After playing in Pan 'ao Reservoir for a while, I went back and began to enjoy it slowly from the west of the village. A narrow row of Hongshiban Road winds from the western end of the village to the eastern end of the village. There is a row of houses on the north side of the road. The foundation of this row of houses is about half a meter higher than the road surface, and it takes several steps to enter the yard. There are several windows on both sides of the door of each independent small courtyard, which are filled with objects from the last century, each of which seems to be arranged in chronological order.
In the window of the first yard, there are abacus, pottery jar, enamel jar and angry lantern (called lantern in our hometown). Further east, there are coarse porcelain bowls, plates, teapots, telephones, clocks, water bottles, cover lamps and so on in the windows of other courtyards. These things are things that I used to use when I was a child.
To the east of these courtyards with windows, there is a temple of Pei Shengjun, with a dark red wall and a typical horsehead wall pattern on the top. The two door statues in front of the temple are very similar to the New Year pictures posted in the countryside during the New Year. This is one of the most unique temples I have ever seen.
Further on, there are two rows of houses with green bricks and tiles. Old doors and windows are embedded in mottled walls, and some doors are open. The 50-year-old homeowner stood in the door and looked at the door indifferently, as if doing nothing. There are two houses with white walls and black tiles by the fork in the road. There are two scarlet letters written on the wall. The shopkeeper stood at the door and looked out. The house was small, so I didn't go in. I don't know what he is selling. When I came back, I found someone coming in to buy something. It turned out to be a small shop.
Random crowded houses turned the stone road in front of us into an alley, and many smaller alleys were derived from the alley, and several families lived in each alley. The afternoon sun shines through the wall and onto every alley. Hutong is half bright and half dark, like a long street that has just been visited. I walked in the alley, as if I had gone back to the old days. Once upon a time, I also shuttled through such a narrow alley every day, playing hide-and-seek with my childhood playmates, digging eggs, or listening to the rain. Childhood is drifting away, just when I want to forget them, these deja vu scenery make them clear. Children in rural areas always have a natural affinity for the countryside.
The painting styles outside the walls of these families are very different. I was so attracted by them that I couldn't help picking up the camera and shooting one by one. Several villagers came and stood in the distance, looking at me quietly and not talking. I'm not talking, I'm just taking pictures. However, I know that they are out of natural precautions against strangers. After reading it for a while, I didn't feel like a bad person and walked away.
A portrait of Pan Ao's mother was painted in the hutong at the east end of the village, which was briefly introduced. Pan's mother is the red liaison I mentioned above, and a friend left a message saying that she was her great-grandmother. The introduction next to the portrait is not very good, which makes people fall into a fog. People who don't know history have no idea what history is talking about. In this alley, an aunt about the same age as Pan Ao's mother stopped there and came down with a dog in her arms. I said to her, "Your village is quite distinctive and beautiful!" She said, "No, my daughter brought me to play. I take care of the dog for her. "
There is a clearing outside this hutong, which is also the exit of the eastern end of the village. There is a wall on the west side of the clearing with a red theme. There is a jujube tree under the wall. The leaves of jujube trees are dense and full of dates. These dates are not big, and many of them are already red. I'm curious, why no one picked it, whether it's not delicious or whether the villagers are too simple. He reminds me of the story in junior high school textbooks. The plums that nobody picked by the roadside must be sour. I didn't pick these dates, and I don't know whether they are bitter or astringent.
I didn't go. I rode my motorcycle back to the west end of the village. There I saw a small pond, half lotus leaf and half an open boat floating in the clear water. There is a viewing corridor in the middle and a viewing platform around it. There are several rows of vases made of cans on the fence. As can be seen from this pool, the village is trying to create a poetic picture of the south of the Yangtze River.
Looking back at the head of the village, the whole village was lying at the foot of the mountain. Dewar's house with white walls is patchwork. Behind the house is a semi-exposed castle peak, and white clouds are floating in the light blue sky, which becomes the background of this village. Such a mountain village is really like a paradise in an increasingly noisy world and has become the most beautiful scenery.
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