams, constantly create erosive light to drive away darkness and indulge in debauchery, then we are likely to face a monochromatic world.

I thank this brave bee. With a heroic sacrifice, it aroused my pain and my unprecedented gentleness to the darkness. Only this clean darkness will usher in a refreshing dawn.