Horse's self-listening

My horse turned ten-mile apricot flowers into red smoke, mom! I'm back!

Mom, growing up, that steeple stung my eyes every day. It is embedded in my window, in my dream, the only scenery of my lonely childhood, mother.

Now, the champion of the new project, I, Xu Shilin, ride a white horse and wear a red robe to worship my mother.

The horse raised dust on the road, and where I came from was a fog. I pulled out my whip and let the past be the past. I don't need to be told, as long as I follow my blood, I can always meet you, mom.

Now I'm wearing the red robe of the No.1 scholar, just like Hong Haier with red skin 18 years ago. Mom, who can tear off this red robe? Who can give me back my Hong Haier? Who can slap me into ignorant mud and return to your infinity?

They say you are a snake, but I don't know. But I always insist, I remember October's dependence. I am Zhu Xiao, surrounded by your warm spring water. I'll tell them I remember warm milk. They always say I'm just dreaming. They always say I'm just guessing. But, mom, I know I know. I know your blood is warm and your tears are boiling. I know your name.

And the eternal dry Kun, a hundred years old, our mother and son are so thin? It's only been a month, and they took you away. Children with mothers pity their mother's voice, and children without mothers can follow their mothers to the grave. And I, mother, where can I break the evil spell?

Some people divide China into Jiangnan and Jiangbei, others divide the territory into the inside and outside, but for my mother, the world is cut into the bottom and the top of the tower. The bottom of the tower is dark and chaotic for thousands of years. Outside the tower is desolate sunshine, helpless spring flowers and forbearing autumn moon ... The tower is in front and the past is behind, so I'm going to worship, but, mom, I'm wandering in benevolence at the moment. For eighteen years, I've tracked the broken umbilical cord all the way to you, and the sun is warm in spring. It's an endless fear, an endless fear. The tower is firmly embedded in the ground as before. I can't believe it has been with you for eighteen years. I can't believe it will catch you forever.

I haven't seen you for eighteen years, mom. Will your face shrink and dry because of the long wait? Some people say you are beautiful, and I don't need to say it.

admit

It seems that everyone agrees not to let me know your life story, but I know. When I watched a woman draw water by the well, when I watched a woman washing clothes by the river, when I caught a glimpse of a girl embroidering at the window or an old woman taking shoes under the lamp, my eyes suddenly got wet. Mom, I know you are the incarnation of a billionaire. Tell me about your image. Mom, I can't see you every day, but I can see you every day. I recognized you one by one in the blink of an eye of a mortal woman.

And you, mom, where did you recognize me? The weight of the tower? On the first line of the sunset glow in Leifeng? In the pulse of the abdominal cavity in the cold and hot weather?

Isn't it, mom? You always knew me. You knew me when I was invisible. You have won my shape from the vastness, and you have never had time or place to slap my adult.

And in Emei Mountain, in the endless valley and precipice of competing for green, mother, am I already in your heart? When you breathe out the morning glow and the evening dew, have I been foreseen by you? I am comfortable in the neon you once looked up at, I slowly rose in the trunk where you once leaned over and pondered, I was in the flowers, I was in the leaves, when the first grass broke out, you heard me in the cheers of spring. Besides the cry of wild geese in autumn, can you tell me, mom? We must have known each other from the beginning. Mom, really, at the moment when you were excited about the world for the first time, I was in your infinite joy, and when you complained and sighed, I hid in your infinite desolation. Mom, we must have known each other from the beginning. Do you remember? Mom. I am in your eyes, in your mind, in your blood, in your limbs, as soft as the flesh of spring.

lake

Mom, when you come to the West Lake, from Emei, where the smoke is green, to the earth, which is ten feet red, is it necessary to take a trip to the earth? But in Lihu, Waihu, Su Causeway, Bai Causeway and Niang, there is no place where you can get respect. Thousands of years of practice can't compare with the blood surname passed down from mouth to mouth in the world. Why do humans only allow themselves to cultivate immortals and monasteries, but not allow everything to be equal to themselves? Mom, I turned pages of sage books and looked at people's faces one by one. The so-called sage books just want us to be human beings. Why don't people really want to be human beings? Damn it! After reading all the people and books, I just want to cry for a long time Mom, no one in the world wants to be such a spoony man like you! Year after year, the geese repeatedly instructed how to write the word "human" in the blue sky overhead, but, Mom, no one is reading it, let alone understanding it! The midnight bell in Nanping, the moon in the three pools, the wind and lotus of Qu Yuan, and the West Lake written by literati can have infinite poetry. It's cold all the way in late spring, and Feilaifeng seems to be flying somewhere. Thousands of tourists come and go from the West Lake. Who is grateful for this wonderful scenery and thinking about all kinds of things on earth? Mom, who else is there besides you?

rain

The rain in the West Lake comes like this, in spring. Did you know from the beginning that your father and I were destined to be husband and wife? In the vast world, you only pay attention to the instant warmth under the umbrella. The lake is thousands of hectares, the water waves are cold, and the time is cold. However, under an umbrella, an 84-bone oiled paper umbrella with purple bamboo as the handle, people get together, and there is a human fragrance under the umbrella. Millennium practice is a blank without memory, but the moment under the umbrella is enough to tell the Millennium. Mother, from Emei to the West Lake, the wind, rain and hail in Wan Li are just what you want. So you are attached to the umbrella, but you just love walking with the person under the umbrella. You are happy with that person, just because you love the world, the gentle and tangled world. And people ask about the impermanence of gathering and scattering, mother and umbrella are gathering and scattering, and there are 84 skeletons, each of which may be torn by flesh and blood. Damn it! Maybe you knew from the beginning, so what? You dare to fight between heaven and earth. You don't know what life and death mean. You forced a fairy grass in the sky to turn people's death into life. Who won the battle of Jinshan Temple? Fahai made an effective ceremony, and you, mother, passed on the story of a noisy population. Who needs rituals in the wasteland of the world? What we want is a story that can last forever, a story that can nourish the people, and a story that can shine with childhood dreams and old memories. Finally, mother walked around the merciless blue lake. You came to the broken bridge and cut off the broken bridge of love. The story begins with a lake and ends with a lake. Mom, I can't go back. At the broken bridge, there was an earth-shattering baby crying. We met in each other's tears and then parted.

Bo He

A bowl can cover you. A little darkness is actually the sky above you from time to time. Mom, I woke up in nightmares countless times and struggled in that suffocation. It is said that the Leifeng Tower will be in the afterglow. For thousands of years, only for the infatuation of a woman in town. Mom, can the town live? I don't believe it. Men in the world always think that women are infatuated with them. In fact, where do women love? Don't women love the lakes and mountains in spring and the colorful scenery in the mountains? What a woman loves is the good mood of all the good weather, the clear love in her heart, and the tenderness she can't say. Like a chrysanthemum, a woman clings to her bright and beautiful feelings, but what can a bowl of Fahai cover? Mom, what is taken away is the marriage that can't be taken away. It was your suffocating body that was wronged in that marriage, not your deep feelings that drifted like late spring.

Even the body. Mom, they can only contain a small part of you. Most of you live on me. It is your pride that shapes my bones, and your gentleness flows into my blood. When I breathe, mom, I can feel your lungs. When I leave, I can find your whereabouts in this world. Niang, Fahai never imagined that you were still in the West Lake, freely reading romantic stories and sage books in the flowing water of Qian Shan. Think about what's going on in the world, and ten thousand people in Qian Qian pass by-borrow a boy made of your own flesh and blood, and borrow your son.

No matter how sad I was, when I think about it, I will live well, not just to fight for breath. But to gamble! Mom. You will win, and you will live on me and my children for generations to come.

Sacrificial tower

Mom, the tower is in front and the past is in the back. It's been 18 years. I'm just here to worship-the new world champion, wearing a hairpin and a red robe. We should bow to all kinds of grievances and sorrows.

Mom!

Is that land that was suddenly torn apart?

Is that the sunset glow that suddenly collapsed?

Is that the fallen and tilted Leifeng Tower?

Is mother sobbing and crying?

Is that you? Mother, worshipped by children!

Do you know this red body? 18 years ago, he was a red boy, but now he is Xu Shilin, the new champion of Gonghua Red Robe. How I want to tear this red robe apart, if I can give it back to you, but, mom, can I?

When I read the book of sages in the world, mother, when I began to write about human affairs, I only thought that I was your son and was full of tender and touching infatuation with my lover. At this moment, when I bow my head, I am my father's son, making an earth-shattering kowtow to my 18 years of guilt and helplessness.

And leave the blood on my forehead in front of the tower, and make a long red peach blossom: laugh at the sunrise and sunset, and turn the sound of hitting my head into an eternal dusk drum for Fahai and the tower.

In the world, there will always be poetry books that can't be burned by the Qin Dynasty, and the tender feelings that can't be covered by the French bowl. Mother, just looking at this evening is worth the suffering in countless bones and blood in the past 18 years, mother!

One day Lei Feng will fall, and one day the towering tower will turn into flying mud, leaving only your stubborn delusion about the world!

When I galloped away, when I was in the corner of the world, when I sang, when I cried, mom, I suddenly understood that you looked at me everywhere and knew me very well. My every move is still the fetal movement of that year, pulling you, holding you, surprising you and letting you touch me across the earth. He said, "He is moving, he is moving, what is he going to do?"

Let the tower suddenly move, mother, and be worshipped by the children!