I got a shot today and will come back next week. I have to come every week to get the vaccinations until all the vaccines in the booklet are checked.
On the way back, perhaps because of the injection, Chu Jiajun fell asleep exhausted, leaning against Ji Yongtao, with Haizi's poetry collection still clutched in his hand. These poems were even more bizarre and difficult to understand than Gu Cheng's poems. He couldn't understand them at all, but after reading them, he seemed to understand something inexplicably.
This kind of "understanding" was more like a sigh of relief from deeper within his heart than knowing the meaning between the lines. He dreamed of the girl, reeds, and bones in "Poem of Death". Those bones looked like his own. Many expressionless girls in white dresses threw them into a copper box, covered them with white reed flowers, and pushed them into the deep water.
Chu Jiajun dreamed of his own death many times, and each time ended with him waking up in shock. But this dream about death was as tranquil as the shallow flow of the Ai Ya River on a sunny day.
He heard Ji Yongtao wake him: "What's wrong? What did you dream about?" ... Why are you crying? "
Ji Yongtao smoothed his long hair, shielding the setting sun from his eyes: "What kind of sadness could make you cry in a dream?
"
Chu Jiajun calmly opened her eyes, wiped away her tears, and said she had forgotten.
Chu Jiajun: "Do you understand Haizi?"
Ji Yongtao: "No.
" Ji Yongtao: "And I don't like him." I don't like Gu Cheng's work either, but the two dislikes are quite different.
Ji Yongtao: "I know Haizi writes well. But he always writes about death, and in the end, he actually dies. Many people who read his poems cry and think death is a beautiful thing, which is quite frightening."
Chu Jiajun looked at the cover: It says he "loves life and sings the praises of life."
Ji Yongtao: "Many people who publish books don't read. That's normal. It's like a police officer investigating a case without committing it themselves."
Chu Jiajun smiled, thinking the two weren't quite the same. But his logic was terrible, and Ji Yongtao couldn't get around him without resorting to stilted arguments.
Ji Yongtao took the collection of Haizi's poems from him and placed it on top of his own. Under the setting sun, a small park stood by the roadside, where many young people gathered in circles, enchanted by the revival of modern poetry.
Ji
Yongtao casually flipped through Haizi's poems: "He writes about death so well. It makes you lose your fear of death. It's really scary.
" Chu Jiajun: "Isn't that a bad thing?
" Ji Yongtao: "Yes. Because he writes so well, most people can't discern or control themselves, and it's easy to drive them crazy.
" Chu Jiajun: "Aren't all poets crazy? I read in the newspaper that Gu Cheng was also crazy.
" Ji Yongtao: "Look at babies and children. When they're still young, they just cry and scream, just like crazy people." How much education and how many days of reading does it take to go from crazy to normal? It's actually very difficult. Poetry, that thing, turns a normal person back into a madman.
Ji Yongtao returned the book to his hand that was far away from Chu Jiajun: "If you don't like this, that's fine too. Read less and let your imagination run wild."