Lei Yang’s Prose (Two Pieces)

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Rain in My Hometown By Chun Bai (Lei Yang) I enjoy strolling in the misty rain of my hometown. If the rain is not heavy enough, falling merely like fine hairs, then an umbrella seems somewhat unnecessary. Letting the gentle rain brush against one’s face, bringing a sense of light pleasure, is indeed a picturesque scene. In the late spring of March, the rain in the Jiangnan region is always shrouded in mist, creating a hazy atmosphere. Though it isn’t a world shrouded in darkness, it still cannot give you the feeling of a crystal-clear mirror. The rain acts like a curtain, isolating us in a small world of our own. As spring rain, you will surely be surprised at why one cannot find the scene depicted by Wei Zhuang: \"The spring waters are as blue as the sky; one lies asleep in a painted boat, listening to the rain.\" In my memory, I only felt the downspout keeping making a tinkling sound, which even caused a row of deep puddles to form in the soil beneath it. I think perhaps no one would feel displeased by the atmosphere created by the gentle rain falling obliquely in the Jiangnan region. “\"With fallen flowers and a solitary figure, and a light rain as swallows fly in pairs\" – this describes such an indescribable and utterly magnificent beauty. When the rain is particularly heavy, one holds up a small umbrella; without the green coir raincoats of ancient times, nor simple oil-paper umbrellas, one can only watch the water gather along the ridge of the umbrella and flow down smoothly. Those holding umbrellas move slowly in the rain, like clusters of mushrooms—red, green, white, blue—sometimes gathering together and sometimes dispersing. Those who didn’t expect it and didn’t bring an umbrella could only cover their heads and rush desperately into the small shops along the streets and alleys; as they walked, raindrops splashed against them from all sides. All actions proceed in rhythm with the rain. If it’s in the countryside, it has a different kind of charm. If farmers who are transplanting seedlings in the fields are suddenly caught in a heavy rain, they hurry home, put on their blue raincoats and hats, and then return to the fields to continue their work. The figure moved backward step by step through the paddy fields; having selected two or three seedlings from the large pile, it planted them in the mud. Raindrops on the surface of the farmland water create ripples that appear one after another before disappearing again. At this moment, the sound of the rain was like a lively work song, guiding them to work swiftly in the fields without feeling any fatigue. By the time the rain stopped, the paddy fields had turned into a vast expanse of green, just like a painting canvas. What an interesting picture of labor this is; even in the rain, people continue to work happily and with laughter. Rain, this marvel of nature, is somehow so light and graceful as it falls, bringing a sense of joy to those who witness it. “\"The kind-hearted enjoy mountains, while the wise enjoy water.\" I disagree with this statement. A person with ordinary feelings should enjoy water as well – not the \"still water\" described in Mr. Wen Yiduo’s poem, where \"not even a ripple is caused by the gentle breeze,\" but rather the lively, graceful raindrops that constantly play tricks on you. Having been in the north for many years, it has been a long time since I last saw the rain of the Jiangnan region; as for the rain from my hometown, needless to say, I haven’t experienced bathing in that dreamy, gentle rainfall either. How many times have I dreamed of returning to my hometown, how many times have I dreamed of rain falling? Upon waking, I always lament the long distance that prevents me from returning, and lament the fact that it’s hard to see rain in the capital. I long to return to my hometown, which I have been away from for so long, in an instant, and once again indulge in the beauty of the rain scenes in the Jiangnan region – scenes that are delightful to smell and see, otherworldly in nature yet ever-changing, whether they are large or small, coarse or delicate. A Spring Note By Chun Bai (Lei Yang) Suddenly, I see the branches and leaves below beginning to sprout – spring is arriving slowly. The weather warms up, and the days grow longer. Fatigue has decreased slightly, but sleepiness is completely gone. It has been over a month since I returned to Beijing, yet I still think of all that happened last year; it’s hard to forget. Mixed with joy and sorrow, full of ups and downs – such are the affairs of life. There are clouds; in life, one lifetime is like a single autumn for plants and trees. One is born into the world, goes through birth, old age, illness, and death, experiences marriage, children, and grandchildren – just like plants that have only one cycle in their existence. Whenever I think of this, I can only sigh that humans are inferior to plants and trees. Plants and grasses are able to cycle through seasons, hiding in winter and emerging in spring, avoiding the cold and seeking warmth, following natural patterns year after year – something that humans cannot do. In life, between heaven and earth, one is like an arrow on a string – in motion when set in motion, and at rest when stopped, not even for a single instant. Fortunately, life offers a few pleasures; even those as simple as those of plants and grass are sufficient. Recently, in my dreams, I often returned to my hometown; as if the doors were opened and wind rushed in, leaving me unable to control myself. Through the ups and downs of the capital, nearly ten years have passed; it has been a long time since I could return to my hometown in the spring. We shall never see again the flowers blooming and withering in our hometown; the loquats on the mountainsides also hang there, empty and desolate. The elders at home; we see them rarely, and the joy of family time is truly a luxury. Every time we meet, a year has passed; my hair has turned as white as needles, causing heart-wrenching pain. Childhood friends, brothers and sisters, are also separated by great distances, with few opportunities to meet. Only the fish and shrimp in the pond should enjoy themselves in peace; without my fishing, they need not fear for their lives. By leaving one’s hometown, I am meant. I wonder, is it solely the vastness of China’s territory? My elder brother has a daughter named Zilan. The first time I saw her, she was still in her infancy; by the time I saw her again, she could walk freely and speak clearly. She is both playful and intelligent, just like my brother. Seeing the hard work of my brother and sister-in-law, I thought of how difficult things must be for my parents. It is also said that once children grow up, their parents decline. Reading it again now, I can’t help but feel sad. Yet one cannot go against the will of heaven; all one can do is cherish time and uphold loyalty, fulfilling one’s duties as a child. Writing of this, I find myself filled with longing, as the scenes come vividly to mind. The father drinks wine and sings, while the mother scolds him with a frown; this is the warmth within the family ； In March, the rain on the eaves is cold; apricot blossoms are white and peach blossoms are red – such is the spring scenery of my hometown. Realizing that time was being wasted and that the beauty of nature was going to be missed, I decided to set out from my hometown in a little over a month, taking advantage of the beautiful weather in April and May, in order to capture a final glimpse of spring’s splendor. So, one strike.