A white-haired old woman and an old man died here, their blood frozen into lumps and their bodies covered with frost.
People who were alive during the day turned into miserable corpses at night. It was a pity for a kind-hearted farmer family to be ruined by these men and women!
The sky was silent for a long time, the wind and snow stopped, and the sleepless night looked up at the night sky.
The night sky is deep and distant, the stars are looming, and the black clouds are changing back and forth, looking like monsters, which is scary to look at, just like this river and lake.
At dawn, a new tomb stood protruding in the snow in front of the house, and a monument was planted in front of the tomb. It briefly described how the couple in the tomb was killed and their bodies were collected and buried.
Ye Wumian wrapped her swaddling clothes on her chest, protecting the sleeping baby's head, and worshiped her carefully.
He opened the lid of the wine gourd and poured all the remaining wine in front of the grave to commemorate the elderly couple who were unfortunately killed and the remaining simple and kind-hearted people in the world.
. . .
The Golden Crow hangs high, the clouds have cleared, the ice has melted and the snow has melted, the chill has subsided slightly, and the warm wind is blowing.
The eighth day of the festival is in the middle of winter, and it is also the number of forty-nine. Today, it is a rare warm and sunny weather.
On the official road, a young man dressed as a Confucian scholar was riding on a white-haired treasure horse, with two long swords hanging from his waist. He was holding a young child in his arms. He came from the north in a hurry and was covered with dust.
He would look at the baby in his arms and play with it twice. Then he would hold the reins tightly, restrain the horse, grasp the direction, and head south.
This young man naturally had sleepless nights.
Since the Guanwang Temple was burned down that night, Ye Wumian carried the surviving child and rushed all the way to Wugong Mountain. Unknowingly, it had been several days. On the way, he only stayed at night and walked in the morning, eating and drinking when he was hungry and thirsty, but there were no setbacks. , speechless all the way.
According to the calendar, today should be the eighth day of December, which is what the folk custom calls the Laba Festival.
During the Laba Festival, you should drink Laba porridge.
When Ye Wumian was in Anhua, he would taste the Laba porridge made by Mrs. Jingyi every year and it was a must-have.
Laba porridge is closely related to Buddhism. Mrs. Jingyi was influenced by the Taifu and also believed in Buddhism. Her Laba porridge was eaten at night without sleep, and there was a sense of Zen in it.
Today is Laba. The person who died on the eve has become a ghost today, and I am also wandering around the world. I can no longer taste the Laba porridge cooked by my old friend.
My nose is sour.
After riding for two or three miles, I saw a tall stone archway with four strong block letters written on it, "White Rabbit Lake Town".
This is the writing style of Ouyang Xun, a Changsha native who was granted the title of Bohai County in the Tang Dynasty. It is known as "European style" in the world.
These four characters are neat and square, but have a rough and rough atmosphere. When a good calligrapher sees it, he often can't help but copy it.
The official road under the archway gives off the appearance of an ancient town in the south of the Yangtze River.
The bluestone street stretches, with tiled houses on both sides, scattered houses, stalls and hawkers, hawkers and goods, all kinds of food, skirts everywhere, and a lot of people.
The blue and white porcelain vases and bowls are placed to tell the story of the perfect peace; the books and books of the sages are opened to highlight the merits of education and enlightenment.
Tourists, travelers, travelers, warriors, calligraphers and people from all walks of life all come to take advantage of the warm winter sun to join in the excitement of the Laba Festival.
"Baitutan Town... but I don't know whether this town belongs to Huguang or Jiangxi?"
He had been on the road without sleep for many days. He had learned from various landmarks and landmarks that he had never left the boundaries of Changsha Prefecture, let alone Huguang.
Where there are many people, a horse comes down and leads the horse with the child in his arms.
I saw a white-haired scribe spreading out his canvas on the street and describing the bustle of the market.
While he was having a rest and drinking tea, Ye Wumian stepped forward and asked respectfully: "Old sir, is this place still on the ground of Changsha Mansion?"
The old scribe raised his head and saw a handsome and elegant scholar. He had a good impression of him, nodded and stroked his beard and said, "Yes, this is the boundary of Liling County under the jurisdiction of Changsha Prefecture. Jiang Yan, who is said to have exhausted his talent among the people, was once granted a title." Liling Marquis, his fiefdom is in Liling County."
After a pause, he continued: "Going south to the county town, there is a porcelain kiln left over from the Song Dynasty. Oh, there is also one in this town that can make blue and white porcelain. It is sold in the market and is of high quality and low price. There is Liling Academy, also known as Lujiang Academy. It was also built in the Song Dynasty. It inherits the cultural heritage of Zhu Xi and the upright Neo-Confucianism. I think you are a scholar in your age, so you should stay there for a few days and study for a few days. Fang Buxu came to Liling for a visit..."
Ye Wumian just asked a question, and the old scribe began to talk eloquently, including the customs and customs of Baitutan Town and even Liling County.
It was only when my mouth was dry and I picked up a blue and white porcelain bowl to drink tea to quench my thirst that I had to stop.
Ye Wumian hurriedly seized this opportunity and said, "Teach me. Is this far far from Jiangxi?"
The old scribe did not answer directly, but smiled and said: "How do you feel when you listen to the old accent?"
Ye Wumian thought for a moment and said, "It's different from other places in Changsha Mansion."
"That's it! Our accent here is deeply influenced by Jiangxi people." The old scribe picked up his pen and ink and said, "You can walk two or three miles east from here and there is a Lushui River. You can cross it through a ferry. , and not far away is the boundary of Yuanzhou Prefecture in Jiangxi Province."
Hearing the words "Jiangxi Yuanzhou Prefecture", Ye Wumian's eyes lit up.
The wind and rain in the rivers and lakes stained his white clothes. He traveled under stars and nights, unimpeded by wind and snow. He only wanted to go to Jiangxi, regardless of day or night. Now that he heard that Jiangxi was only separated by a water, he felt as excited as seeing flying fireflies occasionally on a summer night.
The old scribe's wonderful pen hung high, and he sketched out the scenery of the small town in the south of the Yangtze River. The characters in it are busy in their own professions, the fireworks of the world, and the various aspects of life are vividly displayed on the paper.
In Sleepless Night, we often see paintings of flowers and birds, ladies, and landscapes, but we rarely see such market-style paintings.
I heard that the pinnacle of this type of painting is undoubtedly the masterpiece "Along the River During the Qingming Festival" by Zhang Zeduan, a court painter of the Northern Song Dynasty. But he has never been able to see the original work at a glance, and he has never seen even the fakes.
After stopping to watch it, I held the baby in my arms all night and said goodbye to the old scribe.
The old scribe said leisurely: "Young young people should not just rush on the road, but should calm down and go to Lujiang Academy to study. In this dynasty, there was a man who was once exiled to Longchangyi, Guizhou, but later had an epiphany and made meritorious deeds. All the living saints have learned and gained there, let alone your descendants!"
Ye Wumian shook his head. He didn't know who the "living saint" he was talking about was, and he didn't answer his words. He just continued to move forward.
There is nothing wrong with this old scribe, except that he talks too much, and his words are often preachy, which makes people a little intolerable.
However, this place is not only a place of education, but also a home of poetry and morality. It is not unusual for a gentleman who devotes himself to learning to speak like this.
Sleepless Night leads the horse. The bluestone streets of the town are relatively wide and can accommodate three horses walking parallel. Both streets are lined with vendors who negotiate prices on the spot. Pedestrians come and go and get what they need, and it's not too crowded.
There was only one place where the heads were swaying, and many people were crowded and surrounded for several times, making it difficult to get through easily.
Ye Wumian led the horse and held the baby in his arms, waiting to go around here and take an alley to walk through.
But I heard one person in this crowd say in a clear voice: "...I hereby limit the offices of all prefectures and counties to encourage righteous men in the world and offer rewards for the arrest of Yue Buqi, Sleepless Night, Chi Weixue, and Han, the chief villains of the royal palace. The clothes are light, the sword is exquisite, and there are accomplices, such as Lin Yuchui, Chan Yi, Lang Haiyi Dao, Xiao Qianyun, etc. The culprit does not care whether he lives or dies, but the accomplices must survive and be escorted, and there will be a reward..."
