Shui Mu Huizhou, Yan Yu Jiangnan

In a desolate existence for a lifetime, without dreams reaching Huizhou,Silently slumbering for over a thousand years, never imagining it would one day be gently awakened, simply allowing oneself to be forgotten amidst the chaotic noise of the world, transforming into a fairy, and then, countless years passing, with complex affairs and worldly concerns, yet finding a fairy realm,At one time, there was a longing for such a pristine land, with mountains embracing green water, a blue sky and towering horse-wall buttresses, ancient residential houses scattered across and, occasionally adorned with pavilions and mansions, and at times shrouded in mist, one could quietly rest in the courtyard, close their eyes and listen to the rain,It was a decision made with an unknown emotion, as I entered that moment. The March weather was surprisingly clear, and the misty rain I longed for was perhaps slightly distant, rain for me was perhaps a luxury, and in such a day, we began this journey,One can never imagine how lonely the scenery without mountains would be, and before entering Anhui Province, it was the same, only the myriad yellow earth roads extended along thick rapeseed flowers, extending, extending, to the distant horizon, without end,Then, one discovers that the emptiness of mountains is so bewildering and helpless, stumbling and crashing along the way is like a corpse without direction. It wasn't until entering Anhui Province that I saw the winding mountain road receding as it was bumpy, the mountains pressing down were more intimate, and with green water embracing them, I couldn't find words to describe the beauty of nature,So many years of slumber have made you so old, so many years of wind and rain have made you so dilapidated, so many years of wandering have made you so silent, all that has been achieved seems unwilling to speak, known only to oneself. Under the setting sun, the stream murmurs as it flows through an old Qingstone path to the distant, desolate deep mountains,Walking along the Qingstone path on the banks of the stream, the two banks are filled with women washing clothes, they use wooden sticks to strike with force, the 'pa pa' sound harmonizes with the gurgling of the stream, it's like the most natural fairy song, as if time has paused in this moment, does this natural, this simple beauty, lost too much in a place we call a city,So many years of picking up and putting down, chasing and abandoning, getting and losing, days withered in this process, we always complain that this era hasn't given us many choices, only by chasing and being eliminated can we survive and reach our goals, and then, we are like hunters, staring fixedly at our prey, relentlessly pursuing it, without taking care of the scenery around us,When one moment, the prey quietly flees, the hunter can only sigh, and when looking back, one realizes that the road he chased was so unfamiliar, surrounded by cold branches and ghostly dances, the wind howled, shadows flickered, and then endless emptiness and confusion, losing the courage to go on,In a dream, the moonlight flowed on the old Qingstone path, the bumps and stumbles along the way, listening to the stream murmuring, like the fairy song of the world, imagining the evening smoke curling up, the night's clear sky is another world, following the moonlight, facing the bamboo, the village is quieter, and the heart is calmer. It's true, one day accidentally entering a fairy realm, and still hearing the quiet beauty of bamboo,