Library

One evening in the autumn of the Gengshen year of the Republic of China, when the moon was rising over Dongshan Mountain, Master Xuanzhi sat quietly in a mountain room with an east-facing window in Zhuqing Temple, reading a poem brought by Mr. Fei Eryin from Meixi Academy. This is a mourning poem, written to his deceased wife Ye Xiaozhu. It still has seven lines and a very sad tone. The handwriting becomes more and more sloppy towards the end, and the ink is dry. You can imagine the grief in your heart. The postscript at the end of the poem says that his wife passed away at around 0:00 this morning. Mr. Fei also said that his wife was clean and auspicious when she died, which was a blessing from her previous life. Xuanji folded the letter and threw it into the word-cherishing furnace. He turned off the light and sat in the darkness, staring blankly at the east window. Outside the window is a patch of white moonlight, and occasionally the shadows of leaves drift over, adding a bit of cool autumn flavor. Perhaps he felt a little cold, so he put on a coat and began to recite a scripture.

This book collects eight short stories and short stories written by the writer Dong Jun in different periods. In addition to the unity of writing style, they also have a common feature: each novel has been revised more or less by Dong Jun. Although these novels have been included in Dongjun's collections in recent years, what is presented here is a more accurate and realistic narrative style, giving people a sense of "seeing the words as they see the face".

Living in this world, everyone cannot avoid the word "loneliness". Loneliness is like a ghost. Some people respect it, some people avoid it, some people despise it, and some people hate it. We can get to know each other quickly, but miss each other for a long time. "Mr. A Certain Year, A Certain Month" is the essence of Dongjun's novels written in recent years. It tells the plight of the human soul and makes humans increasingly sophisticated in their self-understanding. There is a breath of energy running through his works from beginning to end, opening up the two channels of Ren and Du, and every word is filled with Zen inspiration.

This book is one of the fourth series of the New Century Writers Collection, a collection of short stories and short stories by Dongjun, including Dongjun's "Liyu", "Mr. Dong's Biography", "Listening to Hong Su's Hands Playing the Piano", "Longevity" and other works. Dongjun's novels can be described as "narrating strange stories". Influenced by the novels about world affairs in the Ming and Qing Dynasties, Dongjun writes about "different people" and "strange things" in a unique and clear style. The inner logic of his single novel: unraveling knots - describing differences - coming out of the dust. They promote the development of the plot of the novel and embody the writer's emotions and thoughts. It makes people think deeply and brighten their hearts while fighting for thousands of times and suddenly looking back.

In the winter of the 22nd year of Jianning, the eunuchs were in power and the world was in chaos. The king of Liang was wiped out by traitors. Shen Yuebai threw the bloody head of King Liang in front of me: "Qingwu, if you still want to live, then obediently commit yourself to me." But I clearly remember what this evil and powerful villain in front of me said to me when I was young. In the future, he will eradicate all injustices in the world and restore peace to this world.

Misty rain, new tea, long old alleys, and former rivers are like a trance back to the past in the old city of southern Zhejiang; the "three official masters", the lyricist, the three elders of Tao An... People who have not taken the initiative to keep up with the times disappear into the daily fireworks. Times are changing at an accelerated pace, and some people live at an even pace. In old houses, old alleys, and used bookstores, unlock the hidden plots of small town stories; ten stories hidden in daily fireworks, the past and present of an old southern city. Houses in this area of ​​the old city have been demolished and relocated, but an old house dedicated to the third official still remains alone; at the end of the old alley on North Street is Qiu Lu's house. In every boy's memory, Qiu Lu is always associated with a certain summer and a long alley; the second-hand bookstore "Tao An" is like a gray cat, crouching in a corner of the old city. Now, Mr. Lin, the youngest of the "Three Elders of Tao An" has also passed away. The old man who runs a fish stall, the gentleman who sings drums and lyrics, the civil servants at the old city reconstruction headquarters, the middle school physics teacher who doesn't believe in fate... The sounds of chatter from far and near are hidden in the streets and alleys, gathering without reason and drifting away without cause.

At that time, Hong Qi was holding a chicken wing in his hand, watching a bird fly by, far away. Hong Qi and I sat opposite each other, with the shadow of a big mountain covering us - time seemed to have a deep, long and wide shape here. The mountain is Huashan. The shape of the dead tree seemed to have been shaped at will by the wind, full of untamable wildness. The wind also has a wild spirit - running around like a wild dog in the valley - although it cannot be seen with the eyes, it can be felt.