Text: Wang Yu. People are always carrying the fragments of memory in nostalgia.
We are all the remnants of time, and when one day the surging emotions occupy the cusp of the mood again, we can't help but kick the accelerator and rush to the intersection when we come, wanting to have a faceless reunion with the past of youth.
We are all over 40 years old, and we are standing in our forties, and now it seems that it is just a beautiful hope, rolling in the fire pit and quagmire of society, so that everyone understands that the so-called "standing" is just "living". Virtue, meritorious service, and words are as far away, but the reality of "living" forces everyone to move up and down and make seventy-two changes.
A lot of things have changed, and some things have not changed.
In the repeated life of the years, we are beaten and boiled by time and things, some people have big bellies, some people have lost their heads, some people have prostatic hyperplasia, and some people simply do not lift it.
Time cuts my flesh like a bladeless knife, and the struggle is in vain, so I simply cater to it, turn over and press time under me, and fulfill myself with tears.
We follow the map, and the memory starts from the place of birth, and we move forward step by step, leisurely examining each frame of strange and familiar pictures, piecing together the stories that have been chewed up, and as soon as the picture turns, we come to the days of being soldiers.
Those things that have changed have become the reflection of life, but those things that have not changed are still towering, staring, inspiring, and spurring us.
Those turbulent, joyful, vigorous, booming, mighty, swaying, confused, panicked youth have given us too much joy and emotion, happiness and regret, joy and sorrow, excitement and hesitation, excitement and decadence. These emotions and energies are ultimately transformed into the nourishment of life, surrounding us and allowing each of us to meander forward on a unique trajectory of life.
With the imagination of the past, comrades-in-arms came from all directions and stood at the door of the 111th regiment.
Standing at the door of the 111th regiment, it was suddenly like seeing myself 20 years ago.
On that night 20 years ago, with drizzling rain and yellow lights, we sat in the 141 carriage, staggering silently from street to street, from Caiyuanba Railway Station all the way to Shapingba, turning a corner, crossing a tree-lined path, and stopping at the dam at the entrance of the regimental department.
We were picked up by a second-class non-commissioned officer from Yunnan and the squad leader of the first squad of the recruit company, who came from the Eighth Steel Company. He is not tall, his voice is not loud, and he has no smile on his face, but he is not angry and arrogant.
Get out of the car quickly, pick up your luggage, don't speak, and follow him from the cultural activity center to the center of the camp. The lights were not on, the shadows of the trees were swaying, and there was silence, and we walked past the regimental guest house, walked through the auditorium, and turned to see a dark playground.
Maybe it's because of the rain, maybe it's foggy, the barracks in the dark are looming, and on the opposite side of the playground is a barracks, and the vision is pulled back, and it's even darker, like a mountain and a sea, and it's Geyue Mountain that doesn't move.
There was no wind that night, and Mount Geyue was sleeping, with only a group of recruits saluting it.
Our steps were light, our hearts were pounding, and we turned into the third battalion barracks, the seventh company, the eighth company, the ninth company, the third artillery company, and the third machine company. We stopped at the Third Machine Company, which was the barracks where our recruits were going to stay that night.
The company's lights were on, and the cooking squad prepared a pot of clear water, salt, monosodium glutamate, vinegar and soy sauce, put it on the balcony, and seasoned it by itself. But everyone has to eat a little, and eating a little is actually eating a bowl. The cooking squad leader was barefoot in slippers, with a cigarette in his mouth, and seemed to be smiling.
I didn't sleep that night, looking at the light outside the window, listening to the rain on the leaves, and my mind was in chaos.
20 years like a dream.
When our group of scattered remnants stood at the door of the 111th Regiment again, there was a wave of heat surging in our hearts, mixed with a burst of desolation. Everyone took the pilgrimage mentality to restore the fierce, withered and yellow battlefield.
After a few **s, we finally got permission from the sentry, and we stumbled cautiously but rushed in, our steps light and heavy.
It's back, it's back.
A comrade-in-arms stood in the dam in a daze, just staring in a daze, like a demented old man, his figure was broken and decadent. Maybe it's because I held on to my breath before, but when I really faced the old army and walked into the old army, this breath dispersed, and people softened.
He lit a cigarette and looked left and right, like a wanderer who wandered the world and was in a panic, and finally stood at the intersection of his hometown.
The cultural activity center that I am most familiar with has been replaced by the regimental office building, and the books in the activity center used to be on my shelves one by one, and I used to read greedily under the lights for countless nights. The karaoke hall on the second floor, many people don't know, and we have talked here countless times, blowing the into a tsunami on a hot summer.
It was the summer of youth, the summer of hormones and ketones.
A lot of things have changed, but a lot of things have been preserved in the process of dealing with time.
Next to the cultural activity center is the guest house, and the portrait of Lei Feng on the wall of the door of the guest house is proudly watching the cycle of spring and autumn, cold and summer.
Those vigorous and powerful characters remind us that the history and glory of the 111th Regiment, the traditions and achievements of this unit, and the land of Mafangwan and Yanggong Bridge of the Martyrs' Tomb have all been engraved by time.
Including the twinkling generals, including the nameless creeps, including us and you at that time and at this time.
Speechless all the way. As soon as the wind blew, a few pieces of yellow leaves of the yellow horn tree floated in, as if seeing the old, and gently fell in front of us.
We seemed to hear the sound of singing in the auditorium, as if we were once again wearing summer clothes and berets in the 40-degree heat, watching "Erna Assault" together.
Stepping on his own shadow, it is like seeing his own childish face back then, and that childish face is full of confidence in the future.
The playground is no longer a big hole, and there is no way to verify when it was filled. Some say it's 2006, some say it's 2010, and the debate about time is actually just a fight between memories, and winning or losing is meaningless.
What I still remember vividly is the concrete road next to the playground, where we sprinted 100 meters, pouted through painful duck steps, did push-ups on our stomachs, and were caught here by pickets. The road stretched forward, leading to the 1st Battalion on one side, the 2nd Battalion on the other, and the 3rd Battalion on the other.
By the way, the road leading to the second camp was originally a hillside, which we dug out with a basin and a touch, and the billboard is the best witness.
The playground is overgrown with grass, but the green cages are desolate. There are no slogans here, no neat steps, no scolding from the squad leader, and no prostrate comrades who sneak away to buy things at the service cooperative.
There is only the silence of time, and the wind that turns back from Geyue Mountain.
People are always warming up with stories of the past as they stumble forward.
We are all swordsmen of time and cavalry of life, and only when we return to the place of cultivation can we feel our panic and exhaustion, and can we feel the power of the arrow of time.
The arrangement of the barracks is still so familiar, the first company is next to the warehouse, the second company is next to the other, the battalion headquarters is at the very edge, there is a wall behind the battalion headquarters, and behind the wall there is a railroad track, we have climbed over the wall several late nights, and escaped by the night.
And the stories that have happened here are far more broken and simple than climbing over the wall, but these stories of joy or sorrow, sadness or happiness have become letters in the wind, blown away in the air.
Some are remembered, and some will never be mentioned again.
We went around in a circle, from the 3rd Battalion to the 2nd Battalion to the 1st Battalion, from the 1st Battalion to the 2nd Battalion, and through the 3rd Battalion, back to the playground of the regimental building.
Everyone, you and I, with a little triviality, pieced together a yellowed picture, and each found its place in the picture.
We are all past middle age, time is urging us, and the times are gradually moving away from us.
When we were about to leave, we all turned around and saluted.
A tear fell.