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When You Are Silent, Read Your Love Letter Aloud
General Fiction沉默时,请大声朗读情书
Liang Yanzeng
This is a story for young people. Ten Northeastern boys, ten stories, ten kinds of memories. This is Shuangyashan City in Heilongjiang Province. It produces coal. It is an out-and-out "coal city". It is also a northeastern city with mining areas, trains, cold winters, wine and blood. There are young people here who never lose when playing cards; young people who have a date at school; young people who go to the game hall and billiard room; young people who take the train to the Songhua River without saying a word and lie on the ice; and young people who want to be knights. Many, many years later, the teenagers were trapped in different places by reality. A taxi driver who travels from Shuangyashan to Beijing, but can only drive around the community; an old man who wants to rush back to his hometown before the end of his life to listen to a song sung by his lost youth to prove that he has never forgotten it. Some realities, some little people, some inseparable fragments in memory, and some phantoms of our past selves are slowly ground and kneaded by life, shaped into distant and unfamiliar shapes, standing in front of us.
This is a story for young people. Ten Northeastern boys, ten stories, ten kinds of memories. This is Shuangyashan City in Heilongjiang Province. It produces coal. It is an out-and-out "coal city". It is also a northeastern city with mining areas, trains, cold winters, wine and blood. There are young people here who never lose when playing cards; young people who have a date at school; young people who go to the game hall and billiard room; young people who take the train to the Songhua River without saying a word and lie on the ice; and young people who want to be knights. Many, many years later, the teenagers were trapped in different places by reality. A taxi driver who travels from Shuangyashan to Beijing, but can only drive around the community; an old man who wants to rush back to his hometown before the end of his life to listen to a song sung by his lost youth to prove that he has never forgotten it. Some realities, some little people, some inseparable fragments in memory, and some phantoms of our past selves are slowly ground and kneaded by life, shaped into distant and unfamiliar shapes, standing in front of us.