Another moonlit night.

Father is in the south. At this time, he and his sister are in a hotel in West Lake, Hangzhou. They must be very happy and gratified. Although he didn't say it.

The old man with glasses and sipping mouth is tall, hunchbacked, thin and pale. Most of the time he is silent, occasionally talking to himself, hiding his true heart in his unique way. In addition to the appearance that years have given him as an old child, and sometimes even incredible, there is actually another him, combing his half-life journey in different time and space.

There is no erhu around. He is not used to it, is he? Can you still suffer from insomnia? You will think of children all over the world, right?

Ten years and nights. At this time, mother must "offer" the moon. When some ordinary fruits and moon cakes were placed on a small square table, their identities suddenly changed and they suddenly had a solemn taste. The bowl containing three sticks of incense and millet reveals solemnity. The fragrance curled up and the mysterious breath spread along the thin smoke. The fairy seems to be flying in the air along the treetops. We didn't dare to speak, so we sat quietly on the stick under the eaves. Looking eagerly at the red apples, green pears, yellow bananas and black and purple grapes on the table. Watermelon is cut into a beautiful diamond shape and placed half symmetrically on one side. A cool breeze blows gently, and the moon stretches out from the hillside, stretching its bones and muscles, and then sits gracefully in the sky, peacefully accepting the worship of all beings.

My father, who has been working outside all the year round, went home on Mid-Autumn Festival night. He is tall, handsome and delicate. Sit on a wooden chair, spread a piece of cloth on your left knee and put the erhu on it. Hold the piano bar with your left thumb, put your other fingers on the string, and pull the bow with your right hand. After several debugging, it played a tune.

The sound suddenly rose, like moonlight on the earth. The initial downturn, the voice is gentle, such as thinking about others and complaining at night, crystal stone in its stream. Like the spring breeze, the noodles are soft and the silk is intertwined. I can't remember what tune Qingla played. I only remember that the arm length of his bow is short and short, and the tune is open and extended. Harmony and chic when bowing your head and tossing your hair. Music is as agile as water and as sharp as an ice blade.

The moonlight is bright and boundless, and the yard is the stage. The fruit trees in the far and near yard, the crops in the vast fields outside the yard, and our group of children full of infinite reverie about the world are all his loyal audiences. The moonlight shone brightly on her mother's beautiful young cheeks and crimson striped clothes, and the little white beauty star was so drunk that she wobbled. The flower cat nested at her sister's feet and curled up into a ball. The yellow dog lay on the ground for a long time, holding its front paws and sleeping soundly. And my childhood was rooted in the quiet moonlight piano.

We are in daily growing in joy. Over the years, we have passed by with more and more books. Many things were evacuated from the background of their native land. The village has become a beautiful landscape painting, dusty on the wall of memory.

At the age of twenty-two, my second sister's college admission notice came by mail. The parents of three college students have been trained, and they all walk with straight backs. People's envious eyes are wrapped around them, nourishing busy and hard days.

That night, my father played horse racing with his head held high. Vast grasslands, tough men, majestic racers and galloping horses; Quick bow, jump bow, pluck string, vibrato. The sound of the piano is high, such as the summer rain knocking on the window lattice and the fierce Ma Benteng in the wind. Then the bass, the sound of hooves, slowly, slowly, gradually disappeared.

He closed his eyes and swayed to the melody. The sound of the piano is full of gold and stones, rich and vigorous, but completely in tune, such as satin and round beads. Gong Hu drew a beautiful arc in the moonlight. His father was not like a silent and dignified accountant during the day, but a lyrical master with great poet temperament and charm.

The notes stopped quietly, and we stood up and applauded with everyone in the family courtyard. The applause was clear and bright. He blushed, took the cup handed by his mother and gulped it down.

At the age of thirty, I taught in the countryside. He always teaches me to work hard. Teaching is the work of conscience. You should live up to your conscience. At this point, my father has left several units. Coal mine, Highway Bureau, China Construction Bank, Second Light Industry Bureau, and several units are real people. Later, it contracted a state-owned enterprise, but because of its integrity and adherence to principles, it was always unfair and excluded. Father tried to hold on, but in the end he was a little overwhelmed.

On a cold autumn night, I took my daughter home. Late at night, dazzling black covers the earth. Father trudged back from the factory where he worked, slowly walked into the humble bedroom, took down the erhu from the wall, walked out silently and sat wearily in front of the dimly lit door.

The sobbing "The River is Declining" streamed out. His left hand is as flexible as a dance, moving up and down on a thin string and rubbing it. The right hand keeps pulling, sometimes the short bow sounds fast, and sometimes the long bow sounds slow. Sometimes frown, the music is low and sad, and sometimes frown. Thoughtfully, no one is watching, and the whole expression is immersed in the world of music.

The bright moon hangs high, shining on the rolling distant mountains, the clear river, his tired face and the loud and angry erhu sound. An ancient woman in a plain skirt came to the river, where she said goodbye to her husband. Facing the endless stream of water flowing from the east, she confided her deep thoughts about her husband who died in a foreign land after hard labor. Crying about helplessness and despair, grief and grief. Deep and restrained, blood and tears intertwined, deeply grieved.

Gently pulling, slowly rubbing, music slowly flowing from my father's fingers. He held his head slightly high, his eyes half closed and his mouth slightly raised. The moonlight gently reflected his chiseled facial lines. He pulled, pulled, a little touched, and tears were faintly visible.

Nowadays, everyone's family has finally dispersed, and the children have gone to college one by one and got married. There are always many busy days, and sometimes I haven't seen each other for years. Over the years, the grievances between him and his mother, right and wrong, are endless pains in the hearts of his family. A lot of things, once lost, can never go back to the past. He tried to recover, but he was pushed further. Sometimes, he complains and is unbalanced, but what can he do?

Father is always silent outside the crowd. Sitting next to a pile of children's photos, certificates and awards, watching the lively past alone. Still playing his erhu. It's just that I play adagio a lot of times.

A few days before I went to Ningbo, I went to see him. When the car stopped at the gate of the community, I heard a slow melodious melody, with a little hoarse, flowing in the dark. I can hear the sad and beautiful "two springs reflecting the moon".

When I walked in, he lowered his head and closed his eyes completely, immersed in the sound of the piano, as if crying, as if complaining.

When he saw me, he stopped, rubbed his hands and said, I have nothing to do and play the violin.

We were all silent. Standing in the middle of the yard, the moonlight is as bright as it was many years ago. Shining on the clean floor, giving off a faint light.

In the moonlight, I vaguely saw my hometown, my hometown with mottled walls, which has become my hometown in memory. The pepper hanging on the lintel is red, the corn is golden yellow, and the pepper leaves have turned grayish brown. The wind is whispering in apricot leaves, like the rustling of rain.

I also saw the teenager who had nowhere to practice the piano because of his bad family composition. A teenager hid in an abandoned cave in someone else's house, gritting his teeth and practicing the piano. The young man who once loved reading and writing. The energetic middle-aged man received a strict family education. Suddenly turned into a weather-beaten, lonely and desolate old figure.

Moonlight is not old, just a lost face and a wasting time.

He leaned against the door frame and looked at me with familiar sadness in his eyes. I looked at the messy clothes, the erhu with snakeskin mottled on the chair, and his completely gray hair. The light in the corridor was dim, so I squinted and called "Dad".

At this point, it is already late at night. There is also a piano sound by the West Lake. Hope is a cheerful Jiangnan minor, let the bright moonlight dispel some haze in his heart.

There is nothing to complain about in a song, and a few piano sounds shake the moon!