I didn’t understand the language very well, but I only remember that the tune was nice, warm, and festive. The voice of the fellow villager was also exceptionally clear. I closed my eyes and listened, maybe because of the charming scenery, or perhaps because of this enthusiastic fellow villager.
Affected, the mood is particularly comfortable.
Looking at the blue and waveless sky, it seems as if even I have been purified.
Towards evening, we arrived at the Xilamuren Grassland that the fellow villagers said.
When I got off the bus, I wanted to give the fellow villager some money, but he refused to give me any money.
I asked him strangely, "Why are you so nice to strangers like us?"
The fellow laughed. With the usual magnanimity of the Mongolians, "In life, people are constantly leaving or entering. What you see is invisible; what you remember is forgotten. In life, there are constant gains and losses. What is invisible
, seen; forgotten, remembered. However, does the invisible mean that it does not exist? Will the remembered never disappear? Be good to yourself, because life is not long; be good to the people around you
Click, because we may not meet you in the next life."
After saying that, he waved to us, drove his motorbike, sang folk songs, swung his whip, and left in a hurry.
I kept looking at his retreating back. Even after he disappeared, I couldn't take my eyes back for a long time. It seemed that I could still hear his crisp and heroic folk songs in my ears.
Many years later, when I was struggling on the edge of death, I would be moved to tears when I thought of what this fellow countryman said again. We are always blinded by some material and power, and ignore the sight of those who don’t care.
So much so that if you blindly pursue it throughout your life, you will never end well.
Just like children who like to build houses out of sand when playing on the beach. Once the sand house is washed away by the waves, they will burst into tears, which is very funny to adults. In fact, our persistence in fame, wealth and status is not the same.
Isn't that true? For something that is inherently impermanent and false, you fight desperately for it, and you will be miserable if you don't get it. In the eyes of a wise man, this is like looking at a child who is obsessed with a sand house, and he will just laugh it off.
And people like this fellow are wise men. What they pursue is happiness, not the heavy burden of life.
I looked at the flowing clouds spreading like blood on the horizon, and I thought there must be a painful wound on the other side of the clouds, which bled so much that it stained the entire sky red.
Mu Shiqin patted me on the shoulder and hugged me tightly.
He said, "Ruoxi, you are shaking."
I looked at the sky that was on fire and smiled sadly, "Yes. It's so beautiful here that I feel like I'm in heaven."
I paused and said, "Shiqin, tell me, am I already dead? Otherwise, how could I have reached such a beautiful place."
Mu Shiqin didn't say anything, he just hugged me tighter.
At this moment, I had the urge to cry. It was really...so beautiful!
Lhasa is extremely quiet at night.
There is no hustle and bustle of feasting and feasting, no lavish entertainment in the city. There is only a moment of peace between heaven and earth.
There are no high-end hotels here, just yurts that look like unsteamed buns.
We walked into one of them and begged him to let us stay for one night. Unexpectedly, the owner readily agreed.
They were also very hospitable and treated us to hand-caught mutton and goat's milk wine.
There is a very old man living in this yurt. His face is full of the vicissitudes of time. There is a slightly younger woman beside her. She is obviously her daughter-in-law. But there is no male. The whole yurt is just like the two of them.