Audiobook

　　On a rainy day, cross the old street with an umbrella, and the sound of plucking cotton penetrates the rain curtain like an arrow. According to the reputation, there is a plucked cotton shop not far away. The old man playing cotton is holding a bow on his right shoulder and holding a mallet in his left hand, plucking the tendon strings rhythmically. Listen carefully again, the sound of playing cotton is like the clang of a guqin.
　　The sound coming from the sky has an unpredictable traction, and the human mind wanders with it. The sound of bellows when making a fire and cooking, the tinkle of knocking in a blacksmith shop, the sound of village women pounding clothes by the pool and river, the sound of horseshoes on the ancient post road, the sound of trains heading into the distance…all the sounds seem to be trapped by a huge and mysterious black hole. Suck it away, and at a certain time, there is a faint echo.
　　There is a bamboo garden next to the old house. The garden is full of fresh air, the wind is rustling and the bamboos are rustling, and the wind is gently shaking the bamboos. In spring, the east wind blows slowly, and the bamboo leaves grind together, and the sound is thin and dense. Bamboo shoots can’t wait to break out of the ground. If you hear a snap, the outermost layer of bamboo shoots must have been stretched and fell to the ground. At noon in summer, one or two bamboo leaves swirled, floated to the bamboo roots, touched the ground lightly, and the sound was like flowers falling. The west wind passes through the bamboo garden, and the bamboo leaves are flying, making the sound like torrential rain. It snowed all night, and the snowflakes sneaked into the bamboo garden with the wind. After the sky cleared, the snow under the bamboo was difficult to melt. When I was still a child, I used to live in a thatched cottage. The strong wind blew the thatch on the roof, making a series of sharp and sharp noises. I thought the roof was about to be torn down, and I felt uneasy at night. More than ten years ago, I went to Du Fu’s Thatched Cottage alone and recited “Songs That Thatched Cottages Are Broken by the Autumn Wind” silently. That year, seeing the thatch being rolled up layer by layer by the autumn wind, the poet on crutches was at a loss, but worried about the poor people in the world. When the wind blows the pine trees, its momentum is no less than that of windswept grass. Songshugang, where many relatives and neighbors are buried, encountered a strong wind, and the pine waves roared here like the sound of a river, and I felt awe-inspiring when I heard it. The ancients described the wind shaking the crown of the pine, thinking that the sound of the pine waves is quiet in the ears. This kind of understanding is similar to the meaning of the sentence “the noisy cicada forest is quieter, and the bird singing mountain is more secluded”.
　　Fengsheng is a high-frequency word that appears in literary works. If there is no wind, how dull the literary world will be. Wind and rain are always entangled, and the sound of wind and rain permeates each other. The spring breeze is warm and the spring rain is pattering, the summer wind is strong and the summer rain is warm, the autumn wind is howling and the autumn rain is continuous, and the winter wind is biting and the winter rain is like a knife. The wind and rain are originally pure and natural, but after being mixed with human emotions, they are smeared with sorrow and joy in the world. Surrounded by wind and rain, life should have the broad-mindedness and freedom of “a cloud of mist and rain for the rest of your life”.
　　A few years ago, I traveled deep into the mountains with my friends. Take a walk after dinner, the mountain village is surrounded by mountains, shadowy. A bright moon rose, and the bright light reflected the surroundings like daytime, and even the perched birds were startled to fly. Wang Wei wrote: “The moon rises to frighten the mountains and birds, and it sings in the spring stream.” Su Shi likes to use the phrase “the moon is frightened by the magpie, but the branches are not settled”. Cao Cao in the earlier era sang to the wine and chanted: “The moon and stars are thin, and the black magpie flies south. If you circle the tree three times, what branch can you rely on?” “The Romance of the Three Kingdoms” wrote that someone said this sentence was unlucky, so Cao Cao was very angry. kill in anger. This is a novelist’s style of writing, which is contrary to the original intention of Cao Cao’s poems. Magpies, starlings and crows are common birds in the countryside. The magpies in the green bushes always like to wag their tails up and down, and the sound of “cha-cha” seems to be greeting someone, and it seems to keep reminding someone. Starlings with pure black feathers are pecking at the large grass, like black spots moving one by one. When I visited Nagoya, Japan, I was a little uncomfortable when I heard the sound of “ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. In Japan, the crow is regarded as an auspicious bird, and its appearance and singing are not so-called bad luck. When I was 20 years old, I was accompanying a sick relative in the hospital. Late at night, a lone wolf wailed on the roof, and there were intermittent women crying, and I woke up immediately. The situation and mood at that time were close to what was written in “The Black Night”: “If you hear the cry of life and death, the sound hurts your heart.” “The sound is ancient and distant. Looking at the appearance alone, it is hard to imagine that they will make such a gloomy and powerful cry. In the morning light, the crowing of partridges flew over the roads and buildings, mixed with the background music played by the elderly in the community, which is both ancient and modern, both absurd and fantastic. At noon, the partridges screamed eagerly, and under the sunlight, their cries seemed affectionate and sensitive. As the sun sets in the west, accompanied by the crowing of partridges in the evening wind, there is a trace of coolness in the infinite gentleness.
　　Living in the western suburbs of the city, there is a small island facing the water on three sides, as quiet as a paradise. The flocks of birds gathered here are like the poems that appear repeatedly on the island. I got up early and went to the island several times, just to watch the birds and listen to the sound. Walking in the bushes, a few pheasants suddenly jumped out and disappeared like ghosts. The mist is misty, the dark color is rapidly receding, and the singing of birds gathered in the bushes and reeds is one after another. Bird sounds are dense and dense, some are mellow, some are rough, some are urgent, and some are soothing. In the depths of the forest, there is a kind of bird song, like a human snoring, and another bird’s sound is like a human whistle. One summer, I lived temporarily in a wooden house in the mountains. Every morning at dawn, I was woken up on time by the crisp sound of birds. A bird came as promised. It swayed on the branch, and the branch bounced to the wall of the residence, making regular noises. Also in the deep mountains, I saw dozens of birds flying from all directions to a big tree, like people gathering for a meeting. Probably the opinions did not reach an agreement, the birds actually quarreled, flew up and down, and screamed indiscriminately. After a while, the scene became quiet, and then the birds fluttered away, leaving the branches trembling. I don’t understand bird language, so I can only speculate on the quarrel between the birds. Several ancient books record that in the Spring and Autumn Period Dongyi Jieguo Jie Gelu spoke the language of cattle, and when he heard the bleating of a cow, he knew that the three calves of the cow had been killed. “Yiwenleiju” compiled in the Tang Dynasty claimed that Qin Zhong, the king of the state of Qin, knew the sounds of birds and could talk to birds. It is widely known that Gongye Chang was good at interpreting birdsong. Bai Juyi envied Gongye Chang for his special ability.
　　In the era when the lights are like beans, the sound of weaving is mixed with the crowing of cocks, and there is even the clear sound of reading. According to the “Book of Rites”, when the rooster first crows, the children should serve their parents. Lu You has written many poems on “Shower”, such as the sentence “Eat and taste the sweetness, take off the millet, and get up without waiting for the crowing chicken”, which shows his earnestness. Some people like to draw chickens, and they like to inscribe the “five virtues” of chickens on the paintings. “Rooster has five virtues” was summed up by Han Ying in the Han Dynasty. Among them, the so-called “faith” virtue corresponds to the diligence of chickens. Tang Yin praised the rooster that is white all over the world: “You don’t need to cut off the red crown on your head, and you will walk in the future all white. You dare not speak lightly in your life, and once you open up thousands of families.” I didn’t like fighting roosters since I was a child. is a docile hen. I still remember the chilly spring, the old hens began to hug their nests, lying in the rice baskets covered with dry straw day and night. After more than 20 days, the hatching eggs it hatched with hard work finally ushered in the first moment. The lights were dim, and there was a slight pecking sound in the rice basket, and the surroundings seemed to be still. The adults and children who were waiting by the side did not even dare to vent their breath. There is always a sense of mystery surrounding rural creations, such as seedling raising, wine making, and pickled vegetables. One chick was the first to break its shell, and then one chick after another rushed out of its shell. The old hen tried her best to spread her wings to protect the unsteady chicks. The boy was curious and wanted to reach out to catch the chick, but was afraid of being pecked by the old hen. Feed chicks this season, mainly rice, supplemented by chopped vegetable leaves. The chicks are getting better and better, and the sound of immature chickens can be heard all over the room. After a few months, their wings gradually plump up, and they grow into bamboo shoot chickens from fluffy groups. The initial cry of the chick is monosyllable, weak and rapid, and when the breath is full, the sound of “ji, ji” evolves into a two-syllable “jiji-jiji–“. Afterwards, the roosters woke up, and one took the lead in “clack-clack-cluck–“, and the other roosters followed suit and crowed over and over again. A rooster likes to stand on a high place, such as a hillside or a mulberry tree, shake its gorgeous feathers, and brighten its good voice; when a hen lays eggs, the sound of “clack-clack-clack” seems to show off and invite credit. As twilight fell, the flock of chickens dawdled, and it took a long time before they entered the chicken village. If the leading rooster is killed, the other roosters seem to feel the sadness of dying, and they will not be very energetic after eating for several days.

　　The crowing of cocks and the barking of dogs are classic images of pastoral life. In the past, the crowing of cocks and the barking of dogs showed that it was densely populated. On the contrary, if chickens and dogs are not left behind, and thousands of miles of people are uninhabited, it may be a tragic scene on earth. Living in the country, after nightfall, the sporadic barking of dogs makes the country seem empty; the barking continues, which is particularly worrying. Like dogs barking, cats meowing on winter nights are startling. Some dogs raised in the city lack confidence, bark messily, and are often swallowed by louder waves.
　　In the lotus pond in front of the door, the rain fell on the lotus leaves, making a “bang bang” sound; the rainwater falling down the eaves was like a water column at first, then became a thin line, and finally it was dripping, three drops, two drops, one drop , It didn’t stop until midnight. At dawn and dusk on a sunny day, circles of water splashes and large and small bubbles appeared on the surface of the pond, and the sound of “click, click, click” was heard at the same time. That is the fish and shrimp playing and exhaling. Even though there is no wind, the surface of the water is full of vitality, and the underwater world seems peaceful and peaceful. If in the dry season, the water in the pool dries up to the bottom, the original scene will disappear like a bubble. Every night when it rains, the ponds and ditches are filled with water, overflowing, and flowing into the river in a winding way. Crucian carp likes new water, and when they heard the sound of running water, they searched for it together, and went up against the water, making the sound of “splash, splash, splash”. The embankments of rivers and ponds were all made many holes by rice field eels. One summer night while enjoying the cool, I heard a sound similar to an old man yawning from the side of the pond. It was low, muddy, and incoherent, and it was like this for several days. Curious villagers looked for it, but did not see anything, but this strange phenomenon was spread. Soon, an eel catcher came to the village, and he spent a while at the edge of the pond, but failed to catch anything. More than half a month later, the eel hunters came again with fish baskets on their backs, laid bamboo hooks with bait in a row of tree holes, and snapped their fingers in the water. Several dogs barked wildly at the eel hunters, and then roared in vain at the pond, but when they saw that it was of no avail, they died down. The eel catchers take out the bamboo hooks every once in a while, and sometimes replace them with new baits. At dusk, the eel catcher suddenly rushed to a tree hole, and the bamboo hook was shaking violently. He tugged, but didn’t move. He took off his shoes and socks, went down into the pond, and groped in the tree hole with his buttocks pouted. After a while, he stood up slowly, pinching a giant eel with both hands, and the eel’s body was wrapped around his thick arm. After landing, he asked the onlookers to help hold the fish basket, and then slowly put the eel in. The neighbors watching the excitement brought a steelyard from home and weighed it. After deducting the weight of the fish basket, the eel weighed two kilograms. The “eel king” was caught in this way, and it made a sound similar to that of an old man yawning, and became a village legend.
　　In spring, rapeseed flowers are as bright as golden leaf hairpins, and red flowers and grass stretch like clouds. Walking barefoot in the field with red flowers and plants, the bees buzzing in the ear, the soles of the feet are itchy, the whole body is wrapped in a warm breath, like an illusion. “Spring” written by the British poet Thomas Nash has flowers, trees and birds singing. Guo Moruo’s translation is especially wonderful. Words present the vitality and vitality of spring.
　　From spring to summer, the sound of frogs is like war drums. The water heating frog knows that at the beginning, I heard a few sparse sounds, and within a few days, there were frog sounds far and near, continuous and dense. After a rain, the green grass that is heading and blooming is dotted with crystal raindrops. Walking in the paddy field at night, the frog lying on the edge of the field suddenly jumped out, quickly flinched, jumped up, and escaped into the paddy field. The breeze blows, the water drops are crushed, and the rice flowers emit a faint fragrance. In the dog days, the chirping of cicadas hits one after another like a heat wave. The dog cicadas appearing in midsummer, the hotter it is, the more vigorously they sing. Like a poet’s sudden inspiration, summer rainstorms often come impromptu, crackling and hitting the ground, splashing water circles wrapped in dust, like small flowers blooming and decaying quickly. The air is sultry, and countless dragonflies fly low, and the small sound of flapping their wings converges into a louder sound, like the prelude to the approaching storm. The children were excitedly chasing the flying insects with their net bags, and ignored the shouts of the adults urging them to go home. At night, the sound of insects was faint, and the mosquito net on the bamboo bed was wet with dew. The boy’s dream was long and sound. The bug in the morning looks honest, and it won’t fly up easily when approached. At noon, the boy passed by the willow tree, and Xingtianniu lay silently on the tree trunk, and a long-threaded worm suddenly hung down from the willow leaf, dangling back and forth in front of the person. Before his death, the ninety-two-year-old Fabre looked at the little bugs flying in the sun with an imperceptible smile on his lips. He has danced with insects for thirty years, and was buried in his beloved barren stone garden after his death, and has been with insects for many years. He will never be lonely in his life. He has seen countless grotesque insects and heard countless wonderful insect calls.
　　Good things are hard to hold, glass is fragile, but music has the power to transcend all barriers, even worth a thousand words, against thousands of troops, and passed down from generation to generation. Confucius heard the sound of “Shao” and thought that he could not eat meat for three months. There are folk songs in the “Book of Songs”, but it is a pity that most of the ancient sounds and tunes have been lost, and people today are no longer familiar with them, so it is difficult to restore the old style of singing. Wang Wei bid farewell to the willows, and many emotions were transformed into a song “Three Folds of Yangguan”, with four volumes of evening clouds, and friends at the mottled ferry crossing, a heart can learn from each other. Li Bai is about to leave by boat, and Wang Lun sings off. Mr. Zuiyin sees off the guests on the Xunyang River for the first night, when he suddenly hears the sound of the pipa on the boat, he feels sympathy for each other, and immediately invites the singing girl to play the piano again. The big strings are noisy, the small strings are tense, just a few songs, and the green shirt is wet with tears. Farewell to friends in snowy days, Li Shutong felt lost, unable to restrain his feelings, and wrote with tears: “Outside the long pavilion, beside the ancient road, there are green grass and green sky.” For more than a hundred years, “Farewell” has been sung endlessly. You can pour wine with a new poem, and drink tea with an old song. Young people listen to songs with clouds and mist, young people listen to songs anxiously, middle-aged people listen to songs in the middle of the river, and old age listen to songs with wind and rain. The listener used to be a teenager, but in a blink of an eye, he became a person in the song, sighing that time is rolling, and no one can reverse it. Hearing old songs, pity others and pity yourself pity all things.
　　Some people specialize in collecting human voices, and even collect them one by one. In the past, when the walls were built for new houses in the hometown, and the river pond was built, the people who went to work spontaneously chanted: “Hey yo-hey yo–“, the hard-working crowd with sonorous voices, and the steaming construction site have all become memories. An old shadow that cannot be erased. Nowadays, whenever there is construction work, mixers and excavators are rumbling in and out. Watching the performance of “Grass Stage Troupe” in northern Anhui, I gathered with the villagers on a venue where the wind blows from all directions, listening to the voice of the soul, as if people in the play sing and dance and come and go. I also heard Yuexi’s high-pitched voice live, and the voices of men and women soared to a high level, like a fairy family chasing clouds on the top of a mountain. When I arrived in Suzhou, I listened to Pingtan in a leisurely manner. The words and sounds were all in the style of Jiangnan. In the Huangmei Opera, the duet of the two can still be seen in the folk tonality, cutting grass and feeding pigs, walking the street to watch lanterns, flirting and swearing, and having a good time.
　　Lu Xun has “ears to listen to the night”, he not only listens to the voice of the earth and the times, but also listens to his own inner voice. In “The Passenger”, the voice often “urges me, calls me, and makes me restless”, which is actually the inner voice of a person, which often emerges and affects people’s cognition and decision-making. People’s inner world is rich, while the external world is complicated. In the interweaving and heated debates of multiple voices inside and outside, individual self-consciousness, introspection and self-confidence are particularly important. As Lu Xun said, “But you can always say something true, Send out some real voices. Only real voices can move people in China and the world; only with real voices can we live in the world with people from all over the world.” Hearing the voice is listening to the world, and there is you in the world There is me, there is fiction and there is reality, there is reach and there is no reach. The sound has a source, and the sound returns to nothing. It is necessary to listen to the thunder in the silent place. No matter how amazing the sound of thunder falls to the world, there will be fireworks all over the place, and when the color of the years changes, like the moss in front of the steps and the twisted rain lines on the wall, it will have a profound meaning of nourishing people’s hearts.
　　[Author profile] Zhang Yang, a member of the Chinese Writers Association, a student of the 40th Senior Seminar for Young and Middle-aged Writers of the Lu Xun Academy of Literature. Works are scattered in “People’s Literature”, “The End of the World”, “Prose”, “Prose Overseas Edition”, “Tianjin Literature”, “Hunan Literature”, “Anhui Literature”, “Poetry Monthly”, “Red Bean”, “Dianchi”, “Yanhe”, “Times Literature”, “Urban “wait. He has written a collection of essays “Baoqin” and many other works, and has written many drama works and won awards.