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"After I left, what did you do at home?"
"Eat, sleep, read."
"Didn't miss me?"
"Well, except when eating, sleeping and reading, I can hardly think of you at other times."
Yi Jiayan smiled slowly twice: "Why don't you ask me?"
"Okay then, let me ask you." Nanqiao said kindly, "What about you, do you miss me?"
"In no mood."
""
Accompanied by the silence is the corner of the mouth that is slowly drawn down.
Yi Jiayan turned over, from lying flat to side lying, gazed tenderly at the person in front of him, didn't speak, just stretched out his hand in the early morning mist and twilight sunlight, to help her mess up a strand of hair. The strands of hair brushed to the ears.
"Except for eating, sleeping and working, I don't think about you at other times."
The downward trend of the corners of the mouth stopped immediately, and then slowly, slowly recovered, and then rose little by little.
So, that is to say, he thinks about her all the time.
? On the day they left the foot of the Alps, the two set off on a small train, passing by the scenery along the way, with flowers and green grass outside the window.
Nanqiao suddenly looked away from the window, and asked Yi Jiayan, "Do you know Wang Xiaobo?"
He nodded: "I have read his time trilogy."
"I haven't read that." Nanqiao raised his eyebrows, "I know him because of the letter he wrote to his wife Li Yinhe."
"I heard a little bit."
Nanqiao seemed to be interested, he moved closer, and said in a brisk tone: "I have read some of his essays, he said he hates all the nasty people and things in this world, stupid people and behaviors, and lack of energy. People who live in life hate turning serious literature into romance without depth.¡±
"His ideas belong to soldiers, which is a bit extreme." Yi Jiayan nodded.
"But do you know the letters he wrote to Li Yinhe?" Nanqiao's eyes widened suddenly, "It's not extreme at all, but like a child. Even I couldn't help laughing out loud when I read it."
She began to talk vividly about the summary of the letter that was still fresh in her memory.
Wang Xiaobo's literature is more inclined to criticize realist literature, pointing out the current disadvantages and showing his sharpness. But when he fell in love, he changed from a soldier back to a child, innocent, warm, soft and lovely.
Hello, Li Yinhe.
I like you love me and like me.
There are many good people in the world, but you are the most important one. If you want, I will always love you. If you don¡¯t, I will love you forever.
No matter how mediocre I am, I always feel that my love for you is beautiful. I give you my whole soul, with all its eccentricities, pettiness, flickering, eighteen hundred kinds of ills. It's really nasty and only a little good, love you.
When she was talking vividly, Yi Jiayan didn't interrupt, but just looked at her with a smile, without saying a word.
When she finally stopped, she said with emotion: "For Li Yinhe, he really worked hard to become a very good person."
"me too."
"¡¡ah?"
"I am the same, trying very hard to be a very good person, to be something that makes you proud." Yi Jiayan said, "I have had this idea since a long time ago, you are so taciturn, so unconfident , I have always hoped that I was good enough, good enough that you could straighten your back and proudly tell others that I am your brother; good enough that others would never dare to underestimate you when they knew you were my sister."
""
"In those few years, I didn't dare to relax at all. It was like I had a weakness. I wished I could become a suit of armor to protect your fragile self and isolate you from all the edges and corners of this world."
Nanqiao's heart seemed to be hit by something.
For a long time, she thought that she was the only one who was working hard for him without saying a word, trying to get better, better, better enough to get closer to him, until one day she was qualified to stand by his side and become an existence standing shoulder to shoulder with him.
But she never thought that in Yi Jiayan's heart, she was also his motivation, his weakness and fetter.
She was speechless for a long time, and finally said: "Please don't eat me, I will sing you a nice song."
Still from Wang Xiaobo.
Yi Jiayan laughed out loud, shook his head, and said, "If Mr. Wang hadn't passed away, I was really worried that he would take my South Bridge away if he didn't do anything.""I can't take it away." She also curled the corner of her mouth, "I don't want to listen to him sing, and I don't want to watch him write poems. He has his Li Yinhe, and I have my Yi Jiayan."
"I really read too many of his letters, and now you speak like you are singing."
"Does it sound good?" She squinted and smiled triumphantly.
"It sounds good."
"Then let me sing a few more words." She cleared her throat and said lightly, "Wang Xiaobo has Li Yinhe, the Alps have white pigeons, there are flowers and wind outside the window, and the whole world is happy."
"Ha." He couldn't help the smile on the corners of his brows and eyes.
But she still continued: "The train is driving up the hillside, and there are white geese on the hillside. There are you and me on the train. I love my little train."
Conclusion: "I hope you and I are a song that can't be sung."
Like a child, she shook her head and said something that didn't make sense, but she put away her joking expression at the last sentence, and looked at him seriously.
Read it again softly: "I hope you and I are a song that can't be sung."
It is the flowers that decorate the windows, and the rails kiss the train. He stretched out his hand, took her hand, held it firmly, and didn't speak.
On the day they returned to Beishi, the two of them stood at the door of their house in a dusty manner, and neither of them opened the door in a hurry.
Dusk has come, and the orange-red light envelopes the familiar houses, tender and lingering.
It was Huang Yujie who came to open the door. Seeing her children standing outside the door, she rubbed her hands, took off her apron, and said softly, "You're hungry, come in and eat."
Yi Chongyang was sitting on the sofa reading a newspaper, looked up to see them coming back, did not speak, just put down the newspaper, and pouted towards the dining table.
There is no greeting, no blame and estrangement.
This meal was very ordinary, like a daily family dinner, as if suddenly returning to a few years ago, when Yi Jiayan hadn¡¯t started a business trip, and Nanqiao hadn¡¯t gone to Shanghai to study, the whole family would get together to eat every day Same as dinner.
At the end of the meal, Nanqiao was hesitant to say something, but saw Yi Chongyang put down his chopsticks, and said in a normal tone: "The media, I have asked someone to help, and there will be no more remarks about our family in the future."
""
He looked at his son, then at Nanqiao, took off his glasses tiredly, and rubbed the bridge of his nose: "I'm getting old, and I can't stand any big storms. Live your life well, don't quarrel like ordinary young couples Let¡¯s fight, how about splitting up every two days?¡±
The two of them were taken aback for a moment, and then they both laughed out loud, and the unspoken tension just now disappeared in no time.
Huang Yujie stretched out her hand from under the table and held her husband, with gentle gratitude in her eyes.
Yi Chongyang looked back at her, the corners of his lips curved a little.
After a long, long time, Nanqiao received a letter.
Hello, Nanqiao.
Do you know that there has never been smooth sailing and happiness in this world.
Birth, old age, sickness and death, joys and sorrows, these are all common things.
But without disease, who would cherish the moment of health? Without parting, how can we set off the joy of reunion? Without death, life has no meaning. If you don't get old, the inseparable love will lose some of its brilliance.
So I am suddenly glad that the hardships and setbacks we have experienced since we met are probably for the sake of turning into the most colorful memories of the past when we get old. When that day comes, we may be grateful for all the bumps and bumps that life has given. . Thank you for being so lucky to be together after all those bumps.
Nanqiao, do you still remember the "song" you sang on the train?
Wang Xiaobo has Li Yinhe,
There are white doves in the Alps,
There are flowers and wind outside the window,
The whole world is happy.
The train drove up the hill,
There are white geese on the hillside,
There are you and me on the train,
I love my little train.
As for me, I don't love the Alps, I don't love white pigeons, I don't love Wang Xiaobo or Li Yinhe, and I don't like little trains. I decided to be a selfish person, not fraternal, not generous, I don't love so much, I only love a little.
That little bit is called the South Bridge, and it is a very, very small point in this vast and boundless world, but to me it is the whole world.
Me, I can't learn Wang Xiaobo, and I can't write so many love poems, but even if I am clumsy, even if I am jerky, I still want to write a letter to you.
It is only in black and white that you can't rely on it.
Only in black and white can we grow old and turn yellow with you and me.
My writing is really limited, but my feelings for you have no boundaries. Letters are short, but life is long. I would like to spend my limited life writing many, many letters, walking many, many roads with you, watching white pigeons, climbing hills, going to the Alps, taking a small train
There is only one sentence in a thousand words, I hope you and I are a song that can't be sung.
Yi Jiayan (remember the website URL: www.hlnovel.com)?Aging and yellowing.
My writing is really limited, but my feelings for you have no boundaries. Letters are short, but life is long. I would like to spend my limited life writing many, many letters, walking many, many roads with you, watching white pigeons, climbing hills, going to the Alps, taking a small train
There is only one sentence in a thousand words, I hope you and I are a song that can't be sung.