Baoerji Yuanye, Mongolian, won the 7th Lu Xun Literature Award, the 5th Ethnic Minority Literary Creation Horse Award, the 16th Hundred Flowers Award, the 2nd Pu Songling Short Story ** Award, and other literary awards such as China Good Books in January 2021. The original creator of the movie "Heroes of Fire", many of his prose works have been selected into Chinese textbooks and Chinese test papers in primary and secondary schools.
Butterfly writes to cosmos:
Dear cosmos, you know what? The two baby goats of the owner, Almus, are in love. There are more than 200 sheep in Almus, all of them sheep. Every morning, Almus drove the sheep to the pastures west of the Zagstai River to graze, and returned after dark. They bleated and ran home, like a tumbling white stone.
The two baby goats were pets bought from Xinjiang by Almus's daughter, Gegenhua. They don't fit in with the sheep, and they don't go to the pastures by the Zagstai River to graze. The goat eats the leaves, eats the apple kernels that the owner has discarded, and stands on the roof of the house and looks into the distance.
Almus couldn't do anything about them. Reprimanding them, beating them, putting a rope around their necks, they are disobedient. Top Almus with little horns. Their poor horns are smaller than a man's little finger. But they are brave, they just don't give in.
These two baby goats, one is called Lotus and the other is called Coral. God knows how they could have such nice names. I'm a butterfly, flying around every day like a dream, and I still don't have a name. And you, cosmos? You grow taller than the windowsill of the house in Almus. You have petals wider than a leek leaf, and a stamens the size of an egg yolk. But there's still no name, that's unfair, right?
I went on to talk about the two goats. They had been at Almus' house for more than a year. The black goat lotus's fur is as shiny as an otter. It is alert, sniffing the broken basket with its pink nose and the chicken food trough to see if any bad guys have poisoned it. The white goat coral is a male goat with a gentle temperament and often stands to reminisce about the past. The eyelashes hang down like two wooden combs.
The two of them fought when they were young, chasing back and forth around the ox cart. Growing up, I became a little shy, as if I was in love. You ask me if I understand love? Of course I do. Among animals and insects, I know how to fall in love best. Why don't butterflies fly straight ahead? It's tasteless to fly like this. We fly east twice and west twice, focusing on ethereal, indicating that we are in love and have a lot of things on our minds that we can't decide. It's a pity that no butterfly has fallen in love with me so far.
One day, a green-bellied wasp led a group of baby wasps after me. The six yellow claws of the wasp are like boots. The underworld on my stomach is either seven or eight, I didn't look closely. It says that if I fall in love with one of these wasps, I will eat enough honey for the rest of my life. I turned my head and told them that I had never thought about wasps. They speak so loudly that they shock their ears and treat others as deaf. We butterflies speak quietly. We don't please each other with our voices, but we convey emotions with gestures and eyes. I said to the wasps, go and fall in love with the flies. It's worthy of your buzz.
I'm going to talk about the goats. In the morning, the black goat lotus rubbed its face on the petals of the rouge beans planted in the yard of Almus, indicating that it had washed its face. White goat coral imitates it, and also sticks to the face with carmine bean curd. Then the black goat led the white goat to the creek behind the house. The lotus flower bites off a white wild lily with her teeth and places it in front of the white goat. The white goat bites off a red wild strawberry flower with its teeth and places it in front of the black goat. They give each other engagement gifts. I was following the sky behind them, maybe the wind was blowing my wings, and the lotus spotted me. It winked at the coral, took a step back, and slammed its horns at me. Of course, its horns reached into the air. I'm a little ashamed, ** it's not a decent thing for someone to be in love. I pretended to fly high, flew to the top of the rowan tree, hid behind the white flowers, let the petals block me, and continued to ** them in love.
The two goats came to the river. The hooves of the coral do not dare to move when they step on the slightest bit of water. Goats don't like water. But they found it to be a great place to look in the mirror. Lotus walked over, turned her head to the left and turned her head to the right facing the water, admiring her demeanor. A goat, if not in love, will not be so amorous. When animals come to the river, they always drink water. After drinking the water, he hurried away, not stopping by the river. They're good, use the river as a mirror. Take a look at each other with your head up, and continue to look in the mirror with your head down. Then, they stick out their necks and put their heads on each other's backs like hugs.
Also, the white goat coral ran forward and ran to the gooseberry bush to eat the red currant. Black goat Lotus also ran over to eat gooseberries. Their lips are stained with gooseberries more brightly than lipstick. In the evening, they jumped onto the earthen wall by the sheepfold and looked west. The morning star had risen, and it was more than half dark, and Almus drove the sheep home. They happily ran against the wall as if it were their flock.
There are many more stories about lotus flowers and corals, and I will tell you. They drank water in a basin, an enamel basin that Almus put under the window to catch rainwater. Together, they chased the frog in the grass and drove it into the river. They studied a piece of broken glass ballast from the village's garbage dump, thinking it was a gem. They peeked at the hen laying eggs and were chased away by the rooster.
I told the woodpecker the secret of their love. Woodpeckers are so old-fashioned that they don't count as love. It says that the two baby goats are nothing more than a pair of good friends. The woodpecker's words made me angry, and I finally found the animal in love. How much effort did it take me to keep an eye on them. Woodpeckers are so ruthless. No wonder it knocks on the trunk of a tree every day, and no matter how much it knocks, no other woodpecker will fall in love with it.
I thought about it and thought that you were the most romantic flower, so I wrote to you. Dear cosmos, did you say that two little goats are in love? I really want them to be in love, and if they're just good friends and not a couple, it makes me very sad. Hehe, the huge Wandusu grassland, I can't find an animal in love, how boring. Cows don't fall in love, horses don't fall in love, eleuthero shrubs don't fall in love, and Tang pine grass doesn't fall in love. Even the clouds in the sky are not in love, which is suffocating. If there is no one in love here, I choose to leave. Go where there is love. Love your butterflies.
Cosmos's reply:
Dear butterfly, thank you for writing to me. Do you know why I'm shaking in the wind? I'm waiting for someone to write to me. I've finally heard from you today. I read it twice, and I almost cried when I read the part where the two little goats put their jaws on each other's backs. I believe this is love. You must not leave the Wandusu grassland and continue to write to me.
Dear butterfly, I also like to be in love, although I don't understand what it is to be in love. I first brighten up my flowers, and then sway in the wind like a sailor dance. I took a sip of the dew on the petals, pretending it was a mellow wine. The crow said that when it comes to falling in love, it should be whispered on a moonlit night. So at night I rubbed the bricks of the wall with leaves, making a rustling sound. Let people know that I'm in love too. You know, being in love is tiring. I danced in the wind and before I knew it, I would fall asleep.
However, if a caterpillar crawls on my stamen, I don't care about the reserve required for love, and I sway angrily and shake the caterpillar to the ground. The weather turned cooler, and I saw the swallows flying south, and none of them turned around and flew north. I know that the cold winter is coming, and there is no need to fall in love. No more swaying, no more rubbing leaves and whispering.
Dear butterfly, I think you must be a flower, if not a butterfly. I mean, you are a flying flower, and your wings are like petals. You don't smell like much, but it doesn't affect that you're a flower in my eyes. You know, flowers are the most beautiful name in the world. I would never say that a cow is a flower and a horse is a flower. But you deserve a flower.
Dear butterfly, I would like to ask you some questions. Why are you flying so slow? Is it to show elegance, or is it to show that you have a lot on your mind? Those mediocre birds, I'm talking sparrows, fly like a thief. Suddenly rushed to the roof, and then suddenly rushed to the branches of the wild hawthorn tree. Let them fly slowly, and I'm afraid they'll fall. How did you manage to fly slowly? I hope you will let me know in your reply. Also, your wings are so big that you fly like you're pulling a sheet in your hands. Landing on a flower, your wings are not folded like a bird, but stand on your back. Is this to make it easier for someone to catch you with their hands? You say you speak quietly. I thought about it, and you do. I've never heard you make a noise. Don't you scream when you are stung by a wild rose? Or, your shout is as thin as the silk of a spider's web, and we can't hear it.
Butterfly-kun, you look like you have very small hands, can you grasp what you want to eat? I have a lot of questions about you, but we're talking about love today, so let's not talk about anything else.
Dear butterfly, you said earlier that a big wasp led a swarm of small wasps to pursue you. I'm so surprised, are they fighting in groups? Why do the big wasps lead so many baby wasps to pursue you? If this wasp likes you, he should first go to the river and wash his hands, then wash his face, eat gooseberries, and dye his lips red. Fly in front of you and say sweet words. By the way, it should bring you a gift, an ant egg, and a petal. It doesn't understand love etiquette, so you're right to reject it. I also don't like the buzzing of wasps, like a TV set can't find a program. To put it critically, the buzz of the wasp is not a language. It only says one word – buzz, and then what, buzz. What does it want to say after a continuous buzz? It's gone, just the buzz. This is the reason why it failed in love. But I'm not going to remind it, let it wake up on its own.
The herdsman Dao Guilong's family planted a lot of flowers, including hibiscus, marigolds, verbena, and February pansies, all of which are very beautiful. You wrote to me to prove that I am the most beautiful, and that you have noble aesthetic tastes. Some people say that cosmos is a grass flower in the mountains, and the color is too bright. They don't understand aesthetics at all. If I'm as open as a grain of rice, can you expect others to bend over and look at you? It's good not to step on you. Some people complain that we are too tall, but they ** understand that you have to be tall to show your waist in the wind. It is said that the water lilies in the lake are beautiful, and Monet painted them. But the water lily has no waist and floats on the water like a purple plate. I don't see that the water lilies ** are good-looking. Half of the beauty of the flower is in the petals, and the other half is in the waist, which is an aphorism that is not easy for eternity. Yesterday, a beetle crawled on the windowsill and asked me why my name is cosmos. It says that Persia has long ceased to exist and is now called Iran. The beetle is ridiculous, and the name of Nurul Tiger Mountain is also very old, can you change its name just because it is old? Besides, I have other names. I am also called Gesang Flower, and I am also called Broom Plum. The broom plum is a bit dirty, and I don't usually use it. I usually like to call it cosmos. As for the fact that Persia was changed to Iran, I don't care at all.
Dear butterfly, I hope you have many names too, like there are several incarnations. I look forward to continuing to hear from you. Even if you don't talk about love, you're happy to talk about other things. Love your cosmos.
Letter from the wild bee to the crescent:
Dear Crescent, has anyone written to you? Is it because they think your position is too high for the letter to be submitted and won't write to you? I don't care, I must write to you and ask you to help me with something. So when you read this letter, please don't turn your face away, I'm right below your upturned pointed jaw, I'm a wild bee.
Have you heard? I lost something, and that's my magic weapon. Our wild bees work all over the mountains and are often disoriented and can't do without locators. My locator is the head of a dead ant king with two short tentacles on its head to locate me. I would have tucked it in my armpit. You know that our bees have two pairs of membranous wings, large forewings and small hindwings. When flying, I clamped the locator with my left hindwing, and switched to my right hindwing when I was tired. However, the head of the ant king was missing, and I was lost.
We wild bees speak in a different direction than people say things in the north and south, and they speak too simply. When we say direction, we mean the angle between me and the sun. The ant's head is lost, and I think all directions are south. South-South-South-South, this is causing me mental distress. I kept turning and turned my face to the north, but the north also became the south. I turned around again, and it was still south in front of me. I lay on the ground and prayed, feeling that the earth I was facing was also south. Oh my God, you feel my pain. Crescent moon, please tell me, this ant's head fell on the **? Which direction you point with your spiky crescent jaw, I know it's in **, okay? This matter is not a matter of much trouble for you, you must be able to see far and clearly when you stand so high. And the moonlight is so bright, you can see everything in the world. Not to mention the head of the ant king, it is the footprints of the ants, you can also see it clearly.
Second question, how long will it take you to receive this letter? What am I going to do before you receive my letter? South-South-South-South, I can barely do anything. Dear Crescent, maybe I have another option, which is to fly to the crescent, lie down on your upturned jaw and sleep, and wake up to sleep on your back. You don't have a south everywhere, do you?
Looking up at the moon from me, you're smooth, a bit like the belly of a dead fish. Do you sprinkle the moonlight in vain every night, and don't you waste it? Can't you find something else to do? I'll tell you the news that I'm afraid to frustrate you, sometimes we can't see you with clouds overhead, and you appear in the night sky in vain. Those clouds, out of jealousy, block your light. We thought you didn't come out that night, we thought you were sleeping at home or going to bathe in the river. So when you go out, look to see if there are clouds outside. If there are clouds, you can stay at home. These clouds flutter in the night sky and feel like the moon. I know these clouds best, and they are the most vain. No matter what you're doing, they're lingering and flying over. I don't even know where I'm going. They are untidy, I am talking that all the edges of the clouds are not neat, they should be as square as a carriage and fly over like a square roof. But they don't have that strength. To tell you the truth, there was nothing in the clouds, only water vapor, and some clouds carried the foul smell of the swamp evaporating. They are a rabble, nothing but what they seem. Dear Crescent, do you see me? I stood under the Mongolian linden tree, its leathery leaves reflecting the moonlight. White flowers bloom, dried flowers can make tea. On the branch stood a black grouse, red-crested, with three white feathers raised upwards on its buttocks. I have a yellow-green belly and five underworlds. You see, I raised my left hand, then my right hand, do you see? If you see it, you shake your jaw.
Dear Crescent, I don't know how to write down here, because there is a cloud that obscures your light. I mean, when you read my letter, the clouds deliberately blocked you, didn't let you see me, didn't let me get back to the locator, which was the ant head, and continued south-south-south. So what to do? I should be big, as big as a tiger. If that's the case, I can't fly. So it's better to maintain your current weight.
Dear Crescent, if you help me retrieve the locator, I will give you all the treasures I have in my collection - a pair of black probes on the head of the shell, and you can use it as chopsticks to pick up vegetables. I also have a piece of anemone white petals, which I was going to use as a hammock for my wedding, and I don't know who I'm marrying yet, so I'll give it to you. The third goodie thing was one of the dragonfly's eyes, which I swear I didn't gouge out, but rolled off the head of a dead dragonfly and landed next to me. This dragonfly's eyes are green and fluorescent, like a gemstone. I lifted the dragonfly's eye and looked out to see if it was like a telescope that allowed me to see farther. Sorry, I can't see anything. As a craft, this eye is still quite good. Are you happy with these gifts? Tell me what you want in the letter, and I'll look for it. If you like these gifts, please tell me quickly that the ant head is in**? I'm going to find it. Love your wild bees.
Crescent Moon writes back to the wild bees:
Dear wild bees, I have received your letter. I am touched by the fact that you trust me so much. As the moon, I can't bear to deceive you, and I can't just use the jaw of the crescent moon to point to the east and the west in order to satisfy you, as if I am helping you, but I am actually lying to you. Your locator fell on **? I can't see it from this position, if you believe me, I'll be honest with you, I can't even see the mountain you're on, it's not even dust. Because we're so far apart. The planet you're on might be called Earth, and it's like a grain of sand to me. Have you ever seen sand? It's small, as small as an ant's eye. How can I tell if the earth is a mountain and a river? I can't even see your left and right hands.
Dear wild bees, don't worry, I'll show you how to get the location. All insects determine their position by the angle between the individual and the star. The head of the ant king in your armpit is already lagging behind. Let me tell you about the new method: you go looking for a Dogwood Tartar tree, its leaves are ovate, with blue-gray flowers. To find it, you rub the back of your head against this tree. You must know that this tree is magnetic, and after friction, the magnetism is introduced into your body, and then you gain the ability to locate and can fly to the ends of the earth, and know whether the direction you are going is south, north, east or west, and southeast, southwest, northwest, northeast, and so on. I knew I couldn't fly without positioning, and it hurt to hit my head against a tree.
You say you're going to fly to the moon, and that's not a good idea. Let's not talk about how many years, or tens of thousands of years, maybe billions of years, will you have to go before you can fly to the moon. The temperature on the moon is not suitable for you, the surface temperature of the moon is 127 during the day and -184 at night, do you think you can adapt to it? I think you're choking enough. So for you, the moon is just to look at, not necessarily to go up there and find out. Of course, if you can fly to the moon, and I say "if", you will see an incomparable sight of beauty. At that time, you didn't see small mountains and rivers, but the vast universe. Have you ever heard the word universe? All the words in the world that describe the vastness of the universe together are not as vast as the universe. That's why people say the universe is vast. What does the vastness look like? I'm going to tell you. The universe has no beginning and no end. Think about it, what people say "from east to west, from south to north" is all about beginnings. Where there is a beginning, there is an end. But the universe has no direction, it cannot be measured by the coordinates of space, and there is no concept of time to measure it. What does the eye see here? See endless blue waves. Countless small golden stars swirl in the waves, and you are now on a star. Even though you don't notice how it spins and moves. The stars are moving, but not upwards, not downwards, not forwards, not backwards, they follow their own trajectory. The flight you feel comes from the movement of the surrounding references, there are no references here, and time and space all end here. The universe is immensely vast, with no beginning and no end. Beneath the blue waves, a white halo swells like a tide. From time to time, the deep blue tides melt the white halo. These dazzling Venus stars are not so much spinning as churning. They turn out from a whirlpool, like a flower, and then into a larger whirlpool. If you can compare it, the vastness in front of you is like the sand dunes on the earth, except that the sand of these dunes all flies, turns blue, and flies in the sky. And the earth you are on, dear wild bees, is but one of these grains of sand. And you are one of the countless creatures on Earth, despite the five underworld paths in your belly. If you were to be placed in the universe, who would be able to see it one, two, or three? Are there wild bees in the universe, you ask? I'm not sure if there are or not, but I can feel that there are all kinds of creatures here that we can't think of. Moreover, creatures in the universe do not necessarily move, and do not necessarily have wings or minions. A creature may be a mind, hiding in a feather. It could also be an energy block, stored in a grain of sand. Everything in the universe is in motion, there is no beginning, there is no end. Each object delicately orbits in its own orbit.
Dear wild bees, do you understand? I want you to find the Dogwood Tartar tree as soon as possible and rub the back of your head against the tree, so that you can regain your ability to orient. Love your crescent.
Groundhog writes to Lightning:
Dear Lightning, I haven't seen you again since you flashed in the sky once last year, I miss you so much. I've been missing you for almost a year, and there's nothing else to do anyway.
You came to the Wandusu grassland last year in June, and the bellflower blooms bell-shaped lilac flowers. The waters of the river rose to the shore and washed the dead elderberries onto the meadows. Then you came, in the night. Are you like an owl that only comes out at night? When you come out, it's so pompous, the vast night sky becomes your stage, and you appear, and then disappear, just a second before and after. My face turned white with fright, and my four paws trembled along with the leaves of meadowsweet on the side. You are as if the roots of a catalpa tree—a great catalpa tree that grows in the sky—are suddenly exposed. What are you doing this for? The fox says you are God's beard.
I ask you to stay in the sky longer, so that we can see you clearly. I remember you rushing down from the northernmost constellation Andromeda in the night sky, rushing to Mount Manlebart and disappearing. Have you buried anything in the valley by the mountain? Truth be told, I've been to that place. I ran through the feather-fed bushes, the fir groves with misty pineapples, and the rhododendron bushes more than a man tall with shiny leathery leaves looking for your traces, and perhaps for the charred. But nothing, the grass on the earth did not turn red or white. Why do you shoot the roots of a tree like golden arrows into the earth? If there were youkai on the ground, did you shoot them?
I judged that the night sky was a forest of endless sandalwood trees, and no one could see their branches and leaves. You are also a white sandalwood tree, and we are a lake here. You've been pushed into the water by other trees and we've seen you, right? I wonder if you saw us the moment you fell into the water?
In the forests of the Wandusu grassland, there are buttercups with yellow flowers, ash with gray-brown bark, blueberries, yellow lilies, azaleas, eleutherococcus senticosus and pine trees growing in the ground. Birds include yellow-ridged, white-ridged, spider-eating daisy warblers, and curlew-birds with curved beaks. You click to illuminate the earth, and they all appear, and there is nowhere to run. You even illuminate the white scales of the redfin fish hidden in the creek. You're impatient, aren't you? After you lit us up, you put on a black wool coat and went to Xilin Gol.
Dear Lightning, I'm just a groundhog with a limited imagination, and that's all I can describe. Now I'm going to tell you a terrible thing.
Since last summer, outsiders have come to Wandu Su Village. They rode horses in the steppe, slaughtered sheep, drank wine, and sang. At night, when it was time to sleep, they continued to drink and sing. The scariest thing is that they found us. That morning, the sun rose from the top of Bogda Mountain, like a giant wheel, but radiating red light. The Qiangmulun River, which flows from the east, is dyed red by the sun's rays. We marmots thought it was a good day, so we took out the acorns that were hidden in the burrows and stood in the grass to eat. You know we eat standing like horses sleep standing up. We face east, holding an acorn and chewing it with our front paws, as if we were in worship.
Behold, an outsider pointed at us and cried: Behold the marmots praying, and go and catch them. The man shouted frantically, attracting other outsiders. They were fat, wearing jackets and soft-brimmed sunhats, and they ran towards us. We hid in the cave. They crouched down and fastened the net to the entrance of the hole, found another exit from the hole, lit the artemisia grass, and fanned the hole with their hats. A large cloud of smoke poured into the hole, and we couldn't breathe, so we had to flee and fall into their nets. I thought they were taking us home as pets. No! I will say again with grief and indignation, no! In front of the marmot, the gang used a knife to cross the ** of a marmot, put their hands in it, took out the internal organs and threw them away, and threw them on the grass, covered with dust. Then, with a shake of his hand, the dead groundhog was flung into a leather tube, with hair on the inside and flesh on the outside. They used a knife to scrape the yellow fat off the marmot's skin and put it in a bottle. They say it's the best oil for burns. I can't write anymore......
It's terrible, Lightning. They killed more than a dozen marmots, scraped off their fat and put them in bottles. Do the slain marmots, you may ask, include me? I narrowly escaped and hid in the hazel bushes on the top of the hill to see their atrocities. I'm not going to say anything about it anymore. There is a song in the animal kingdom that sings - "Poor groundhog, you die of your own fat". I don't even admit that my fat can be burned to death, I don't know what a burn is.
There were originally more than 200 marmots in the Wandusu grassland, but now there are only a dozen left. The remaining groundhogs are hiding in the east, trying to get rid of the hunt of outsiders. We are looking forward to the early arrival of winter and the departure of outsiders. Time flies too slowly, and there are still tourists coming to Wandusu grassland every day, and I don't know what to do.
The herders of Wandusu Village have never treated us like this. Whenever we picked up food with our front paws, they would say, "Ho Ri Hi, Huo Ri Hi", so cute. Groundhogs eat like babies. But how could an outsider bear to kill a marmot holding food in both hands?
When we told the cow about it, the cow didn't even listen attentively and ate the grass as if our talk wasn't worth listening. We told the swallow about it, and the swallow said fly away, to Egypt, to North Kalimantan. But how can we get to Egypt when our home is here, and we don't have wings? Our house has cost us all our lives. Each marmot's home has three bedrooms, two storage rooms, a living room and a bathroom. Yes, we never defecate outside, and the smell of feces attracts predators.
We now got rid of the habit of holding our food with our front paws, because we didn't dare to eat at all, and we didn't dare to go home, hiding in the two-foot-high thatched grass and waiting for dark. Those outsiders drank and sang in the meadow. How can such a brutal tourist, killing a marmot, still sing?
Dear Lightning, I'm not writing to you about them singing. I want you to do one thing - just hack them to death! I used to think that lightning was a work of art, like a donkey shadow puppet. Namuhan the sheep said to me that true lightning can chop a man to death, a tree to death, and a stone to a stone. I asked it, is the edge of lightning a sword? Namuhan said that lightning was sharper than a sword. In that case, go and chop!
I wait for the night to come, and I hope you will appear in the dark canopy. Wait for these tourists to light bonfires, sing and dance, and hack them to death. If you stick to the ground from the direction of Baorihan Mountain and slash the lightning bolt, you can kill three bad guys at once, and you can also save some electricity. Come on, Lightning! There are only 12 marmots left in the Wandusu grassland, and I am one of them.
As for how to thank you, I'm in a mess right now, and I haven't come up with any ideas yet. We will give you berries, we will give you acorns, and we can give you the golden sands we have picked up in the Qiangmulun Valley. These things are negotiable. You come to our cave and take whatever you like. The most important thing is to come and hack those bad guys. Can you come tonight? Love you groundhog.