Cultural Prose: It seems to have been mistaken by the frontier.

For more than 1000 years, I have been looking for a distant figure of Zhang Ruo and a looming face of Zhang Ruo in the falling streamer.

She is gentle and forbearing, independent in the autumn wind, beautiful and proud, struggling in the years; She sometimes glanced at the yellow sand in the desert, and sometimes left a wisp of fragrance on the willow pile. It seems that everyone has seen her, but no one can tell her face.

The young man who spends a lot of money in the casino said: She often haunts the greenway flower terrace and the willow smoke building, with golden beads and green cymbals on her head, looking back and smiling, she is very smart; The skirt horn is flying, but the fragrance is diffuse. When you pick it with your fingertips, you will smell the sound coming from outside. They are jealous of it and compete for wealth in comparison. "How did the aristocratic youth in Wuling compete profligately, and a song gave countless rolls of red silk?" How many bells are ringing, the food house is falling apart, and countless aristocratic children suddenly live on the streets; How many people who have read a lot of poetry books always miss a glimpse of its beauty and a fairy sound, although there are thousands of tender feelings in their chests and only a bald pen at the bottom of their sleeves. At dusk, they sat alone under the tea rack and sighed. When the sun went down, they suddenly found themselves white-haired and pale.

However, no matter how unattainable, infatuated teenagers still rely on their extraordinary memory to write a new translation of "Feather Tunes Green Waist" on simple notes with complex scales, and practice the piano in front of the building at sunset.

The sound of the piano is graceful and euphemistic, such as dew containing lotus, graceful and smooth, like dancing willow in the return air, which is quite antique. The teenager seems to have returned to the pile of smoke and willows, and the curtains are not heavy. He looked straight into his eyes with tears in his eyes and whispered:

There are beautiful women in the south, dancing with green waist.

In late autumn, the banquet is full of flowers.

Graceful as orchid, like Youlong.

The more gorgeous, the front flow stops, and Wu Ji stops white.

The slow state can't be bad, and the complicated posture bends to the end.

Low lotus waves, messy snow lingering in the wind.

When I fall, I look forward to it, and I want to repair it.

I just worry that I can't catch it, so I fly away to catch the surprise.

In a trance, if a fairy named Bishang comes to dance, her dance is extremely light, beautiful and elegant. Her long sleeves are like lotus flowers breaking the waves at a low place, and when she rotates sharply, her skirt rolls like an axle, as if to go with the wind and chase the frightened swan. Before the end of the song, the infatuated teenager could not afford to get sick. Since then, there have been countless beauties in the world, but they have also added a lot of feelings.

However, the tourists who traveled back and forth on the ancient Silk Road firmly believed that she was an elf beyond the Great Wall. From time to time, they heard a few sonorous piano sounds in the sand-filled desert, looking for someone, but there was no trace. When you are lucky, you will see a plainclothes woman on the head of the ancient city with a bloody sunset. Sometimes she holds the pipa thoughtfully, and sometimes she dances on tiptoe and plays the pipa. The dark clouds of steamed stuffed bun were blown by the wind and fluttered around with the bleak piano sound.

However, when they hurried to the top, the Iraqis had disappeared, and only the Qin and Han winds combed the broken walls over and over again. No one can see her clearly, but they are convinced of her amazing appearance, and they take pains to spread her natural sound to people. As a result, this beautiful spirit, which haunts the ancient Silk Road and sends love to camel bells in quicksand, is famous all over the world. Pilgrims and admirers from Chang 'an, the capital of song dynasty, Tianzhu and Persia are in an endless stream. The desert in Hexi Corridor is long and desolate, and merchants and tourists are woven, which is unprecedented for a time.

In the following centuries, in order to continue this beautiful myth, pilgrims with different identities gathered all skilled craftsmen, workshop musicians, the skilled hands of Bantou in Liyuan and Danqing, carved caves everywhere on the vast cliffs in northwest China, spread the truth and rendered them, which won great praise. When Tianzhu ascetic saw her, she insisted that she was Kinnara, the music god of Tianlong Babu, and called her "Flying". Generations of musicians and geisha have devoted their lives to those poor classics. According to the long-term vague memory of people traveling from south to north, and drawing lessons from Alakazam music and dance forms such as Qiuci, Gaochang and Shule, a large number of Yan music and French songs were created. Among them, Yan Yue's representative works include Broken Array Music, Green Waist, Liangzhou, Yizhou, and Garden Flowers in Yushu. The main works of French music include Colorful Feather, Fire Phoenix, and Inverted Cup Qu. These exotic new sounds, which promote festivals, not only greatly enriched the treasure house of national music after the prosperous Tang Dynasty, but also provided rich soil for future generations to rely on sound to write lyrics and create literature.

She finally declined inevitably.

The gold ornaments of the Northern and Southern Dynasties were stripped away, and religious beliefs became vicissitudes; With the makeup of Kaiyuan faded, Huanglu became the Leng Yue of Qing merchants. After all, there is only one prosperous time in China. After all, foreign cultures will eventually dissolve in the sadness and bondage of this national character.

Many years later, Li Taibai, a madman who was called away from the ship by the emperor, died in the west. Yang Taizhen, a peerless beauty in Yan Guan and even the whole Tang Dynasty, was driven out of her wits, and An Lushan, a Turk full of bandits, was also a skeleton. However, Li Sanlang, who has been a martial man for half his life, has to be tortured by the dust and shadows of the past every night in the cold palace of eternal life. Apart from leaving a "colorful feather" that is gradually forgotten, few people have left. Only time is invincible, it washes away everything, sweeps away everything, washes away everything, all good and evil, loyalty and treachery are just a earthen steamed bread, and all the gloom and gloom are just wind and smoke. When it comes to the "colorful feathers" that only existed in the sky in those days, musicians are puzzled. Those French songs, Yan music, Jie drums and cymbals that once led the music fashion of the whole era and penetrated into all fields of society are now gradually buried by the yellow sand all over the sky. Jiangshan changed hands, and the imperial capital moved eastward. At that time, the carved jade fence and majestic image were once swept away. Once upon a time, the dance pavilion and singing platform, the fragrance disappeared.

I'm too late!

My biggest regret in this life is that I can't see her elegance, and it's always my fault that I can't hear her Sanskrit. Because of this, I hate those prodigal sons who sleep on the willow trees, swear by each other and say goodbye to each other again and again. To this end, I curse those bureaucrats who are bathed in the sound of nature but stare at their waist and chest. In all the dark days, I can only sing "You were born before I was born, and I was old when I was born." Hate is not born at the same time. Hello every day. "Ren Wudeng's tears filled my thin cheeks day after day.

I seem to have seen her in the bleak autumn wind and winding river, but I don't know if she is still alive after many years. The season of "selling perch in mangjiang mangrove forest" has gone far away and disappeared in the silent wind and smoke of the years. Looking back, it's as straight as a spring dream, leaving only a lingering fragrance in my mouth.

I was attracted by the boards scattered like Yue Xian in my dream. In my impression, such mysterious music can't have him. It can only be "Cai Yu", which once went on strike at Daming Palace every night, and later spread to the western provinces.

I will never forget her coming out of the cabin and sitting quietly, with a peach blossom behind her. What kind of face is that? It's almost transparent, as if the cold moonlight has flowed on it for a thousand years, and there are too many stories deposited on it, which is enough to take you back to those stormy days, get deeply involved and forget the path.

I can't forget that she pointed at Lan Shu lightly, Xu Manman twisted, and several arpeggios landed in the middle of the river, splashing layers of ripples. Although it was out of step, my chest suddenly seemed to be hit by a sledgehammer, and a sense of grief and indignation haunted me instantly. Only a few tones have conveyed too many vicissitudes and ups and downs.

Sister! I dream day and night, and I have been looking for the goddess for thousands of years. How many generations of legends have been passed down from mouth to mouth, and how many years have accumulated brilliance? Now you really appear in front of my eyes, but your face is haggard and bleak, scattered in the rivers and lakes in the bleak autumn wind, parasitic in the treacherous world. How can it not make people feel sad?

She seems to understand the frustration and sinking of my first acquaintance, but it is more like lamenting the feeling that her boss married a businessman's wife. Although she despises her eyes and believes in it, she is already complaining about the infinite blocks in her chest. I am happy, but I see that "the bottom of the flower is slippery, and the throat spring is difficult to flow under the ice." It is also like "the ice spring is cold and astringent, and the condensate is not limited." Suddenly, "the silver bottle broke into the water and jumped out of the conflict and blow between armored horses and weapons". When I heard it again, it was already "before she put down her pick, her blow ended, and all four strings made a sound, like tearing silk." The fields were as quiet as a dead silence, and no one could see anyone clearly in the dim boat lights, and no one could answer. Only the autumn moon in the middle of the river, flowing quietly with the river, did not know the sorrow of the world.

After saying goodbye on the river, we crossed the river like crucian carp. When we got together in a hurry, we forgot each other in the Jianghu. We can't even remember each other's eyebrows, and we don't even know each other's names. This man seems to have come out of thin air. I have traveled all over the country, the desert Gobi, and there are teaching workshops, ordinary courtyards and smoke streets everywhere, and I can't find her whereabouts anymore. The world is big, the pipa is dusty, and musicians sell pulp. The whole world is like the midnight river after people died quietly that year, without sound or ripple.

After more than 200 years, history has become a small court with internal troubles and foreign invasion. From the north came the sound of fighting, the screams of sweat and blood, the sound of the roof burning, and the sound of faint crows fighting for food in the wilderness ... From the north, there was smoke everywhere, and the adherents of quail clothes everywhere fell dead. How many loyal ministers have been buried in other places, and how many fertile fields and beautiful lakes have already been thousands of miles away.

That autumn, I fled from Youzhou with a large number of refugees, and I was harassed and plundered by withdrawing troops from time to time along the way. Many elderly and infirm people fell on the way to escape, and the mountains were filled with the voices of family mourning, the cries of hungry and thin babies, the groans of scarred refugees, and the cries of anxiety and despair after the separation of relatives ... At this time, a man named Xin Jia.

At first, the music was slow, and a swan spread its wings and soared in the sky, free and unrestrained. However, this scene has not completely receded from people's eyes, the pipa sound turned sharply, a fierce sea green appeared, and a race of chasing and running was launched between sea green and swan. One swoops down and grabs, like a crazy tiger, and the other dodges to avoid its edge. As the player's fingers are pulled out faster and faster, the struggle becomes fierce, and the fierce place is like "broken strings and cracks" or "broken bamboo with a frost knife". At this moment, the music came to an abrupt end, and Xin Jiaxuan shouted loudly, waking up the people who were listening in a daze:

"Dear fellows, women are really eyeing up the navy of China for me, but we can only escape like swans, but can we escape for a while? So we should take up swords and guns and drive the enemy out of our homes for our women and for our cattle and sheep! "

"Well said!" The crowd was boiling: "We can't let the Tatars invade our homes in vain, take our property and rape our women. We will fight with them! " "

But the uprising failed, lacking the support of the imperial court and sophisticated equipment. After a series of bloody battles, the powerful Jurchen and later Mongols stepped on our bodies and gradually encroached on the territory of Dasong. Since then, those pipa martial arts that have inspired us, such as Swan in the Sea, House of Flying Daggers, and Dismantling the Armor of Overlord, have not become masterpieces, but they have been sealed up. Instead of them, it is the beautiful sound from Lin' an, the meat forest in the wine pool. Fat bureaucrats peep at the beauty thinking about the moon in the sound of "singing in the deep trees", and the romantic and elegant king is like the "swimming fish" in Dawn on the Jade Pagoda. The death of countless loyal ministers and righteous men only temporarily saved a Gouan dynasty, which is a great tragedy in history.

From the infatuated teenager who yearns for a brothel, to the wanderer who looks for a dream girl, and then to the middle age who has gone through troubled times, countless glories and dreams have gone, and so have many sufferings and sorrows. At this time, I am already an old man who is indifferent to life, living in seclusion on a few acres of barren land in Shihu, and being a wealthy and idle person with no worries about food and clothing.

I have learned to love and forget, and I will no longer care about "who sent China to sink because of the flood risk in front of the girder?" There will be no more "crying for messengers". When will the Sixth Army really come? " The style of Jiangnan is still gentle and lovely, and the beauty of West Lake is still charming, but it can't arouse my stagnant heart. I planted hundreds of new reeds in front of and behind my house, from which I learned the winding water. In my spare time, I invited my friends to accompany me, sang some wine and wrote some poems, so that some waves would gush out from the deserted grass.

During this period, I wrote the most proud Four Seasons Pastoral Music in my life, and my friends praised it as the purest pastoral poem in the history of China's poetry. Sometimes, in the field or on the road at the head of the village, I hear someone chanting loudly, "Children and grandchildren don't farm and weave, but also learn to plant melons in mulberry shade." I will smile faintly.

But more often, I still like to take two boys, Qingfeng and Yue Ming, with a piano and a pot of wine, set up a couch in the bamboo forest and play the Pu 'an mantra that I have been playing for ten years. When the breeze was burning incense, the bright moon had made the bed. I held the pipa, closed my eyes and unconsciously fingered the strings, and the solemn overtones suddenly poured out. I'm still expressionless, calm and carefree, pinching, rubbing and remembering. I am neither too disgusting nor too relaxed, as round as Tai Chi and as round as running water. Rich pinching makes the piano music ancient and vigorous, and what you see is like a mountain, but it is not clear in the ethereal space; Like water, it seems to flow quietly on the platform, which makes me feel extremely comfortable and my thoughts gradually become empty. At the end of the song, when I recovered my thoughts that had drifted into the wilderness from my slow breathing, I slowly opened my eyes. The two boys had fallen asleep on the couch. At this time, the moonlight has risen to the sky, and it is clear between Gan and Kun. Their quiet breathing is mixed with the chirping of autumn insects in the grass, so it is difficult to tell which is human voice and which is insect sound.

That year, all the bamboos I planted were white flowers. Then, on a tragic morning, Qingfeng told me that the stormy land of Dasong finally changed hands. Hearing the news, a sweet smell immediately rose in my chest, and I vomited blood for three liters. In the scream of the cool breeze and bright moon, I was put on the bed in a hurry. When I woke up, I saw Mingyue preparing to go out for a doctor, so I stopped him. I said I was dying. Everyone will have this day. For me, it is a blessing to enjoy a long life. Although stone can cure diseases, it can't prolong my life. I just want to play a favorite song before I die, so I can suddenly ignore it.

When I handed the pipa to my hand, I played a colorful feather coat that I almost forgot for a long time without thinking. The tune is still sad and lingering, but it is a bit decadent. It should be a complicated and urgent passage, and the music is sonorous. It became tired and soft in my hands, and filled the whole hall with an ominous smell of death.

But I can't see the difference anymore. Once again, my eyes saw those women wearing wide sleeves and comfortable skirts. They don't seem to come from our dirty world, but like graceful fairies around Yaochi's mother. Their dancing makes me dizzy, but it makes my whole body seem full of heat and vitality. Ah, how I wish I could go back to the time when the teenagers in the Five Tombs struggled to prick their heads. Even if I am wasted by Iraq again, I have no regrets.

With a voice as harsh as a crack, the whole world sank, my motherland, my people, my beauty, my poetry, the pipa that I can never surpass, and-my life. By this time, it is difficult for me to tell whether the music that should not belong to the chaotic world has perfected me or destroyed me, but in any case, they are inseparable from my life, my life, my pain and happiness, my survival and death.

200712: 20 am on October 24th 10.