Wang Leyuan’s representative works
A station for two people, leaving only one person’s address.
Like more lies, wandering in nameless days.
When the familiar singing quieted down,
other gray memories
gathered in the distance.
They gather in groups and turn into pupae.
With every bit of effort, whoever they go towards,
may make up whose life it is.
From slow to fast, from fast to slow.
The melodiousness of a guzheng music,
─its unhurried rhythm,
explains many absurd laws.
Like tenderness sending away dawn and darkness,
The sunset welcomes the morning light.
When familiar music returns to the past,
One person’s ancient music, two people’s station,
And the wandering of meeting on a rainy night in the south,
It's mild.
He and she, and more of them,
gone in the blink of an eye.
Like praising the end of monotonous life,
How difficult it is to go back to the past!
Don't look at the willow trees sprouting,
Swallows are flying around.
But nothing will be our only one,
Above all singing:
A station for two people,
or countless A human station,
It is destined to leave only one person’s address. The clock stood still in one direction,
It stayed that way for many years.
Is this still the case after many years?
I don’t know what else has changed over time.
Besides appearance.
Where she lost herself.
Like the death of spring, it has nothing to do with anyone.
It has nothing to do with anyone.
Look at the mountains outside the high-rise buildings still standing,
the sky is still blue.
The bright street,
still silent and prosperous.
You are no longer the same person.
What a wonderful time those were, really!
What a life worth living again.
The eyes blurred by tears merge with the greetings.
They are not the frustrated sighs of youth,
nor are they the praises of the unfolding of the earth.
That is a portrait of a dying man,
living a tone-deaf life.
All life will disappear!
All love and hate will also drift away,
In the wind, in the rain,
Only my tears flow from my heart,
p>
And leave a deep mark on you. I can already tell the words apart.
Those words that shine with lemon color,
Please carry my music-like future far away.
I can already distinguish the words.
Those words bifurcated by the sun,
I can already distinguish their rhythm accurately.
From word to word, from syllable to note.
I can already distinguish,
those lemon and olive words.
How they transform and change,
I can already distinguish accurately.
Like a hot summer,
What we are talking about is understanding and tolerance,
It is not about clearing away heat and detoxifying,
It is not about afternoon tea or ice cream.
It is not the shouts echoing in the streets and alleys,
It is a new word that intervenes in our lives.
A new word intervenes in our lives.
How does it express this colorful,
memory of once troubled times.
Like those words forked by the sun,
In this life, I can also distinguish their attributes.
I can already distinguish the words.
Those words that are closely related to us,
are life itself. Just like joy, anger, sorrow and joy are everywhere,
Like firewood, rice, oil and salt are ordinary but indispensable.
They are not elsewhere, they are under the feet,
Even in the long sighing breath.
You should still remember: the girl wandering on the street.
Her appearance after death was the same as before.
It’s just that the singing mouth is closed forever,
The talking eyes no longer twinkle.
What a pity! From then on,
we could no longer hear her most beautiful and pure singing voice.
A beautiful girl died in a foreign land,
What kind of era was that?
What I can imagine is Rouge by the Qinhuai River,
The tears of Zuichunlou.
Just as old photos bring no limit and excess,
I met this girl from old China.
In a distant black-and-white movie,
or an old magazine,
She holds a harp in her hand, and a hunched old man,
< p>While counting the northern geese returning south in the sky,while singing a low-pitched and desolate lament.
This is not an imaginary girl.
In her singing career in the 1930s,
She was a very ordinary person.
She didn’t know what her destiny was related to.
She only knows how to sing...sing...sing...
She is singing when spring comes, and she sings when summer is gone.
She is singing when autumn comes, and she is still singing when winter is approaching.
She sings all year round, but what she sings is not the song of the four seasons.
She sang the flute and swallowed, and the dream of Qin Lou broke the moon of Qin Lou.
The moon in Qin Lou, the willows are colored every year, and Baling is sad to say goodbye.
She sang music during the Qingqiu Festival in Yuyuan,
The sound of Xianyang’s ancient road was breathtaking.
The sound is gone, the west wind is shining, and the Han family mausoleum is still there.
She has experienced too much and fought too little.
It is impossible to change the destined ending.
Because no one knows.
Her singing career in the 1930s,
foreshadowed the beginning of a reincarnation,
or the end. If we could go back in time:
Please don’t live in fear as you did before.
Also take out the distant sorrow and savor it again and again.
This is not a worthwhile way to live,
I know you will not change.
Life is like running water:
As long as there is a source, there will always be an end.
The mountains once blocked you,
The filth once joined you.
You are not us among us.
If we could turn back time:
I would like to do what I did before,
watching the winter night under the weak oil lamp,
you make cloth shoes for me look like.
Stitch by stitch, until I enter the dreamland of poverty,
Waiting for the cockcrow of wealth and the sunrise.
At that time, the flowers were blooming, and next to the vast rapeseed field,
the buzzing sound of bees was endless.
While pulling weeds, I stretched my waist, raised my head, and
sighed.
I long for your affirmation and caress.
If I could go back in time,
I would still want to live like that.
But time goes by and never comes back.
It’s the same as before.
More about your past,
doesn’t matter either now.
If time goes back,
If...
Let me name everything as a memory of suffering,
called happiness. You want to write down your past,
but you don’t have traditional talents,
forty years of a messy dream,
it was east of the river in thirty years.
It’s just a train of memories,
it no longer rings in my village.
If a cicada with golden wings twinkles,
the branches under the scorching sun will bow for me,
its tall and straight body.
Even if I think of the slingshot,
the sparrow, and the rolling hoop for the first time
——black and white are clear;
Even if the first The warmth and touch of a touch,
and sweetness - the original intention is still the same;
But I forgot you, me, and them for the first time,
Definitely not affectionate, like a shadow to a candle.
On the distant field ridge, buffaloes danced upon hearing the roosters.
Those familiar grandpas,
grandma, uncles and aunts,
When I came back as a wanderer,
peach blossoms bloomed on the earth ,
Your tombs are filled with fragrance.
Thirty years of a messy dream,
Forty years of being in Hexi.
He is just a young man with a sudden enlightenment.
Standing on the green hills,
His sad eyes can bend and stretch;
He seems to be resigned. Shou's character may be polar opposites for a while, but lead to the same destination by different paths.
This is my land -
Missed from life,
Muddled together with individuals and history,
But in The changes in the world will make it difficult to recover.
Like the self-pitying mountains and rivers,
there are unfathomable secrets.
Those who use their labor to experience the subtleties of things,
your children will flourish year after year,
have both political integrity and talent.
The autumn that hides needles in the cotton wool,
The long-lost chatter is like the protracted motto or advice of the prophet:
Children, this awe-inspiring earth,
We only live one life. From the beginning of your wandering, I saw Chuan Jin’s ending.
The beauty that belongs to you cannot be too much, not;
Memories are not enough for you,
But every memory is destined to be accompanied by pain.
In fact, you can relax a little,
slow down a little, let go and feel relieved.
Such an attitude is a bit cruel,
It was a dream after all - end it!
I like your poems like this:
On the southeast bank of a Chinese character;
Ink flows from my heart;
Even if I Even if you make a fortune, you won't change your mind.
It was a day of great passion,
Some touching moments should be remembered.
I used to be obsessed with poetry,
art, and family affection,
friendship and love, just like you.
Now these noble and elegant spiritual lights,
faced with the temptation of money and power——
Go to hell!
The further away, the better!
Your wandering is a mirror,
It penetrates my past and present lives:
Those sufferings are nothing,
Those The days when melancholy lingers are like the tides of the sea - welcoming the light and sending away the sunset.
Gold, wood, water, fire and earth, my five elements are rich in water and grass.
With a heavy fire, it is difficult to resolve the siege of the four waters in spring.
My steps are farther and more tragic than fate.
I don’t know where you will set sail tonight, given your appointment.
I am too infatuated with this state
——The dream has never been to Xie Qiao.
Calling me the power to move forward,
There used to be too much, but now there is too little!
You are right:
In this life, there is sea everywhere.
This is my destiny,
I used to hate it
I invented a plane,
it can take off from the sea ,
With all the dreams, fly to another dream.
Let’s come together! The Kelsang flowers in Tibet are still fluttering in the cold wind.
After leaving it for more than a year,
Why is my heart still there——
Potala, Bajiao Street,
Namtso and Jokhang Temple.
Why sleep in the dark night,
The butter lamp illuminates the moonlight again and again.
I really miss you,
the lamas, the believers,
and the photographer who took the photo for me,
Hundreds of years of history are frozen in an instant.
I don’t know his last name——
The six-character mantra of Tibetan Buddhism,
like a heavenly road extending further into the distance,
The huge golden dome of Tashilhunpo Temple,
is flourishing amid the singing of singer Han Hong.
Those fluttering prayer flags are like magnets,
attracting the souls of countless pilgrims.
But it cannot alleviate my sorrow of separation.
This time the disease and suffering are left thousands of miles away.
What is within reach is God’s grace. , the compassion of Buddha.
There is also the warmth and sweetness of reunited relatives after a long separation.
I think I am tired, at Gonggar Airport,
When the plane starts to speed up and taxi,
When the wind in my ears howls through the clouds and fog ,
When I lowered my head and looked at the land of Tibet,
and its things that shine with holy light,
I held my wife's hand tightly and suddenly let go. This is the autumn of 1148.
Golden chrysanthemums are all over the mountains and fields.
The sky is overwhelming.
In distant China, in the Song Dynasty,
A woman was unkempt and riddled with diseases.
She was a refugee in desolate condition - in a daze.
The weakness of old age is inexhaustible, and her shadow quickly disappears after growing up again and again.
She has gone a long way and is ready.
Bravely write down her thoughts and rainbows.
Her name is Li Qingzhao, and she is the woman who said, "You are a hero in life, and you are a ghost in death." ,
The poet of "miserable and miserable";
It is the young woman in "How Deep the Courtyard".
In distant China, in the Song Dynasty,
This is the autumn of 1148,
I see clearly the end of this woman's life,
The beauty that has gone away,
That is the sentimentality of a dynasty.
Zhao Mingcheng, who was like her, is gone, and Zhang Ruzhou, who made her infamous, is missing.
In the turmoil of "One Cut Plum",
I heard the loneliness and murmuring of "Drunken Flower Yin":
"It is impossible not to lose your soul, because people are thinner than yellow flowers." ".
Read a poem "Who in the clouds sent me a brocade book?"
When the geese return, the moon is full on the west tower.
Sigh: "Flowers float and water flows,
One kind of lovesickness, two places of idle sorrow",
Golden chrysanthemums are overwhelming, all over the mountains and plains.
It flows through the river of time of 860 years,
Towards me and towards you.
In the autumn of 1148, Li Qingzhao——
Do you have bright eyes and white teeth, or do you have a plain face? The sun shines on the living room in the afternoon,
its warmth hits me,
my shoulders, and chest
——I see happiness at this moment.
Every time I read,
it is just as you imagine,
it happens in the large living room.
In the afternoon of the faun,
I opened up another self.
Another unreal inspiration,
or a brown light dream,
coming quietly from the window on the right,
sunlight There was a moan there.
It saw my nonchalant expression.
I slowly opened the book and turned to the page of death.
A ray of sunlight passed through my eyes.
I suddenly remembered a folk proverb:
“On the night of flowers and candles in the bridal chamber, when the gold medal is named,
——meeting an old friend in a foreign land. In the night of black and white, the rainy season is coming.
The rainy season breeds my life,
p>
Washing away your love life
Mother, when I write these two Chinese characters,
My chest hurts,
The powerlessness reaches me. There are too many places.
1938 - the years of war,
Every piece of grass is your hometown
How many times have I heard you deeply. Sigh.
In the night of black and white,
In order to survive, you have three meals a day,
You once built the plank road in secret
The days of catching wind and shadows,
The day is the darkest night.
Labor, production; labor, production;
Participate in various criticism meetings and expose. and report.
Live in study classes and march.
You are the landlord's wife,
The village chief will not let you act like a fool.
You are the general representative of the bourgeoisie, you represent enjoyment,
You oppress the working people.
These crimes that have accumulated over time,
are not a flash in the pan.
They make noises in the east and attack in the west,
Every day they move upward.
In your moments of boredom,
you may be able to win.
My chest hurts, mother,
There are too many places I can’t reach.
You did not live as long as I expected,
(This is the eternal pain in my life)
But you lived with dignity without being humble or arrogant.
In the black and white nights,
I caress your thin face.
They are smiling but not smiling.
Do you still miss those radish greens?
I haven’t seen them growing in a long time.
Although the land still witnesses their prosperity,
Although you are not their master,
Although the world is busy,
< p>One goes down and the other goes up.I can feel your leisure and elegance.
Mother, there are too many places that I cannot reach.
In the night of black and white, I just want you. No matter in this life or in the past life,
Your life flows in my blood.
When dawn passes through the past,
Autumn a century later is full of withering.
Stories about you,
have been told for a long time on the roads in the countryside covered with fallen leaves.
In every gap between tall buildings,
I will tell my son about your tough and hard life.
Ah! Too far away,
The warmth rolling down from your weak shoulders,
Why does it still make me burst into tears today.
Any reason is redundant,
It does not need to be named or explained.
Everything is as you said:
"One life, one autumn for the grass and trees."
......
No matter in this life or in the past life ,
Your life flows in my blood.
My blood therefore tastes like turnips and greens.
You - in the season of peach blossoms,
bring me pumpkins, sweet potatoes and potatoes.
That was the era of drawing cakes to satisfy hunger.
Of course you know: drawing cakes-it cannot satisfy hunger.
I often think of your excellent cooking,
The low and low kitchen in the northwest of the old house.
Your eyes are filled with tears due to the thick smoke.
My childhood was accompanied by the breeze and the bright moon.
I once danced at banquets or in the woods.
It did not talk nonsense,
not to mention Pointing at the mulberry tree and scolding the huai tree.
But I know that on the river in my hometown,
green grass and darkness come early.
From south to north, from north to south,
The ups and downs have made me firmly believe in the truth of success.
The galloping in memory,
The clocks and horses whipped up in the Republic of China where you were born.
You are our ladylike lady, you are not arrogant,
You don’t have a southern accent or a northern accent.
But in the days when a deer was regarded as a horse,
he was tortured by a group of people with a southern accent and a northern accent.
This is the best of times and the worst of times.
The ideal sailing ship has been stranded and has stopped sailing.
The retrospect of a century is better than its prospect,
I am still that obedient child,
It’s just in the spring,
Under the caress of a piece of green grass,
I have betrayed all my relatives. I like its tall courtyard,
its transparent dome,
let my thoughts pierce the blue sky.
At Wuhan Tianhe Airport,
how many times have I seen it as a huge——
White Castle.
I am the king in the castle.
The princess and prince greet me in the morning.
The ministers are loyal and perform their duties.
The young queen and I are invincible. The trouble is,
I miss my previous life.
Why are these?
Whether another my life exists.
In the area of East Lake and Fruit Lake,
I have lived for eleven years, which is not very long, and
not too short either. My wife,
and my son, Hutouhunao,
In East Lake and Fruit Lake, they said the airport was good;
When they got to the airport, they said Wuchang good.
I like its grandeur.
The airport is far away from the city and the air seems to be purified.
Maybe Ye Gong likes dragons.
Once my flight to Xiamen was delayed by two hours,
In the majestic and tragic departure hall,
the aimless music was endless,
p>
It is diffuse and slow.
Like a door that has never been opened, waiting for me to come.
Actually, I am used to this rhythm,
Between morning and afternoon,
Between fiction and documentary,
Fantasy The snow-capped mountains moved me.
Every drop of it is a history of regression,
It mocks the people who turn a blind eye.
Those hungry faces, those panicked faces,
and those loving faces,
I decided to hand over the airport to you,
Which blue sky will I fly to next?
I can sit back and wait, but I can't encourage it. I see the traces of the aging of life.
In the depths of time,
a word brings me a past event.
As long as memory,
The sadness and vividness after happiness,
is sweet, it takes away a piece of silent pain.
The heartbreaking time,
Those names, and the scenery,
Do they nourish:
The nectar you have longed for.
This is in the deepest part of time,
I can clearly see the pain of the earth.
The helplessness of life passing by,
further than the wind, further than death.
The leaky village in my childhood, the low blue-tiled house,
Tonight, they fill me with passion.
Will the old buffalo continue its erotic dream?
Once, I fell off it,
What I bumped into was not shit.
Many years have passed, but what I cannot forget are still touching details.
The young man who is obsessed with Tang poetry and Song lyrics is slowly closing his chattering mouth.
He prefers Confucius, Laozi,
Zhuangzi and Mencius.
From "The Analects" to "Tao Te Ching",
From "Spring and Autumn" to "Historical Records",
The days we look forward to,
< p>They are just the wisps of smoke at the end of life.As long as the breeze blows, they will disappear.
In the depths of time,
It is as if we have never been here. From the living room to the kitchen,
The young wife is complaining,
You are already an old man, but you still dream about the life of 17 or 18 years old.
The days pile up one after another,
The ashes are desolate.
Expose your mood to the sun,
Look, you are becoming less and less like a man,
Being distracted by boring things all day long Bound by subtraction,
still falls on the decimal point.
Yes, wandering in the living room,
wandering in the toilet,
this young old man,
increasingly rare Passion consumed him.
There are various signs that if he is not careful,
he will become a prisoner of life.
Life does not live up to his meditation,
His goals may be too self-conscious,
may slide into another negative number and abyss.
But there are more and more betrayals,
From wife to housewife, from old man to husband,
From dream life to life dream, < /p>
He chooses, and only chooses less and less passion. The narrative of this past event begins with roses.
I see the color of roses now.
They are flowers of the earth, beautiful brides,
hidden in the wind. Hidden weapon,
The rainbow rising after the rain.
This narrative of past events is dangerously uncertain.
The trend of its development indicates a long-planned outcome.
It is best not to touch it,
or move around easily.
Just turn around and move around,
The witty words in the wind will wipe out the fragrance of your life.
Like the life of a poor man,
the narration of past events is slow and virtual,
full of rhythm and rhythm.
It embraces the passing misfortunes,
leads the arrival of sweetness.
No gap can fill the abyss of the past,
Like a review of history,
Clear and clearer,
Netherworld It's darker.
The past is getting older and more distant.
Time writes a string of pleasant wind chimes,
Who among us is listening attentively,
It is so moving:
The narrative of that past event. The south wind blows away this dusty day,
Half of it is illuminated by the bright sun,
The other half is still hiding in the ignorance of illness,
So long ago, so The strange blowing,
makes people believe that the ghost of last night,
looks for you again.
Memory shrinks little by little,
Forgetting comes too quickly.
It comes so fast, you see,
Whose language appears in my writing at this moment,
Whoever is the other,
More real nothingness.
Bring your clarity,
come and settle down with your efforts,
When I am close to love and kindness,
Loneliness is gone Separate each other.
When I get close to love and kindness,
South wind, I suddenly fall in love with,
this deep earth.
Falling in love with the God who has no time to go away,
On this dusty side of life,
Let me accept beauty and ugliness,
The rules of happiness and unhappiness.
Memory shrinks little by little,
Forgetting comes too quickly.
It comes so fast, you see,
Behind the mediocrity of life,
The calamus flower has been blooming for many years. Three bats flew to my window in May.
Seven colors greeted their standing posture.
A suggested analysis,
Suppose there is the speed of flight,
Such summer light,
is destiny The light of comedy, the light of longing.
The dim or strong summer light,
leads the realm of human existence to an open area,
like my writing,
My poetry, my words and rhythm,
knock down success, knock down hope.
The light of summer is the light of hard endurance,
the light of impossible possibilities,
the light of renunciation.
The bright opening and arrival of summer are illusory,
unfree arrival.
What kind of watch should be used to let the light of summer come smoothly?
From persistence to giving up, my friends and relatives,
The breath of a heart flying,
Does it indicate that summer has been quiet and far away from the singing of the century. In the darkness, when the holiness is maintained, the long-lost songs remain silent.
They rely on each other,
sentimental for the patterns engraved in their hearts.
You can’t hear anything,
In an empty room,
You guess that One Hundred Years of Solitude will turn out to be this or that,
But you Wrong, they will not become like this, and they will not become like that.
They are still the same,
In the wind of suffering,
collecting hope.
Hope is almost false,
When that holiness is maintained,
The spring after the rain,
I can already touch it Hot summer wind.
I have been able to write that blank narrative,
Why in the limited blank,
a person's destiny will not deviate from the direction it reaches.
Why is it that outside this empty door,
A Hundred Years of Solitude is still growing empty.
This is the mute language of the soul, the hidden harvest.
Did you see it?
Migratory birds use adjectives to describe the jumping scenery,
use verbs to describe, and nouns to determine.
In the spring after the rain,
you can even feel their hesitation,
but you don’t know why they are hesitant,
and why Who hesitates.
Only my melancholy mood whispers to you softly,
The meaning of human civilization,
And the naming of thousands of things,
< p>That's just a naming. The sound of cicadas in August leaves behind your cries,Memory takes them to a farther perspective.
The moment the strong wind suddenly rose, the sky became gloomy.
The strong wind brought about the sudden sound of a broken glass window.
As evening falls,
bats begin to fly.
Those children who are watched by you under the low curtains,
Many years later,
they become clear in the strong wind,
clean And pure, lonely and longing.
This yearning is not time, nor will it continue.
It is a fog,
the last fog.
They sway in the wind,
float and sing,
and then disappear without a trace,
Why are they blown away by the wind? What was taken away was not the fallen leaves, but the sand and gravel rolling everywhere.
Why do groups of children know the need to run,
I am walking in the wind that takes away the meaning,
I am thinking hard and being sentimental. The moon is always above our heads.
The imitation of its first cry is destined to fail.
The moment when the moonlight is like washing and the moonlight is like a chain,
Romance is a visible and intangible form.
Different from the sun, it is related to the legendary fairy.
Chang'e has lived on the moon for thousands of years,
She sucks tirelessly, immersed in the game of playing with the moonlight.
Another touching and sad story,
happened on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month.
The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl, meeting each other on the Magpie Bridge,
All this makes me believe it to be true.
Hide secretly in the cotton field,
Hide quietly under the eggplant tree.
Nothing is heard,
Of course nothing is heard.
It is seven times of confusion in a dance,
It is also three sections of a song.
The romantic moonlight that only comes once in a lifetime,
What you don’t tell us,
the earth will definitely tell us. Along the way, the train was like a giant dragon, roaring through the mountains and ridges.
It becomes much gentler as it passes through the plains.
In Hoh Xil, Tibetan antelopes, wild donkeys and yaks
ran across its belly or feet.
The snow-capped mountains in the distance are shining,
Behind or within them,
There is a further distance.
That is a distance I don’t know.
That is also an imaginary distance.
I can call the geothermal heat in Yangpajing the boiling water of the earth,
I can also compare the grass in the northern Tibetan prairie to the hairs of sweat
In Nyenchen Tanglha Mountain ,
The sun is a golden wheel,
it pierces our eyes,
it leaves the snow-capped mountains helpless.
This is still the surface of the snow-capped mountains. Behind it,
In the deepest part, there is a farther place.
That's what I don't know.
In the train, several people from Shenzhen kept fiddling with their cameras.
The beautiful scenery outside the window made them forget about the discomfort of the altitude.
Their destination was Mount Everest.
"You must climb to a mountain peak above 5,000 meters, and you must stay there for a few days, otherwise this time will be in vain."
Among them A thin short man said to me.
I don’t have his ambitions.
I just want to see the scenery without danger,
Danger is everywhere.
It doesn’t matter how many warriors died on the plateau,
How many heroes died in the underworld.
Two Hong Kong people are like me.
They smile in a friendly manner,
talk nonsense and criticize Huaihuai.
But I know very well: they are not sheep.
Along the way, from Golmud to Naqu,
from Lhasa to Nyingchi,
and from Mila Mountain to Nagenla Mountain,
< p>The snow-capped mountains that never melt all year round are endless.In this desolate and vast Qinghai-Tibet Plateau,
occasionally there are people walking around.
It is the power of God that allows them to survive and stay here forever.
I know: I saw the vastness of Tibet.
I saw all that lay beyond its vastness,
a land that the gods could not desecrate,
words cannot describe,
——A living poem. The sun shines on the table, and its warm power dissipates the early morning fog.
After a calm statement,
the meditator learned from the pain.
Those memories that are difficult to pin down are like the reflection of snow.
Only forgetfulness will not reappear, he thought:
What proof is there?
Yesterday’s wealth will turn into today’s suffering.
Like poverty a thousand years ago and poverty a thousand years later,
Are they really different?
On the other side is the endless abyss,
On the other side is the hidden worry of the soul.
From the birth and growth in the distant past to the experience and passing of the present,
This distant convolution is so vague and solemn.
Looking to the south,
looking at the billowing red dust behind its long railway tracks.
The words of a wage earner who became a millionaire bookseller,
are more like the fiction of an absurd novel:
“At that time, I only had two children left. Fifteen yuan, no one else,
Sleeping on the side of the road opposite the Tianhe Stadium for seven days and seven nights,
plain boiled water and white steamed buns.
Who believes this. This is the life I used to have."
"Life is life everywhere,
There is no difference between Beijing and Guangzhou."
The only difference is, < /p>
If a place,
spiritual wealth can be sold,
then it is not the backyard of hell,
it should be at the front door of heaven.
Only forgetfulness will not reappear, he thought:
Where life is different!