"Mom!"
I don’t know why, but when she was in Northeast China, Liu Rumeng spoke Mandarin and called her mother “Mom” very naturally.
But as soon as she set foot in Shanghai, she automatically switched to Shanghainese and called "Momma" affectionately.
"What's wrong? The noodles will be ready in a while. Are you starving? Just wait a little longer!"
Guo Linxian looked back at her daughter with a bit of doting, and put handfuls of chopped bacon into the pot.
After all, this is the first meal I cooked for my daughter after she came home. How can I eat without meat?
"No, Mom. I want to ask you about Sister Xiaoxue from the Gong family next door. You wrote to me before and I think she was an actress in the General Political Department Drama Troupe."
As Liu Rumeng spoke, she turned the envelope over and looked at it under the orange incandescent light. There seemed to be a letter, a photo, and something black inside.
"Yes! Xiaoxue is very promising! Not only is she beautiful, but she is also very talented. After joining the army, she was good at singing and dancing, so she was naturally selected by the drama troupe.
When I saw her during the Chinese New Year, she didn't act like a big shot at all. She just respectfully called me Auntie Guo!"
Guo Linxian said with a smile while cooking noodles.
"It seems that this letter was really written by Sister Xiaoxue? She actually knows Awang? This world is too small, isn't it?
No! She probably didn’t know Awang. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have written “Haizi Shou” but “Linhuowang Shou”.
The only reason for writing "Hai Zi Shou" is that she probably knew him through the poems written by Awang.
Then, for some reason, he happened to know where we were in the Linjiagou Production Brigade, so he wrote to me."
After speculating like this in her mind, Liu Rumeng became even more curious.
"I never thought that Sister Gong Xue is also a fan of Awang's poetry. She must have written this letter to Awang as a reader!
What a pity, I accidentally brought it to Shanghai.
I'll buy a stamp tomorrow and send it back to Awang..."
Although she thought so in her heart, Liu Rumeng suddenly became very curious. What would Sister Gong Xue, who looked so beautiful when she was a child, say in the letter to her husband Lin Huowang?
"How about that? I'll just tear it open and let's see!"
Liu Rumeng suddenly had an idea, "Although, it's not good to read other people's letters to Awang without permission.
But Awang asked me to tear open the readers' letters that editor Li Ying brought to him and read them for him, picking out the important and interesting ones.
Although this letter was written by Sister Xiaoxue to Awang, isn't it essentially a letter from a reader? Awang allowed me to help him read letters from readers. "
After convincing herself in her heart, Liu Rumeng decisively tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside.
As the letter was pulled out, the black mass in the envelope fell out along with the photo.
When Liu Rumeng picked it up, she found that it was actually an exquisite specimen of the Icy Ice Flower, which was quite pretty.
The person in the photo is indeed the beautiful sister Xiaoxue. This photo must have been taken at a scenic spot in Beijing. She is wearing a green military uniform, looking mighty and heroic.
After putting away the ice flower specimen, Liu Rumeng unfolded the letter and read it carefully.
Comrade Haizi:
Show your confidence.
Yesterday I couldn't help myself and took out Poetry Magazine to read your "Facing the Sea, Spring Flowers Bloom" again.
I read it several times backstage at the General Political Department's rehearsal hall.
The ink was a little smudged, and the word "Ming" in the sentence "From tomorrow on, I will communicate with every relative" was missing half, which made it look like the moon soaked in the morning mist, adding a bit of hazy beauty.
The wedding poem you wrote for your lover is really wonderful. I have performed Mr. Cao Yu's "The Beijing People" and have seen too many strong vows, but none of them is as clear and bright as your "May you find happiness in this world".
During the rehearsal break, I heard a few young comrades arguing about whether the "spring flowers blooming" in your poem was a metaphor for the end of a special period.
I looked at the thin snow outside the window that was almost melting, and suddenly remembered what you wrote in "A Generation": "The night gave me black eyes" - it turns out that the deepest love is to crush the light and give it to the other person.
After the Chinese New Year, I read the report about you and your lover in the People's Daily. I imagined her holding your marriage certificate and walking with you on the snowy ground of Changbai Mountain. Your eyes and brows must have been filled with warmth!
I think the sentence “I have a house facing the sea” must be the eaves you built for her with your own hands.
Don't think I'm being abrupt. The day before yesterday, the troupe was rehearsing a new play, "Notes in the Birch Forest", and the director asked me to figure out the "monologue of a secret admirer" scene, and I actually sewed your poem into the lines.
When I read the line "And I only wish to face the sea", I vaguely see you and your lover walking side by side in the snow. Your footprints are like two lines of poetry side by side, and no one else can add a single punctuation mark.
I am enclosing these two handwritten poems along with this letter. When I was copying "Facing the Sea, Spring Flowers Blooming", I felt very ashamed and even fantasized that how great it would be if this poem of yours was written for me!
But when I was copying "A Generation", I felt like I heard you encouraging me to find my own light.
But how could a woman who has seen the scorching sun be able to appreciate the twinkling stars?
Enclosed in the letter was a specimen of an ice flower I made. This flower only blooms when the snow is about to melt, and it is so crystal clear that people dare not touch it, just like some feelings that are destined to be buried deep in the heart.
May you and your loved one be happy and successful every year.
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