hang her up

Listen to this song, and I have a story to tell you later.

Or just leave her alone

Forget it, or you don't like her enough, if you like her enough, she won't secretly like this concern

I haven't felt this way in a long time

It's because the ending wasn't romantic enough, you're so reluctant to let her go If you can't leave her forever, you'll be even more afraid

Isn't it better now? She's forever changed into a painting You just have to hang her up now and then

forgive yourself

The story begins that afternoon a long time ago—

In the afternoon, the sun shone diagonally, and someone was sleeping in the dormitory. We drew the curtains, and the room was filled with a dim warm yellow. I was bored, flipped through the to-be-watched list on my computer, and, by accident, clicked on Mr. Zhang's "Breakthrough". The movie was over, and I was still stuck in Buenos Aires, with no way to go back to reality. I fell into Mr. Zhang's whirlpool at the beginning of the year and felt dizzy. How could I know that this afternoon changed my life. That's where all stories start, where all changes take place.

Listening to his songs day and night at home, and watching all of his movies is still not enough. I saw on the Internet that the 2016 New Year's Eve was organized by an organization called "Beijing Rong Fanhui". Mr. Zhang has been away for more than ten years. Are there any commemorative activities about him? If he doesn't show up, how will everyone remember him? How to celebrate New Year's Eve? However, the worry of participating in an unfamiliar activity was completely dissipated by the desire for Mr. Zhang and the loneliness that this desire has nowhere to tell.

Just go alone.

The event lasted four hours and there were no chairs in the Live House. There was no one on the stage. A huge screen flashed the light and shadow of more than ten or twenty years ago, and everyone in the audience sang and danced along with it. While singing and dancing, I relieved the thoughts of Mr. Zhang that had been suppressed for decades, while secretly sighing how admirable the human beings are addicted to the fictitious reality.

Half of the Rong fans present were not young, and they couldn't support it in the second and third hours, so they squatted down to rest. By the fourth bell, I was almost the only one who was still singing and dancing, and a tall girl next to me. I'm tired, but I hope the event doesn't end. I don't know how to face the cold and lonely night of the north again after falling into such a crack in time and space, how to walk into the neon street, how to walk quickly through the crowd full of northern accents, I don't know what to do Back to my pale, non-Hong Kong daily life.

But the event is finally over. I was disappointed and didn't want to leave. When I looked around, the tall girl just now came over and greeted me generously: "Hello! I see that only you and I are tall until the end, can you get to know me?"

There was an unmistakable innocence in her voice. I immediately agreed.

The next second, she started to say, "I was very high tonight because I didn't take medicine on purpose. I have a two-way, if I don't take medicine on time, I can keep going high~"

I was amazed at how she opened up to a stranger in the first second.

"I'll have dinner with some college students in Beijing later, are you interested in going?"

So we walked together in the dark night of Beijing, chatting with each other. We went the wrong way and went into a dead end. We joked about going over the fence in front of us, so that we didn’t have to turn back; we turned around and found that on the other side of the fence was an agency like the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

I can't remember what I talked to her and all those new friends that night. I just remember that in the dark of night, when I walked on the overpass, I didn't want to be separated from them so much.

On the way back, she recommended the HK Phil to me. The first song is "Pear Eddy Smile" by Ou Ruiqiang. She said that Ou Ruiqiang's voice was very good, and I tried my best to remember the name. On the subway on the way back, in the pale light, she talked about Shuyi Guan and the "Breakthrough of Spring" that failed Shuyi Guan, and my thoughts were pulled back to the yellow-green and dreamy tones of spring. She recommended Guan Shuyi's cover set to me, saying it was as perfect as Mr. Zhang's "Salute".

Throughout the winter vacation, I watched Mr. Zhang's movies and listened to Mr. Zhang's songs.

I continued to sink in Mr. Zhang's whirlpool. He is on the other side of time, on the opposite side of space. There is a huge black ocean between us. I was on one end, looking desperately to the other end, but all I got was pitch black.

At that time, she was the first person I met in real life who knew Hong Kong and loved Mr. Zhang. So, anything I want to say can only be poured out to her. Her response was also just right.

For her, HK Phil is almost the background sound of her life. She is well acquainted with the mysteries hidden in music and the interesting stories between lyricists and singers. But at that time, I had just pushed open the door and caught a glimpse of a little light behind the huge treasure called the Hong Kong Philharmonic. All this is new and fascinating to me. So is she.

She told me about Huang Liang, who had to wake up from a dream. She recommended Zihua to me, and the sarcasm is so wonderful. She recommended "Lan Yu" to me, and I fell into the blue dream of Beijing in the last century. Those playlists, those stories, those movies. Everything she recommends is to my liking.

After the holiday, I went back to Beijing.

One day in March, she invited me to have a Hong Kong-style tea. After having morning tea, we went to the former residence of Mei Lanfang (that was the filming location of "Farewell My Concubine"). She said, "I usually do volunteer lectures here. Although there is no schedule for today, if you want to listen, I can give you a lecture." So she took me from the first room to start the lecture, Talk about Mr. May's life. At first, I was the only one who followed her, but as we walked, there were many more people around us. Everyone was listening to her, but her eyes were only on me.

When she walked into the yard, under the gazes of the crowd, she said to me, "Die Yi and Xiaolou were punished for kneeling here." I looked at the tree. Twenty years ago, the person I missed the most was standing there. here. I looked at the concrete floor under my feet, I looked at her, and I held back my tears. I wish I could stand here a little longer, a little longer, as if I could be closer to Mr. Zhang.

In my memory, those moments remain.

That afternoon, we went to the Furen campus of Beijing Normal University, another filming location for Farewell My Concubine. I don't know how many times she took someone into that place, but it was the first time I went there, and probably the only time in my life.

Fu Jen is really beautiful. Because there are many tourists who want to come in and visit, the school's access control is extremely strict. Except for students of Fu Jen Catholic University or for necessary reasons, they are not allowed to enter the campus. In the years since that day, I've come back several times, trying to get in, only to be stopped by security.

But it happened that day. No one stopped us when we two little girls like students entered the school gate. When I passed the security guard, she suddenly asked me, "Hey, is it time for the teacher to sign your graduation thesis?"

After entering the campus, she laughed. She said that she was playing two familiar students with me, and went to school to find a teacher to revise the paper, but I didn't expect that I would tell the truth directly.

Walking through a door, the familiar corridor that Dieyi has walked through, which has been seen countless times in movies, appears in front of you. The promenade is high and low, and there is a tall cherry tree in the middle of the square corridor. Birds chirped in the bushes, and the sun shone diagonally with a little warmth.

We chose a place to sit and chat while folding the stars. In half a month, it will be Mr. Zhang's thirteenth birthday. The star we folded will be taken to Hong Kong by someone and placed in front of his spiritual seat. During that time, I just poked my head out of the greenhouse that my parents built for me, and was shocked to realize that this world is not a fairy tale. I talked about my findings—some points of view that seemed childish in her eyes, and she patiently shared her thoughts. The afternoon went by so fast, I sat there, not even aware of the passage of time.

In a blink of an eye, it was time to part. I never hoped that time could stand still like that afternoon, under that cherry tree when the sun was shining.

During that time, we met frequently.

2016 is the 60th anniversary of Mr. Zhang's birth. Mr. Zhang's movie "Fate" was re-released, and we watched it again and again. The 9-row 12-seat chair will be left empty for him, and I will send a bouquet of white flowers. I went to her school to sit in on her class, and together we took a history class at Peking University. The six kitten plush toys I bought were named by her one by one, and they have been alive ever since. She performed on stage at club activities, and I also went to see it. The Leslie gilded autograph I gave her was taped to her collarbone and she walked onto the stage. She took me to eat her hometown food, took me to the sushi restaurant that Xiao Lanyu had eaten at, and took me to eat the red oil chaoshou hidden in the alley, everything was delicious. On April 1st, we went to KTV to sing Mr. Zhang's songs all night. There were many friends who went with us, but she and I were the only ones who stayed up until the end. That day, there was a small screen playing Mr. Zhang's photos on a loop. Every time it looped to He Baorong, she would point it to me, and I responded with surprise. Twenty or thirty times a night, we would never tire of repeating this game. On the green street corners of Beijing, in the empty subway transfer passages, and by the small river under the sunset, we walked together and sang songs together.

In those days, Beijing unfolded before me in a completely different way. I began to look forward to every meeting and every surprise. Every time I bring her a little gift, sometimes it's a cute little thing I bought, sometimes it's a seal I carved myself. I seem to have endless energy and love, and I want to give them all back to her, for the new world she shows me.

I know she's been in a bad mood.

But speaking, I was far from knowing what emotions were at the time.

I was so well protected as a child. I am happy and at ease, and any troubles will be quickly forgotten. I was too confident and felt that many things I thought were right. For example, to love yourself, life is priceless. In a sense, of course, these notions are "right". But I didn't realize at the time that I was lucky to be able to believe so easily. At that time, I had such luck but was ignorant, and it was a bit disgusting to say.

One night, I slept very late. See her circle of friends before going to bed. All I wanted was to let her know that there were still people in this world who loved her and cared about her, so I couldn't help running to confess to her. I'm too naive, too stupid, too cowardly and too selfish. I didn't have the guts to face the thought that she might end her life, thinking that my words could give her some light.

But I don't know, I can't give her anything. She told me her sadness, the sadness of her loved ones. She spoke to me like that, as if we had been friends for many years. And I, I can't say a word.

I went to see her one day, and she looked very happy, walking on the road in the campus, singing the songs of her childhood. Later she told me that she did not take medicine that day. I always say I love her, but I never really know what happened to her. I don't know why she was sad or how she got out later. She mentioned to me that day in the most ordinary tone of voice that a friend of hers was going to commit suicide in August, and she wanted to share her belongings with everyone, and she was worried about whether to leave an album or something else. I pretended to be calm, and my heart was turbulent. When I got home at night, I still couldn't hold back and ran to ask her. She said that if there is a person who is naturally very sensitive to pain, the pain felt by others will be magnified tenfold in him, and no one can bear the pain for him, then are others qualified to persuade him to live?

That was the first time I thought of this question. At that time, I didn't have an answer, but I still felt in my heart that I should do everything possible to save my life. It will be many years before I have been defeated by the feeling of powerlessness countless times, and I have truly accepted the idea of "I can't control other people's lives".

I remember one afternoon, I went back to her dorm with her, she was taking a nap in her bed, and I was playing with her iPad in my seat. I found this in her history-

In the quiet bedroom of the afternoon, I tried desperately to suppress my sobbing.

I used to secretly like a lot of people, and recklessly confessed to a lot of people, she was the first girl. The previous confession was accepted by the boys, but I repeatedly doubted whether their relationship was real, because I couldn't feel valued in the process of getting along.

She was also the first person to reject me, but I didn't feel hurt by it. She said to me, "Thank you, I understand your thoughts", and at that moment, I felt that my thoughts were not wasted.

Her response was so good, and I, I couldn't give her that kind of response.

Probably because I was too naive to give her anything. When chatting, her responses were always funny and always cute, and I was always pale, childish and stupid in front of her.

I have countless things to say to my friends and family every day. I am a super good joker, and my ability to drive the atmosphere is excellent. But every time I see someone I like too much, I lose the ability to speak. To Mr. Chen a few years ago, to her, and to Mr. Zhang, who has never met.

I lost all words and only dared to look at her secretly. The silence was awkward, long, and painful, but I didn't have the power to break it. Watching her back get farther and farther away from me, I didn't have the strength to catch up. I didn't even have the courage to see her again.

Gradually, I no longer have the courage to continue talking to her.

I wish her well. But I can do nothing but hope.

Over time, I got used to it. Perhaps, my liking for her can only be separated by thousands of mountains and rivers, Ye Gong is fond of dragons, and symbolic. I will love to drink the drinks she recommends, eat the restaurants she recommends, and listen to the songs she recommends. But I couldn't take the initiative to approach her, and I no longer had the energy to talk to her.

When I told my friend, my friend said that maybe everything was fake from the beginning.

But I know not. When I first liked her, I often dreamed of her. Sometimes she just lay beside me. Sometimes she tells me she loves me too. I was terrified at the time, I never knew that I could still like a girl. Now, I accept everything, but the feeling seems to be fading too.

In fact, over the years, I know more about the predicaments she once faced; the embarrassment and anxiety that I didn't know how to respond to may not appear again now.

But the past is the past.

In the past few years, the people around her have changed and changed, but I have a strange feeling of happiness in my heart. Every time we pass by the city where she is, we still eat and chat, maybe this kind of light communication will last longer.

She is the first girl I like. The books and movies she recommended to me sowed seeds in my heart, which grew slowly in the years to come, allowing me to become who I am now. She almost changed my life. When I meet new friends, I often talk about her and the changes she has brought me, but I never talk to her.

In my life, she really seems to be a painting. Maybe I have to do this, hang her up from time to time.