Rain and wet return to the south.

On a carefree Saturday, I woke up from my dream and fell into the discussion of "returning to the south sky" by everyone around me. The encyclopedia entry says, "Returning to the southern sky usually refers to the phenomenon that the temperature in southern China begins to rise and the humidity suddenly rises every spring." Obviously, this is a kind of weather that cannot be defined by name. Since its name is so awkward and I have nothing to do at the moment, it is logical to record this unheard-of weather.

After experiencing the wave of the third industrial revolution, Huinantian has obviously mastered the most efficient communication mode in the present era. Before seeing the beauty of this strange weather, he first heard its voice from various short videos. However, the Internet of Everything technology has not been developed enough to make people feel immersive, so practice is still the only criterion to test the truth. Only when you really go out can you really see Nantian. Thinking that someone may stay in bed all day today, I will have a reasonable sense of superiority when I go out early in the morning. However, the heart is floating and the feet are not too stable. My shoes were fortunate enough to be the first organ to experience returning to Nantian. Give my brain a "slippery" feeling, but I don't have to work too hard, my brain will coordinate everywhere and stabilize my body.

It turns out that the air humidity in this southern sky is extremely high, and all smooth tiles and glass will leak water. In my opinion, such a day is only suitable for one world: imagine such a little boy, unkempt and sitting cross-legged, sitting on an island made of stones and tiles, surrounded by endless water. As for what water is, I don't know. If someone is willing to invest an advertising fee, I am willing to exchange this water for his favorite drink. Let's go back to that little boy. What happened to this little boy was like Prometheus or WU GANG. In a word, he offended some important people. That great man is very interesting. He imprisoned the little boy who made a mistake on the island we just mentioned, not to punish him for being eaten by eagles or cutting laurels all day, but to let him waste water day and night. This is obviously an excellent punishment, because you don't have to worry about whether the blood shed when you open your belly is green or not, and you don't have to bear the blame of deforestation like a bald lumberjack. It will never cause any bad influence. A key point in laying a good foundation in Shui Piao is to find those smooth bricks to use. At this time, our "returning to Nantian" will be of great use. Back in the southern sky, the tiles suitable for throwing water will ooze water drops, but under the gaze of sunlight or people, the water drops will always shine. So the punished little boy can get the tiles more easily and face his punishment more happily.

So even if everyone seems to curse and returns to Nantian, he will be silently grateful to a lonely little boy on an isolated island. I didn't mean to write chicken soup, just think about it and think it's true.

South China is very humid, and fog is humid in the air. I used to hear hooligans describe girls as tender: "one can pinch water." Back in the south, I tried my best to squeeze the girl into the air, feeling that some water was squeezed out. I don't know if this is tenderness for me, for the air, or for the girl I imagined. The fog in the air is thick and dignified, and I think it is disrespectful to play around half dead. Half-dead because unlike the foggy days in the north, the picture that only occupies half of the field of vision, like the aunt who bargains in the vegetable market, is very unhappy; It is not alive because it is not as smart as the fairy tales in The Journey to the West in 1986, and the wind does not change its shape when people pass by, like a fool standing in a pile of rotten vegetables and leaves after the market, which is very unwise. If I am in a good mood, I would probably say that it is soft and tough, and it still stands despite the north wind blowing from east, west, south and north, but this wet returning to the south sky can't afford to burn the Dionysian bonfire in my heart, so it is called half dead.

The real magic of returning to Nantian is noon. The dark clouds that had been boring for a long time suddenly cleared away, leaving a big sun hanging. At this time, the world is like a cauldron for steaming steamed bread. I circulate hot and humid air in the cauldron for repeated transpiration. We all know that "steaming" can preserve the delicacy of ingredients to the greatest extent, so if there are several potential future scientists among the friends who read this article, I suggest you study the subtle connection between returning to Nantian and keeping human beings young forever. Maybe this will solve a problem that has puzzled mankind for a long time. After that, if a group of scientists and friends can solve the problem of time travel, we can go back to the past and let Qin Shihuang or anyone you like live forever. These people who live to 2022 can help us solve many difficult problems in history ... In short, it's good, so do it quickly.

It is rainy in the south, and there are many clouds in the south. After exposure at noon, a lot of water vapor floated into the clouds. Squeezed in the narrow clouds, they failed to master the acrobatics of Indians squeezing buses, and it was inevitable that they would fall down. When a raindrop falls from such a high place, it must be very scared. It will probably hold on to the things around it like a drowning person, so that all the dense water droplets in the crowded clouds will be dragged down, and people on the ground will wake up and suddenly understand that they should run back to the house.

I thought March and April should be the rainy season. Even if it rained for many days, it was just like tears. I didn't expect the tears in March to have the power to make the gods cry. Counting the seasons, a few days after the vernal equinox, Fan Xiliang's bones were not cold, and a thunderbolt split the ruins of the Great Wall where he was, and Meng Jiangnv cried. Thousands of years have passed, and Meng Jiangnv and his Great Wall have already turned into historical dust, adding only a little depth to my eyes. But her crying pierced the years like a knife, blunted into a gloomy Shaanxi opera, and the aging and hoarse timbre still shocked my brushwork.

When night fell, it was innocent and dark. As if a murderer was splashing ink on the blood-stained sky, the lightning flashed, showing that the wound in the throat of the deceased was one inch deep, and thunder came and went, covering up the biting horror of the witnesses.

I want to escape from this terrible murder scene. The bad news is that the murderer is me, and the good news is that the god of this absurd world is also me. I want to leave, rain, thunder and lightning will kneel for me. I showed the Lumiere brothers' train coming into the station at night. The arc in the night sky set off the perfect tone for it, and the thunder was full of its silent voice. I got off the train along the tracks built by wind and rain, in the world where there is a return to the south.

I often say, "The exquisite landscapes in the south of the Yangtze River can hardly stand the bleak wind and rain." At that time, I was too ignorant to think that there were many worlds in Jiangnan. This world was once a wilderness exiled by the Central Plains Dynasty, and I am not afraid of any desolation. This world has killed all the literati in the south of the Yangtze River and given them unprecedented barbaric growth. On the rainy night of the devastating storm in South China, the Millennium banyan tree hangs down like a mountain in Gu Teng, and the bricks in the small temple under the tree are used to dripping. Mazu in the temple looks at the sea, another day to protect the fish and fire swaying in the wind and rain, as always.