The Strings Go up to the Mountains and Rivers, and the Writing Is Pure and Joyful.

Preface to the book When Yang Yongge stood on the top of the mountain in the park, the wind was carrying the melody of light music over his brows. The seventy-year-old man, who has written hundreds of legends, suddenly froze at this moment - the coolness of his fingertips across the stone fence was like the moment when the keys of a piano were lightly touched. Those mountains, waters, and fireworks should all be melodies without lyrics. They should be woven into a chapter that touches the soul with the texture of prose. He looked at the nine stars in the sky and suddenly heard the voice in his heart: He wanted to go out, lead a group of young souls, travel across thousands of mountains and rivers, and travel back to the past and present. It's not about traveling through novels, but about letting words become bridges, letting the clear sounds of mountains and rivers and the whispers of the ancients turn into the light music of the pen tip, allowing readers to calm down and let the dusty soul regain purity between the lines. So he turned around and waved to the bottom of the mountain - a group of enthusiastic students were climbing up the stairs. Together they will walk through the tea mountains in the morning mist, step on the ancient ferry under the moonlight, touch the tiles of the Qin and Han Dynasties, and smell the tea fragrance of the Tang and Song Dynasties. Every step turns into prose-like text; every encounter becomes a note in the melody. This is not a grand epic, but the mountains and rivers flowing on the strings, and the joy settling in the bottom of the pen. I hope that when you open this book, you can hear the singing of the wind and the tinkling of the water, and find inner peace and clarity between the lines.