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优雅，是穿透岁月的美丽(转贴）最后跟贴：优雅女人，是内心优雅的女人。内心没有优雅的话，不能说是真正的优雅。优雅的女人一定具有一颗善良宽容的心。因为善良，她的眼底才会闪现温柔，她的表情才会柔和。因为大度，她真诚坦然，举止从容。她爱朋友，爱家人，爱自己心爱的人，明白什么是爱，什么是属于自己的，什么是不属于自己的。她有自己的生活目标，活的简单而有味道。在最失意的时候，不会堕落也不会放纵，只需从容的抬头微笑，就可将生活中的遗憾变成圆满。优雅女人心若芷萱，散发出无穷的芬芳，从内到外，悠远不绝。优雅女人，是有美丽内涵的女人。“腹有诗书气自华”，优雅女人更知道，内涵、修养与智慧是女人优雅不可缺少的养分，她是经常读书不断修身养性的女人，有学识，有才华，有不俗的谈吐。她会把喧嚣的时光梳理成荷塘月色般的淡然与恬谧，静守一份淡泊，从容在书香中美容，在文字里穿行，让灵魂芳香四溢，历久，而弥香。优雅女人，是有品位的女人。优雅女人懂得穿着打扮，懂得色彩搭配，懂得心灵与外形的协调。知道在什么样的场合穿什么样的衣服，即使忙的团团转也不蓬头垢面，即使仅穿一条长裤，一件宽大的白色衬衫，清新自然的妆容，高雅不俗的举止足以令那些打扮前卫的女子望尘莫及。优雅女人，是富有生活情趣的女人。她会把家庭布置得温馨而浪漫，宁可啜饮一杯清茶，欣赏一段音乐，捧一卷书，也不会去抽烟、买醉、“垒长城”。白日尘埃落定，她会在灯下捧卷而读，修复日渐粗粝的灵魂，使自己云清月朗，温润如玉。在冬日暖暖的午后或是夏日明媚的晨曦，听着舒缓轻柔的音乐，煎茶闻香，慢慢养心怡性，回归淡然与宁静。　优雅女人，不是琐碎的是非女人。她洞明凡尘，清心内收，不会加入东家长李家短的是非讨论。她看得透世事的芜杂，却愿意用简单对待复杂，她学不会饶舌，学不会刁难，她喜欢没坏心眼的人，喜欢享受生活中的一切美好，她懂得尊重，懂得感恩，她用对人生的宽容和不苛求，求得了内心的丰润宁静，活的简单而有味道。岁月，只会让优雅女人更加美丽。优雅女人知道：“一个人在30岁以前，是用加法生活的，就是不断地从这个世界上收集他所需要的东西，比如经验、情感、名誉等等。但是，物质的东西越多，人就越容易迷惑。30岁以后，就要开始学着用减法生活了，也就是要学会舍弃那些不是你心灵真正需要的东西。”她摒弃了张扬和浅薄，多了一份娴静之气，多了一份书卷之气。她不争不闹，淡看花开花落，用内心的智慧，把眉眼的沧桑和岁月郁积的霜雪，在满是皱纹的脸上绽放成笑意盈盈。优雅，是穿透岁月的美丽，是一个女人内在文化素养与外在表象的完美结合，包含着对生命逐渐老去的从容和淡定。那时，苍颜白发，更是她丰厚从容的优雅老去的享受。最后发表：sky20000	sky20000 2014-6-5 10:26	01311	sky20000 2014-6-5 10:26
这书能让你戒烟最后跟贴： daniello 发表于 2014-2-20 23:41 嘿嘿，承你贵言，戒烟成功了为什么要背叛革命啊？最后发表：cdfei ...2 3 4 5 6..8	daniello 2013-2-12 10:49	23119812	cdfei 2014-6-4 12:05
请問一下，大家有用過易淘有网站吗？最后跟贴：如题，想在里面買点书，不知道可不可靠，合算不？ www.etaoyo.com 最后发表：小鴨	小鴨 2014-6-1 00:45	02054	小鴨 2014-6-1 00:45
对算命有兴趣的可以看看《了凡四训》最后跟贴：看看最后发表：xuyue ...2 3 4	liyuefu 2010-10-10 22:32	10710621	xuyue 2014-5-31 17:19
ZT: 余华写的什么东西? (和菜头评<兄弟>) 最后跟贴：兄弟上很好，下隔了段时间出的，字里行间读得出社会舆论对余华创作的压力最后发表：zwbs88	东食西宿 2006-11-30 19:12	274306	zwbs88 2014-5-31 02:17
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (42)天堂之影最后跟贴：真实的生活原型加写者加工的天分，是好小说的雏形。如果再有思想上的深刻，主题上的升华就是名著了吧。。我觉得你脑子的那个具体对象该是具备了你感兴趣的强烈的性格。。人物性格把握好了，无论场合如何变换，都会应对自如吧。。就像咬定青山不放松任尔东南西北风。。哈哈，我的想象。。我看的书少，更不会写。是这部小说的第一部分非常吸引我，才一直追着看。但愿没有给你增添麻烦。。最后发表：Gone	洋八路 2014-5-29 11:25	111742	Gone 2014-5-30 13:12
这里有东野圭吾的爱好者么? 说说你们最喜欢的作品吧~ (已更新) 最后跟贴：看完的感觉很奇怪，感觉书里描写的人很奇怪最后发表：冰壶 ...2	dogdogkun 2013-11-9 22:32	514280	冰壶 2014-5-29 17:10
小诗自娱（二）最后跟贴：方白发表于 2014-5-27 18:48 噢，恍然大悟了，原来这个鬼是鬼子啊。啊，我想说鬼见都愁，何况凡人，肯定失眠。最后发表：sesia	方白 2014-4-26 19:12	131837	sesia 2014-5-27 21:50
有人听《神医》么？最后跟贴： dootbear 发表于 2014-5-23 19:21 说什么的？作者是谁？网络文学吧。杜撰华佗后人--一个20岁的小神医在一家贵族大学和来自各大黑白之家的美女之间的牵扯。最后发表：Pwn	Pwn 2014-5-22 22:37	21499	Pwn 2014-5-26 11:16
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(41)天堂之影最后跟贴：洋八路发表于 2014-5-24 09:53 我记起来了，对的，原来是有错误，171，后来改过来了。。如果纯粹是网络小说，有点错误不太要紧。。因 ... 你有这种心态真好。老实说，如果我是作者，我是非常希望读者有所反馈的，哪怕像我这样说话不着调。。既然做了就尽量做好。。这是对自己的交代。。加油。。最后发表：Gone	洋八路 2014-5-21 20:22	62039	Gone 2014-5-24 11:16
今天买了三本书最后跟贴： MathsOneOnOne 发表于 2014-5-23 22:51 道金斯还有一本God delusion也挺有意思 Head to Head - Dawkins on religion https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0Xn60Zw03A 这个节目就是谈这本书的，今天看了这个视频，觉得挺有意思，那个主持人经常打断道金斯的回答，让我感觉怎么选了这么人当主持？最后发表：山东大姐	山东大姐 2014-5-23 19:02	131894	山东大姐 2014-5-24 01:54
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(40)天堂之影最后跟贴：at the bleak foot of the Email Mountain. 昨天忘记说，这里是Emei吧。。最后发表：Gone	洋八路 2014-5-19 13:24	41678	Gone 2014-5-20 12:04
几部网络小说的读后感最后跟贴： nemobaby 发表于 2014-4-22 12:07 昨日连夜下载了唐七的《华胥引》，太喜欢了，看到夜里2点多。同感最后发表：yangguangmm ...2	月光绵绵 2014-4-20 05:34	515432	yangguangmm 2014-5-19 14:34
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (39) 天堂之影最后跟贴：洋八路发表于 2014-5-17 14:06 说的很好。。有光就有影。。这本书也是有光（虽然这个希望读者自己去体会）-- 自然，亲情，田园，呼唤干 ... 谢谢你回复这么多，有好多光。。这么好的中文，为什么不用中文写呢。。再次感谢。。周末快乐。。打扰了。加油。。最后发表：Gone	洋八路 2014-5-16 10:56	182263	Gone 2014-5-17 21:53
twlight吓人吗？最后跟贴：500页的书，450页的废话。挺无聊的。最后发表：albyn333	月光绵绵 2014-5-10 00:48	51400	albyn333 2014-5-16 22:36
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (37) 天堂之影最后跟贴：虞宅与美丽发表于 2014-5-16 12:23 其实我觉得那句话不一定是夸奖呐我也沒有覺得是:p 最后发表：blackswan	洋八路 2014-5-12 23:31	242339	blackswan 2014-5-16 13:26
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (38) 天堂之影最后跟贴： Gone 发表于 2014-5-16 11:52 我们的风俗是上坟的物品不带回来的。祭祀的印象里是另一回事。。大概各地的习俗不一样。。我觉得老家和 ... 不知道不同性别的读者感觉如何...可能会有很大差距...而且要从头看到尾，我知道辛苦的，因为有太多的references... 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-15 15:47	71810	洋八路 2014-5-16 13:08
心中的家园－《巨流河》最后跟贴：最后发表：Micky2013	Micky2013 2014-5-12 15:39	41272	Micky2013 2014-5-15 10:46
余华第七天读后感最后跟贴：刚刚看完，感觉就是网络段子的重新组织。有点失望。最后发表：dtmr17	kawara 2013-6-15 00:57	192103	dtmr17 2014-5-15 09:25
今天是世界读书日，大家读书日快乐！最后跟贴： Chen3III 发表于 2014-4-23 23:41 关键是没心情。人太浮躁，静不下心来。电脑里几千本书，上TB的电影电视剧。就是想上新足迹。怎么破？ ... 天将降大任于斯人，必先灭其QQ，封其微博，删其微信，踢其出群，收其电脑，夺其手机，摔其ipad，断其wifi，剪其网线，砸其电视，抢其酒瓶……使其百无聊赖，然后，静坐、思过、锻炼、读书、明智、开悟、精进！最后发表：虞宅与美丽	静好如初 2014-4-23 23:35	121756	虞宅与美丽 2014-5-14 18:59
对别人的句子玩最后跟贴： SSW 发表于 2014-4-30 11:22 从一直接晋级三了，二去哪了冯唐说：不二！最后发表：虞宅与美丽	SSW 2014-4-30 02:09	31445	虞宅与美丽 2014-5-14 18:54
转帖：kindle资源大合集百度网盘最后跟贴：mark 最后发表：moody	zzfgg123 2014-1-11 16:02	183663	moody 2014-5-14 09:15
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (36) 天堂之影最后跟贴：历历在目的毕业前夕。。最后发表：Gone	洋八路 2014-5-12 12:06	11011	Gone 2014-5-12 14:20
我迷茫了～～～～最后跟贴： Micky2013 发表于 2014-5-9 11:31 对的，陈廷敬，当过康熙的老师，主编过《康熙字典》，做过好几个部门的尚书，以清廉正直闻名。这本书还是可 ... 看了第一部分，顺治十五年，陈廷敬中了进士。陈非常有正义感，张汧（顺治三年进士）是投机取巧之辈。高士奇一出场就是负面角色。剩下得看完还需时日。包子店事件中，主席用过得桌子也被店家搬走留存。其实，溜须拍马得伎俩古已有之。清朝初年，顺治皇帝在内院用过得椅子被封存了，其再去得时候，犹豫中不敢坐在炕上，生怕连炕也被马屁精们封存了。最后发表：thecatinthehat	Micky2013 2014-5-8 12:36	91508	thecatinthehat 2014-5-10 14:39
【独乐乐不如众乐乐，分享上万本中外题材连环画】420G，不能保证长期有效！最后跟贴：此链接分享内容可能因为涉及侵权、色情、反动、低俗等信息，无法访问! 最后发表：tanglg	sssddt 2014-4-28 23:02	11408	tanglg 2014-5-9 22:00
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(35)天堂之影最后跟贴：Chapter 35 It was about mid-afternoon when Bing came back from the airport. Supper was some hours away, and he didn’t know how and where to pass the time before that. It was Thursday; other students were still in the class. He had asked for leave to go to the airport. Other students had wanted to go as well, but Kang didn’t want too much of a sad scene on his departure, and had told Bing to pass on his message to them. So only Bing and Ms Tang had been to the airport. Walking along the Eastern Tiyu Hui Road, Bing didn’t feel good going back to his dorm. Wasn’t it a dreadful thing if he stayed in the room and looked at his friend’s empty bed? He then thought of going to the library, but he rejected the idea immediately. How could he possibly read a book at this hour? Then out of habit, Lu Xun Park came to his mind. Yes, I might just go there to pass the hours. So he moved towards the park, but only a little way beyond the campus gate, his steps began to slacken, for he was unsure of his destination again. Why going to the Park? Even if he chose a bench he had never sat upon, where no history of sadness had ever plagued, he couldn’t possibly feel any better than anywhere else. And to think the park was actually a graveyard, the place where the writer Lu Xun was buried! A pang of coldness seemed to seize his heart. He didn’t know why Lu Xun as a name should frighten him so much. Numerous times had he been there, he had never related the writer’s name to a fear he should avoid. So he returned and tracked back to the bridge, the smelly bridge. He walked slowly, and strange this time he didn’t notice its stink, though the water was as black as ever. And what was more, now under his pondering eyes, the water wasn’t even ugly; its curvy path of liquid that once or twice still reflected a glint of afternoon light appeared serene and beautiful. Even if there was sadness, it was the one of awe inspiring. Oh, wasn’t it just the dark blood flowing in one’s veins! He loitered there for a minute or two, before his sensation returned to normalcy. Dirt, filth and death, these words came back to him again. It was as if his faculties had been paralysed or distorted for just a little while, conjuring up a flash of fantasy. Away from the bridge, the thread of his shadowy thoughts went to the Huangpu River, the bund. Immediately it lit him up, and the more he thought about this new destination, the sounder and better it seemed to be. So, driven by the new light, he was trotting to the bus stop, as if he couldn’t wait to escape the acres of the university. Inside the bus, he felt much better. The bus was moving, lurching and shaking all the time. And the restless people were up and down in tumult; the noise, the Shanghai dialect, the smell of sweat, the smoke of smokers, the stern-faced inspector, the women and men and girls, their tight-wrapped arms and breasts and bulging bottoms, their gentle or flinging gestures, were emanating a kind of heat, a living temperature that seemed to warm and thaw his soul. By the time he got off the bus, and began to tramp along the solid pavement in the bund, he felt he was a live person, a person with a heart still beating, a person with a stomach still feeling hunger, a person with eyes still able to comprehend a reality. From a food stall, one of many around the place, he bought three tea-eggs, and began to eat like a hungry beggar who has just won some food from some kind-hearted people. After finishing all three, he felt his throat and chest were so stuffed that he was like a dumb person struggling to utter a word. With his fist he banged many times against his chest hoping to loosen the lump, but his chimpanzee-like gesture didn’t relieve him. In the end, he had to buy a can of Coke to wash it down. When three hours later he got off the bus back at the school, the air was dusky. Most students, with supper time past, had already gone to classroom for their evening study. So the street was nearly empty. He had a queer feeling that he had just visited the moon and come back to earth, and the familiar things were not as familiar, an age of time seemed to have intervened in a space of a few hours. Just over the threshold of entrance to his dormitory, a voice called him. He turned and saw Vivian coming to him. ‘Bing, where have you been?’ she asked. ‘Well…’ Bing muttered a syllable in a tight voice, clearing his throat, and for a while stood baffled by her question, by the unexpected appearance of a person whom he had known but whose essence seemed to have long melted in his memory. She said again, ‘I thought you would have come back from the airport long ago.’ ‘Oh, I went to other places after that,’ he said, gaining a little of the real light, yet still confused. ‘But why?’ ‘I called at your room and found you hadn’t come back, so I am waiting for you here.’ Obviously she didn’t get what his ‘why’ actually meant, ‘I mean why you are you waiting for me, is there anything …?’ ‘Well, no…’ she mumbled, her posture uneasy. ‘Can we have a walk?’ ‘Now?’ She looked at him strangely, as someone may look at a stranger, or at one mentally retarded. ‘Yes? ’ At last he got the point, ‘Okay then,’ and moved out again. She turned and followed behind him. From habit, he turned left towards the campus and Lu Xun Park, but then on the bridge, as if suddenly realizing something, he halted and turned and asked, ‘Where will we go?’ ‘Lu Xun Park?’ she said, her eyebrows wrinkled, obviously confused by his question. The mere mention of the park grudged him; he answered grimly, ‘No.’ Advancing a step further to come level to his side, she spoke harshly, as if she was offended, ‘Then, where?’ The same difficulty of where to go which had earlier disoriented him sat on him again. He stood there indecisive for a considerable time, fumbling hard for a choice that should be agreeable to this unexpected and purposeless ‘walk’ with her. And worse, in his own predicament, he had paid her no attention. At last, Vivian had run out of her patience, blurted out, ‘Then don’t worry…’ She walked away, taking the same path they had just taken. He was startled by her reaction, but only mildly, for looking at her back, his mind was clearer, and the stress that had come to bother him since her appearance, was lifted to part with her brisk departure. He walked very slowly back, in a solitude and desolation that seemed perfect for him, and for the world. However, approaching the gate, he was surprised to see her still lingering there. He paused a second, then kept moving forward. Nearing her, he caught her eyes, her pair of pupils that seemed to speak of an emotion he thought he had been familiar with. Slightly touched, he didn’t enter the gate; instead, he walked further down the road, a road he had scarcely walked before, because it didn’t lead to the campus, nor the park, nor any specific place worth visiting. She followed him tacitly. He heard her steps behind him. Then he slowed down, and without turning, he was waiting for her. Then she touched his hand; he flinched, feeling a quiver at his heart. It was a strange, poignant and somewhat ugly feeling that her fingers should such touch his. It was kind of stained, alienated intimacy. Realizing her hand was still in his, he was inclined to withdraw and remove it from him. But she retained her clasp, not soft, not forceful, only persuasive. They walked steadily like this, for a long distance, and between them, no audible communication occurred. Then, as the temperature of her hand grew more and more evident in his palm, he mumbled, ‘Vivian…’ not knowing what to say the next. But his mere calling her name, first time since like an age before, stirred up something in his depth, that had long been crusted thick with wintry frost. He didn’t pause, but Vivian did. She turned herself to him, searched his eyes, and with her arms she first held his neck, then up to cup his cheeks, like a mother does to a dying baby. His hands, rigid and cold as they still were, went subconsciously to her abundant hair, where his fingers could dive and weave. They looked at each other. He didn’t kiss her, nor she kiss him, but they both cried, tears streaming on her face, encouraging him to wipe them dry. She then leaned her face upon his chest, sobbing, her soft breasts quivering against his ribs. Then the crying face of his sister at his departure from his village three years before flashed into his mind, prompting him to check the one in his embrace. He raised her face to him, and gazed at it in a wonder as if she was an alien blundering into his life. In his perusal, the face was part of a stranger, part of a sister, part of a lover; and the love or hate, the pride or humility, the shadow or paradise, were all merging to the well of tears. At length, when both of them had reached the peak of their emotion, he said to her: ‘Don’t worry, Vivian, I shall be fine.’ --End of Chapter 35-- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-8 21:40	01116	洋八路 2014-5-8 21:40
莫言的三篇新作最后跟贴：一个人，风尘仆仆地活在这个世界上，要为喜欢自己的人而活着。最后发表：aladdin_lamp	jafe 2014-5-3 07:51	41318	aladdin_lamp 2014-5-8 17:57
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise (30) 天堂之影最后跟贴：楼主太有才了最后发表：雄鹰展翅	洋八路 2014-5-1 21:22	21534	雄鹰展翅 2014-5-7 00:44
陈谦的何以言爱最后跟贴：牵黄擎苍发表于 2014-5-6 08:57 和写“覆水”的是同一个人吗是的，挺好看的。最后发表：月光绵绵	月光绵绵 2014-4-21 14:08	21560	月光绵绵 2014-5-6 22:22
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(34)天堂之影最后跟贴：Chapter 34 The next morning, among the faint noises of little sparrows, he awoke from a sleep or a death, looking at the grey hollowness of the Shanghai sky. If he still had some illusion about her yesterday, now he knew he had certainly lost her complete. He was a hand bag she had once carried, and perhaps cared and wanted for a while, and then, without mercy, discarded. Feeling too weak to attend the class, he wandered about the park, staring at some old, spine-bent people doing their life-lasting Qigong exercise, as if it was a pleasant thing living in such a senile condition. Human beings, a special class of animal created by some odd and illogic nature, desired so much to live, to perpetuate their meagre breath, yet like all the creatures on the earth they still have sooner or later to die. Oh, what a piteous, helpless life! In the mid-morning, he reached his room. He climbed onto his bed, closed the tent tight, lay himself down, pulled the quilt over him, over his head, and thus safely wrapped up, he continued to consume his sorrow with little air and temperature circulating his half-wasted body. He heard Kang calling his name; the voice was unreal, more like in a dream. Turning over, he found Kang’s face so close to him. ‘What is wrong? Are you sick?’ Bing smiled a smile with the shadow of a cry. ‘No, I am all right.’ ‘Where did you stay last night?’ Kang pursued, ‘you were still not in the bed when I got up this morning.’ ‘I stayed in my country-fellow’s,’ he lied hastily, finding it hard to bear Kang’s look of so much concern. ‘Then why didn’t you attend the class?’ Bing didn’t reply to him; he couldn’t, for at this moment a sudden rush of tears made him incapable of words. Kang was startled. Bing turned away, as if he had to hide his emotions in the presence of his friend. He felt Kang pat once on his shoulder, and heard him sitting down on his own bed. The following silence was then broken by the rustles of other roommates who had also come back from the afternoon class. Restoring his composure and knowing Kang was still in the room, Bing turned and said to him, ‘Kang, I am all right, you go to your basketball training.’ ‘No, I am not going today.’ ‘Why? I am fine,’ he smiled, still with an effort, ‘I am okay.’ ‘No, not because of you,’ Kang said, ‘I feel my leg muscle aching.’ ‘Do you? You must have strained yourself.’ ‘Yes, I believe so. Well, not a big deal, we all feel sore from time to time, depending on the intensity of training.’ By this time, Bing had already sat up. ‘Then we can go for a drink this evening?’ Kang smiled, like a morning sun, ‘Yes, you deserve it, don’t you?’ A sort of sudden joy, strange and incredible under the circumstances, affected Bing’s mood, as quickly as those tears had set upon him a while earlier. He nearly jumped out of his bed, for the first time in the day feeling the rattle in his stomach, realizing he had not taken any food or water since the day broke. After doing his washing, they went out to the restaurant they used to go in Sichuan Bei Road, where Bing was able to allay much of the malicious energy incited by the incident the evening before. Bing simply reported that Vivian was seen walking with another guy, and talked in a light-hearted, careless air, supported and disguised by three bottles of beer. And from that day onwards, Vivian seemed to have become a stranger, a new composition associated with certain dirt and disgust in his mind. Every time he saw her hopping about in the classroom or in the playground, and when his old love threatened to revisit and touch him, the horrific image of her doing it with the man would emerge in time to suppress it. Largely he had been successful, and as time went on, she had withered dead in his heart, or, if not dead completely, was buried deep in the ashes of his perished love. She was neither a friend nor a fiend, no longer a person to whom he should spare his attention or shed his emotion. She was nobody but one who happened to sit in the same class, listening to the same set of droning teachers. No matter how ostentatiously she flourished her hair and gestures, was no longer his concern. When the new students’ welcoming party was held again in September 1990, she asked him to perform his guitar. He performed for the sake of performance, nothing to do with her, no emotion was expended for her like before; he would have done it all the same should the request have been raised by any other classmates. Besides his guitar playing and book reading, he was now also able to spend more time with Kang, who had to cancel his training more often because of his sore muscles, even if, twice or more a week, Kang would go out with his girlfriend. Lat one afternoon, finding Kang in the room, Bing asked, ‘You’re not going to training again?’ ‘Not today, I may need a long period of rest, to recover the normal functioning of my legs.’ ‘What does your trainer say?’ ‘He thinks the same; I may have worked too hard.’ So for a couple of weeks, Kang had stopped his training, but the pain persisted, so he went to the medical centre of the university, and he was advised to see a specialist in a hospital. Becoming a bit serious, on the next Saturday, Bing accompanied him to Shanghai First People’s Hospital. A number of checks were done, including the X-rays and other things they had never even thought of before. After he was finished, the doctor asked Kang to come back for the results the following weekend. But they didn’t wait until the weekend. Kang got a call from the hospital only the next day, the Sunday, asked him go to hospital immediately. They went. Bing was waiting worryingly outside on the bench. When Kang finally came out from the door, he sprang up towards him. ‘How is it?’ Kang didn’t reply not even look at him; he merely laid his hand on Bing’s shoulder as if he couldn’t stand by himself. Alarmed by the Kang’s paper-like face, by his scary silence and obliviousness, Bing shook him, lightly lest he could just fall over, ‘Kang, Kang, why, what is the matter!’ But Kang’s dull, unseeing eyes still looking ahead, afforded him no relief of urgency. It was not until they went out of the crowded corridor, leaning against the wall, that Kang, who had now come back to a quarter of himself, told him he had got cancer. It was bone cancer, in late stage, even the amputation of his leg wouldn’t save him, he said. The world seemed to Bing suddenly different, no sound, no sense, mechanical and darkening. As soon as they came back to school, Kang asked Bing to call Xiaodan, telling her that he wanted to talk to her. Bing went to find her, and on their way back to their room didn’t tell her of the real cause of the urgent visit. She went in, while the other roommates who by this time already knew of the shocking news came out of the room. Some time later, she came out, in tears. Bing entered the room, and Kang said, ‘I told her that was the last time she should see me.’ So it was not muscle pain, it was the bone around his knee of his left leg, about where Kang had started feeling pain half a year before. The doctor asked him to spend his time in hospital, to be better treated with various measures, to relieve his pain that was supposed to get worse and worse as days passed. The shock of the calamity was passed on to the teachers, other classmates, and his parents. A donation was initiated on the campus. Bing called his father for one thousand, explaining the purpose, ‘Borrow the money wherever from...’ Two days later, Kang moved into the hospital, and the day after, his father arrived in Shanghai to stay with him. When his father, kneeling at the bedstead, held Kang and cried as a broken man, Bing went and hold them both. One day, Bing said to him, ‘Kang, where do you want to see the most? I will try to make it, and accompany you.’ Kang smiled softly, ‘Thank you, Bing, but I just want to go home.’ ‘Then, I will accompany you home.’ Within six weeks, Kang had lost much of his hair and weight, supported by the ghastly-looking oxygen hose. According to the doctor’s estimate, he had two or three months more to live. He expressed his wish to go home, to save the trips of his mother and brothers and sister. So it was decided to transfer him to the hospital of his county in Heilongjiang province, sooner rather than later. A farewell date was set for his classmates and his teachers and his basketball team members and his other friends and fellows to see him for the last time. The classmates all arrived in the morning, waiting outside the hospital, and went into the ward in three smaller groups, one after another. Bing went in the second group, half numbed after seeing the tears and sobbing, especially of the girls in the first group. Kang, on the bed, was propped up by a pile of pillows. He wore a cap on his head, his face still had a square structure, but his brows and cheekbones were so much more prominent. Smiling, and, with his thin long fingers, he shook each hand reached over to him, calling the name of its owner, who, in their emotion, could mumble no words but his name, and now and again Kang had to pause to inhale the oxygen from the hose dangling beside him. At Bing’s turn, Kang lost his smile, and, looking at Bing for a long second, his large eyes started brimming with tears, and his breath grew heavier, panting, and wheezing. Kang’s hand was thin and bony, like a twig. ‘Kang…’ Bing’s voice was broken, he stooped and bent over, embracing Kang’s head on his chest… At last, with a kiss on Kang’s forehead, and a pressure in his shaky hand, and a steady look into his large eyes, he released him to the next in the queue. Later that day, when the others had left, he told Kang and his father that he would accompany them to their home. At first they didn’t agree, saying he should attend his classes, but later they were persuaded to accept his offer. However, the next day, the doctor suggested they take an airplane, instead of the lengthy train trip they had planned. So, due to the much higher cost – more than 300 Yuan one way, Bing didn’t insist on his entreaty. In his wheelchair, in the airport, during his last hours in Shanghai, Kang didn’t appear as sad as he had been in the hospital. Instead, he smiled more often. Bing knew he was thinking of his home, where his mother and brothers and sister, whom he had not seen during the ast three years, were waiting for him. The last look, the last turn of Kang’s head towards him, while standing at the gate seeing them off, was eternal. Bing stayed in the toilet and cried silently. -- End of Chapter 34 --- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-5 23:20	01379	洋八路 2014-5-5 23:20
魏忠贤：一个开得过分的玩笑(ZT) 最后跟贴： axtle 发表于 2014-5-4 22:11 这篇文章写得比较片面。。。木匠皇帝没那么笨，魏忠贤对于明朝的贡献比东林党那些空谈误国的大多了 ... 他的贡献是？最后发表：深蓝泡泡	jeru 2005-11-7 19:13	102469	深蓝泡泡 2014-5-4 23:26
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(33)天堂之影最后跟贴：Chapter 33 Which bench? Was it the one he used to sit on together with Kang, or Fang, or Vivian? It must have been one of them, but which one for such a dreadful night, he can’t remember. Now a cool breeze from the sea moves about his face, but instead solacing him, it makes him shudder. On the beach, he rises and sits up again, cross-legged like the Buddha of Guanyin. The shadow, in his front, has now a shape of an acute cone. Looking far into the dusky sky, he notices a star, considerably brighter than the rest, is glowing, not far above the level of sea. ‘How is this star so different?’ Intrigued with the little miracle for a long while, he then notices it is actually growing. ‘Why, it is a plane!’ he exclaims, as the flashing light, faint as it is, is revealing its identity. He looks at the plane, in the manner of a cat looking at a bird moving about a tree, thinking of the passengers in the craft, who may have shut the little windows and fallen asleep, or go through video channels to pass their life in the hollowness of the universe. But the idea of being fastened in the seat doesn’t appeal to him. If he allows his imagination go wild, he wishes to become an insect, drifting through the infinite space, eyeing the whole universe, dark and ugly, bright and pretty. Then suddenly, still like a cat, his attention is attracted to some flying objects emerging from his right and coming in his direction. There, a flock of birds, the little bodies of which are illuminated by the light of the street lamp, are rising and falling, zigzagging along the coastline, quietly plotting white curves like a Chinese calligrapher making strokes on a canvas. ‘Where are they heading to?’ he asks himself, as the birds thread their way past him, and to his left, and at last vanishing. ‘Are they rushing to a party in crevices among rocks, or a snow field at the North Pole?’ Wherever they go, they seem firmly set towards a destination, may it be a dream, a destiny or a tragedy. Humans, him one of them, are loaded with thoughts and ideals, fantasies and delusions, desires and regrets, always hesitating, forever comparing good and bad, judging from low to high, forever wanting more than they already have, fearing a loss even before it comes, unable to lead a simple, instinctive life like birds, who just fly as they live, and die quickly as they turn sick. Presently a couple of human joggers come on the scene. Bigger than those birds, slower but no less sure and bright and quiet, they pace swiftly close to the water line. To his dreamy eyes, they are of a superior class to some human fellows, the barbarians who at this time may drink to death, eat to obese, smoke to cancer, drug to phantoms, game to lunatics, work to addicts; who may at this time dread mortgages, quarrel with partners, grapple with the half-grown, monstrous young adults; and who may at this time, shriek in streets, rape the bikes, murder for power, or 不雅 like idiots… The wavelets, the only source of sound on the entire beach, are glistening. Each of them is conducting its brief life-journey. It is initiated from a little white speckle, then grows steadily broader and higher, until abruptly, it dies off. At its peak, the foam is rolling like a butterfly swimmer pulling and pushing with two gigantic arms. Collectively, they are like dancing on the dark stage, with a costume of only pale sleeves. On and off they switch one after another, as if being accorded by the piano keys pressed and released intermittently, and they are immortal, showing no symptoms of fatigue. Very much awed and lured by its eternity, he stands up, and without rolling up his pants, steps into the water. His shadow now, on the surface, is meshed, and shattered, and formless. Water reaches his knees, and his mind plays a scene of a movie he had watched a long time before, where a man, the hero, walked deep into the sea, slowly, mysteriously fading out in the darkness. This tide, this water intimacy, this torrential nature, and this black sky, and this sand between his toes, and this crazy foam, and this absolute solitariness, are all like the figments and sensations in a dream; no more is he a spectator, he is now an actor, a hero on the stage. The circumstance he may consider suitable for suicide is when he is too old, too weak to lead a healthy mobile life, and when his living is a burden to others, becoming a type of near meaningless rubbish to the earth, and at which time he would choose a place, to end it peacefully and respectfully. He doesn’t like the idea of being drowned, it would be an unthinkable notion of salty and bitter water choking his lungs. Ideally he would jump off a cliff, when the scenes in his dying eyes must be beautiful, the flying freedom in the sky must be delicious, and the deformation of his body into either a clutch of dust or a little pool of blood or a bundle of food for the sharks, must be painless. He remains in the water for a timeless time, until the chill reaches his heart, hushing his breathing symptoms, before venturing back to the beach, where he takes off his drenched pants, wrings as hard as his strength permits to dry them, and then puts them back on. Then he continues to trace along the fringe of the waterline. He raises his head, looks into the sky, and is amazed to find the moon, crescent and weak and cold, looking at him like all the little stars do. Yes, the moon is a female, as fancied at least by the Chinese; she is cool and cruelly beautiful; she is a woman whom millions of people on Earth decide to love, desperately and ridiculously. He wants to talk to her, in his most tender whisper, to send her his finest kiss, to love her dearly and melancholily, with his spirit and his precious sperm. He sits down again on the dry sand, because looking up too long strains his neck, tired and sore. A sudden trace of whiteness flashes in his eyes, shocking for a moment his threads of mooning. Some metres away from where he sits, two seagulls are landing quietly. They are eyeing him, curiously, hesitating, tilting their dainty heads sideways. One of them advances to him three steps or so, then backs off about two. The other appears rather timid, staying cautiously behind, as if awaiting for a safety report from the pioneer before daring to make a move. He had MacDonald’s as his supper, but doesn’t have any chips now at hand; otherwise he would feed them, and befriend them in his absolute solitude. He raises a hand, they instantly jerk up. Their bird-instinct is divided between anticipation for food and apprehension of danger, the reaction to both of which is executed simultaneously and perfectly. He raises his hand again, and they do the act again; he does it once again, and they react once again. Seeing no food, nor any real danger, the two seagulls linger. Then, he says to them: ‘There are tons of pollutants we humans make, they spoil you, ruin your digestion, disable your system. The chips you beg from our hands will fatten you, weigh you heavy, perish you ugly. ‘We don’t have the beauty of your feathers, nor have we your flying wings, because we have absorbed too much junk. Junk food and junk mail are our tradition, nowadays, we have new junks, junk email, junk phone calls, junk websites, junk mobiles, junk blogs, junk noses, junk breasts, junk pills, junk movies, junk games, junk music, junk… ‘The junks are what we need, to pamper our body, to tease our mind, to seduce quicker, to die faster, or, in order to produce more junks, to live longer…’ The one, braver, and closer to him, is understandingly nodding its head, and replies: ‘Yes, yes, you are right, absolutely right, but I still want to eat, and you, a man or a ghost, please stop your words, and show me your hands.’ Coolly, Bing is regarding him, who must be the husband as he estimates. ‘You have a bold heart. Are you the husband?’ ‘Of course, I am. We male gulls are all husbands.’ ‘And females are all wives?’ ‘None of your human business, just show me your hands!’ He ruffles his feather and jerks his neck. This is a rude species, he thinks, so he decides to despise his request. The husband flits a few steps towards him as if it wants to attack his hand, but Bing exercises a great calmness, with a human’s pride. Then, the timid wife, who hides behind her husband, probing her neck, speaks first time: ‘Who are you? Are you a human or just a heartless thing brought ashore by the sea?’ Still calm and motionless like a statue, he refuses to look at her and answer her. The wife is upset and despondent by the lack of food and communication and, becoming impatient, she mutters, ‘He is a ghost. He is a subclass, a thing without mercy and empathy. He is hungry and starving too. Oh, my dear, let’s go, leave the hopeless to die alone on the beach.’ She complains and nags her ‘man’ in their bird language. ‘Stop whinging! Woman! Can’t you just shut up?!’ The husband, exasperated, turns to her, screwing up his neck, blowing his feathers, ‘You must have more patience, I know humans, they are generally good folks, don’t you know they love Nature and us birds?’ Intimidated by the sudden temper of her husband, she lowers her body, as well as her head, as if she is expecting the angry husband to come aboard her back to mate her, to help alleviate his anger. However, he doesn’t; at this point of time, he desires junk food more than junk sex. So she has to stand up, meekly relieved, looking disappointedly at the looming darkness; whilst her husband, her master, is using his bird-patience to deal with the man, who seems to have turned dead for the while. The couple, jogging, flitting about, continue to study and evaluate the dead thing, or precisely, a junk person. But time passes by, they have induced no symptoms of life from the sitting object. At last, the husband loses his hope and patience, and says to his wife, ‘Woman, sometimes you do have greater wisdom than we husbands. Let’s go, and leave alone the miserable.’ Happily praised by her ‘man’, the wife stretches and flutters her wings; she fires up into the air, and draws beautifully in a half circle, waiting in the air to be joined by her husband. In a white flash, they are gone, silently as if the darkness has paralysed their uttering device. A sudden loss of society strikes his heart; he feels alone and forlorn, and begins to miss them, yearning for their company. And they miss him too; there, in the near sky, the two gulls appear again. They circle three circles, and land onto same place as before, repeating their gesture to demand food from him. Bing, with respect, as well as gratitude for their coming back, looks at them without moving his head, and sighs: ‘Ah, how quickly they forget their failure and their contempt! They do have an ingenuous mind and a pure heart.’ But the idea that they have come back merely for food, instead for the sake of companionship, spoils his temper, and suddenly, a wicked thought dawns on his head. Slowly, and imperceptibly, he manages to withdraw his legs, readying his body in a manner like a predator preparing a striking on a prey. Then abruptly, he stands up, with a force and speed like a hard-compressed spring suddenly released. A monster of a man’s height turns alive. One second or two, the couple is transfixed with utmost fear. Then, as if recovering their consciousness of imminent death, they flap frantically, shooting to the sky in two opposite directions. The husband, alone to the left, lets out a plaintive and brief cry ‘Ah!’; the wife, alone to the right, shrieks a series, ‘Ah! Ghost! Ah! Ghost! Ah!...’ Their cry and shrieks, like swords plunging into the heart of the darkness, shock the beach, quake the paradise, shake the very shadow and scare its master. Shivering, he trudges back to the beach entrance. There he ascends the stairs, and arrives at Cavil Ave. The gleaming yellowish M of MacDonald warmed his eyes; instantly, he has an earnest desire for the fried chips, the very junk food the gulls had been begging. Only at this moment, he thinks he fully understands the gulls. He goes into the shop, asks earnestly for two large chips and one large coke. Patiently he waits. The shop girl, a rich-built, high-bodied, high-browed, well-bosomed, long-nosed girl, a descendant of Anglo-Saxons, or whatever name representing the species originally from Europe, gives him the things he wants, and smiles prettily to him as if she admires him, and will make love to him if he dare ask so. He takes the bag from her and immediately starts to chew the French chips. And with his eating, the fried temperature cultivates his empathy towards the two gulls he has so recently bullied, so he goes back to the same spot, with the hot chips, waiting for them. But they never come. He is alone. And then his thoughts go back twenty years ago, continuing to tell himself a story that is long and tedious, and that is almost as junky as the chips. --- End of Chapter 33--- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-3 22:41	01329	洋八路 2014-5-3 22:41
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(32)天堂之影最后跟贴：Chapter 32 ‘Vivian, do you really love me?’ he asked, in the park, looking steadfastly at her. She held his eyes, in a sort of wonder. Then she kissed him, and said, ‘Yes, I love you.’ In the thick winter clothes, she looked a bit clumsy. It was in the period of Spring Festival holiday. Bing insisted on her coming out for one day with him. ‘But why don’t you look at me like now when we are in the classroom, or in the public,’ he said, fondling her hair, ‘you were like a stranger to me then.’ ‘Oh, silly, do you really want to let others know about us?’ Bing thought a while, before he answered, ‘Why not? I know quite a number of couples don’t mind that.’ ‘It will have bad marks in our political profiles, affecting our graduate assignments, don’t you know that? The school never approves of courting on campus.’ Bing kissed her nose, feeling the shallow archness in the middle of the bridge, ‘Vivian, would you follow me to Sichuan after graduation?’ She mused a moment or two, groping for words, ‘You want me to follow you?’ With his hands he turned her head to face him square, so that he can look deep into her eyes, ‘Yes.’ Her large eyes were blinking, ‘If you really want me, I …’ He kissed her eyes so that she didn’t have to finish her sentence, for, he knew he had asked a question to which the answer was already obvious to him. Then he was sad. He held her for a long minute looking ahead, silent, gloomy, dejected. ‘Bing, what is the matter?’ she asked, conscious of his capricious mood, which was not at all unfamiliar to her. ‘Vivian, apparently I love you more than you me.’ He let out what had a long time lurked at the back of his mind. ‘How could you say so?’ she replied, sombrely, ‘you are a heartless person; you know how I suffered in the hospital.’ Instantly, Bing detected the tears in her voice. He turned to her, and kissed her, ‘Oh, Vivian, I know, don’t cry.’ But she wept on; and he couldn’t but love her and brush dry her tears. Oh, Vivian, how can I, or anyone else in the world, imagine you can be a person so weak and soft, so susceptible to tears! At length their youthful emotion was harboured in their mutual warmth and consolation. But he was resolute to pursue further the new intelligence he had developed from his conversation with Kang the other night. ‘Vivian, you know, I am very unhappy when you are not with me, and I am very jealous of other boys talking to you.’ ‘Bing, you are sometimes too sensitive. How many times have I told you that, though I talk to them, I don’t love them, why are you so stubborn?!’ Then Bing said abruptly, beyond his schemed purpose, ‘Have you loved others before?’ She looked at him, in indignity and disbelief and resolution. ‘Yes,’ she answered curtly, straightening up, looking away from him. He pulled her over, intending to restore their previous intimacy. But she shunned his efforts. ‘Vivian,’ he called her, in a humble and regretful tone. With her eyes looking straight ahead, into far beyond the lake, she didn’t answer his call. A dead silence fell onto them. Then, his eyes full of sorrow, he suddenly blurted out in the same unintended manner: ‘Vivian, maybe we should say good bye to each other.’ She started at his words, swiftly turned to him, held and shook his arm, ‘Why?! ...’ ‘Vivian,’ he felt himself suddenly sobbing, ‘Vivian…’ He was inarticulate. Her tears came fast and bigger; she laid her head on his lap. He gently stroked her hair, which was shaking and spreading, which for the moment reminded him, on the registration day, of his contemplating moments upon her back. Then three sparrows, probably the same three he had seen last time, were jumping about their feet. The tiny creatures were the only birds he had ever seen in the park, and had accompanied him almost every time he had come here. He knew they had come to beg some food from him, but today they could beg for nothing, not even peanuts, but tears of hers, and his. So, in the chirping of three hungry birds, she cried, without once lifting her head to him, for a considerable time, before he thought she was ready for him to gather her up and go back to their residence. In his bed that night, Bing was wondering if this was the actual end of them. He didn’t deliberate to say those words at all; they just broke out of him in one ridiculous moment. ‘Is this the end, or not, who knows,’ he sighed. A couple of months wore on, both of them didn’t try for any more meetings. He was still sitting in the classroom corner; Vivian was still active and swinging about all the time. Even their occasional clashes of eyes were, it seemed to Bing, anything but meaningful or historic. How weird and incomprehensible was it for him to imagine anything had ever happened between them? It was as if their courting, for a period of six months since their trip in Beijing, had not taken place at all. However, it might be only her who had developed a callous insensitive scale, protecting herself from any adversarial love history, not him. All the time, she was hurting him; the discontinuance of their physical contact didn’t end his jealousy and agony; she was from time to time still shattering his frame of mind. One early evening, as if putting salt onto the gash of a wound, he saw Vivian walking along a lane on the campus, and she was not alone; she was clasping another’s hand, a hand of a man. He knew him; he was a post graduate student in the English department, who was also an assistant teacher for the under-graduate class. He had never walked with Vivian like that within the boundary of campus, a place she had always averted while dating with him, fearing familiar eyes upon them. But she was doing it now, with another guy. Oh… Before her eyes had a chance to see him, he detoured, out of instinct, to avoid a horrible encounter, like a highly vigilant spy sliding into the shade at the slightest sound. If he had ever known what jealousy was about, then he had known nothing, compared to what he was feeling. Not about upset, not about anger or revenge, not even about love or hatred. At the moment his eyesight was smeared with an abhorrent reflection. He saw through his distraught mind the man was jerking his swollen penis at Vivian’s buttocks, and they were going to mate like the cattle in his childhood memory. And, this woman, whom he had loved and still loved hopelessly, was in her submissive way arching her back… Leaning against a tree, he felt he had been castrated and then grilled in an oven. He was dizzy, his stomach churning, a rush of nausea surged from his middle. Long after the two culprits had disappeared from his sight, he was still too weak to leave the tree. As soon as he was recovered enough to make a move, he felt desperate for a secluded place for his watery heart and bones. He dragged his legs out of the campus, and like an aged cat with little calcium left in his skeleton, he moved along. He was not quite conscious of arriving at the park, until he was stopped by the ticket inspector at the gate. He paid for the ticket and dived in. On that night, like a shadow, in the blessed Lu Xun Park, which had once been a paradise for him, he clutched at a bench and slept the night... -- End of Chaper 32 --- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-2 17:29	01310	洋八路 2014-5-2 17:29
英文小说：A Shadow in Surfers Paradise(31)天堂之影最后跟贴：Chapter 31 In August 1989, Bing’s dad and his sister Ming, together called to inform him that Ming had been admitted into the Sichuan Police College in Luzhou, a neighbouring regional centre in Sichuan Province. It was a three-year vocational school; her major would be Management of Public Security. Although Bing had wished his sister to undertake university study like him, it was still a great news to the family, to the whole village. It meant that both of them had eventually secured a better future as a salary-earner, rather than as a soiled farmer who had to toil for the rest of their lives. They told him that, based on Ming’s performance, her teacher had advised her to take the college exam. Over the phone, Ming’s excitement was overwhelming, speaking the equivalent happiness matching his own two years back. Bing’s life in the university, with his love affair with Vivian, had never been so remarkable. It was only towards the end of the year when Shanghai’s cold and wet weather began to manifest itself, that Bing and Vivian went out less than in previous months. Vivian stayed at home more at weekends, and his roommates stayed in bed more for the warmth under the quilt, preventing the couple from using his only private space. Their meeting was thus reduced into a short time occurrence around the campus and dormitory buildings. Bing had more and more idle time for his books and his guitar although he preferred her company. He had to keep himself peacefully occupied when he was not with her. Admittedly, Bing was a very jealous person. Vivian, in the classroom or on other occasions, was known to be a sparkling figure, an easy source of attraction to others. Bing understood she had always been like that, and wouldn’t possibly change to one only attractive to himself but other fellows. Sensibly he knew all about that, he knew Vivian loved him, particularly so when they were alone, when he could kiss her and take her, when she was willingly possessed by his dictatorial passion. But still, he couldn’t transform himself to a better man in terms of jealousy. He was invariably agitated and afflicted whenever she was smiling her charm to other greedy eyes around her, although such fretfulness and resentment could usually be settled by a more aggressive love making that would naturally follow. Now due to the bad weather the chance of doing so occurred less and less, and his resentment was little by little bottled up, and he found it harder and harder to get it off his chest. Such a struggle happened one night on campus, around the corner of the English Building. On the morning of same day, during the lesson break, he had noticed Mark, the handsome Shanghai boy whom he had always hated secretly, was talking endlessly in Shanghai dialect with her, and, during their entire conversation, Vivian had not thrown a single glance to him, who sat there in the corner pretending indifference. So under the dim light, Bing crudely if not cruelly kissed her, his mind replaying the scene of her vigorous chattering with Mark in the morning. ‘Vivian, can we go to my room.’ ‘Now? No, I am having my period,’ she kissed him, consolingly, ‘wait, in a few days… ’ But a desire, savage and aggressive, that he seemed unable to suppress, drove him to advance recklessly to her body. The uncontrollable, bad side of his nature was propelling a sort of evil energy. However, this time, Vivian was resolute, forcibly resisting him with her utmost feminine exertion; at one point, her hand was half way to slapping his face. Frustrated and desperate, he pushed her away abruptly, leaving her alone, paying no heed to her calls after him. He had pride and self-dignity, no less than hers; but his self was so easily injured, all because of her, because of her relentless demonstration of her beauty, of her big seductive eyes, in front of so many other men, who, in his eyes, were all handsomer, all better built, all better attired, all better suited to her… Why did she have to publish herself so conspicuously to all other people? Considering that he had been always dedicated to her, even if quite a number of girls had expressed their interest in him? He, always, since day one, had set her as his idol, onto whom he would bestow all he had, all his emotions and manly resources. But no, she was not that way; all the time she was so happy if not happier with other boys around, never relinquishing a slight chance to make herself the centre of male attention. The notion that she was his, she loved him no less than he her, had now proved to be a mere illusion. She, a Shanghai girl, didn’t seem capable of devoting the wholeness of her love, her charm, her womanhood to one person, to him only, even if she had once upon a time lost herself to him, had accorded a temporary vibration with him. She was still far, remote, aloof, distant, looking over him with her mocking eyes, looking over him as a poor country lad with her haughty eyes, assuming a sort of self-appointed status that nobody but Shanghainese themselves could have so much appreciated. But why, why had he to do with her, if he loathed the Shanghainese so much? Why did he have to love her? There were quite a few pretty girls in other provinces, who had also shown a certain admiration for him. Wouldn’t he feel better, more comfortable, and more equal courting them? For a number of nights, lying on his bed, he was entangled with his own thoughts, failing to find a way out. He was cornered by a paradox. Did she really love him, or not? If so, why did she seem so afraid of the public knowledge of their relationship? If not, why did she present herself as such a submissive girl before him whenever they were alone, in their own little world? She could even cry with tears when he occasionally lost his temper, and insulted her either with his rude words or with his crude sexual intrusion. He was even thinking of making her pregnant again in his hopeless desire to lock her in, to take the whole possession of her body and her mind. But then, Vivian, as smart as she was, had, during this struggle of their relationship, been more conscious and alert about his whims and recklessness in his evil tendency which had grown rampant of late. One day he might determine not to see her again, but the next he could suddenly ridicule his decision and seek reconciliation with her. Their courtship was more and more ruled by his caprice. When he thought he was sober and sensible, he might understand fully his ill behaviour, but the irritation and disturbance to his nerves on a daily basis had never ceased to crack his now weaker form of self-control. Of all the world, there was only Kang he could talk with and help him analyse his disquieted state of mind. ‘Cheer up, Bing, you have been recently very blue,’ Kang said, clanging his bottle with Bing’s, after tossing a peanut into his mouth. ‘Have you broken up with Vivian?’ Bing, tilting the bottle in his mouth, drank three mouthfuls in one go. Then still holding the beer, looking at Kang with his red eyes, he said, ‘I am very much wretched, you know, I am a fool.’ Patting his shoulder, Kang said, ‘Take it easy, it is not the end of world.’ ‘I just couldn’t get rid of her from my mind.’ ‘But she loves you, does she not?’ ‘Who knows, the Shanghai women,’ he cursed, in a livid wrath not less influenced by alcohol, ‘they seem to love every man in the world.’ ‘Hahaha, no, no, you are exaggerating, at least she doesn’t love me,’ Kang was laughing, hilariously, a little offensively. Bing had to smile a little, ‘But you have Xiaodan dedicated to you, she doesn’t show off herself in every direction like Vivian.’ ‘But, remember Fang? She was quite dedicated to you as well, I believe. Then you wanted Vivian, who was all different, far more glamorous than anyone else.’ ‘So you mean I am too greedy?’ ‘Of course, you are greedy. To think you have already taken her, what else do you want? Her soul? Her spirit?’ Kang eyed his friend, never so critically as this round of conversation, ‘or, do you want to marry her?’ ‘Marry? Not yet thought that far.’ ‘In my view, marriage is impossible.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Common sense, you will most likely go back to Sichuan after graduation, do you think Vivian would follow you there?’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Well, can you honestly imagine that Vivian would give up all that she has in Shanghai, and go to a place deemed so much under-developed and poor? And there is virtually no chance for you to stay in Shanghai, you won’t get a residence certificate here.’ Musing, looking at the ground, Bing drank his beer. Kang continued, ‘And even if she wants to go with you, how about her parents? Is she the only child?’ ‘Yes, she told me so.’ ‘See, it is the hardest case, how will her parents let their only child go so far away?’ ‘So, what can I do?’ Bing asked gravely, ‘end with her?’ ‘I don’t know. I am thinking you are just taking it too serious. You have made yourself so unhappy.’ ‘But, are you serious with Xiaodan?’ ‘Yes, because we are both from Northern parts, and even if not, I am sure she would follow me anywhere I go.’ ‘How can you be so sure?’ ‘Well, I can’t explain it, I am sure of her, but I could never be sure of someone like Vivian. I don’t think Vivian is the type of girl who would give up much for something like love, so called love.’ ‘So it seems to me Xiaodan loves you, and Vivian doesn’t love me, or not enough for her to follow me anywhere,’ his thought seemed to clarify a little in the course of the conversation, ‘and is she only temporarily interested in me? When she said she loved me, I couldn’t think otherwise but believe her. It sounded so true.’ ‘Well, that is something I never quite understand,’ Kang said, ‘but, Bing, are you really in love with her?’ ‘Yes, I am very, very sure that I love her. And put another way, I would follow her anywhere, if she let me do so. But the fact she that couldn’t do the same for me, makes me wonder if her love is different from mine, either in intensity or in dedication, not what I have for a long time understood. But there was a period of time during her pregnancy I truly believed in the strength of her affection, no less than mine.’ ‘But people may change as the time goes on.’ ‘You mean she has changed,’ he looked at Kang, ‘or she has always been the same, unchangeable?’ Kang chuckled, squaring his mouth, ‘You are confusing me, too much of a topic for me. Unlike you, I haven’t yet made any love to any girls.’ Suddenly intrigued, Bing asked, ‘Didn’t you try to make love with her?’ ‘No, but we’ve kissed now.’ ‘Tell me about that?’ ‘Haha…’ Kang laughed aloud, never so happy in Bing’s memory. …. They talked late as usual on the night. The friendship, to the contrast of his bizarre love relationship, had never failed to console him, to hold him up in the water of his trouble. Without Kang, how could he spend all those lonely days in the school? He wondered why he couldn’t make more friends like him? Such as other roommates or classmates? But, did he really need one more if he had already Kang? Why did love, so-called, give him so much trouble, while the friendship seemed to be all so pleasant and stable like a rock? Next time, he needed to talk with Vivian about the matters of love they had touched upon tonight, he decided, while drifting slowly into sleep. --End of Chaper 31 --- 最后发表：洋八路	洋八路 2014-5-2 17:19	01249	洋八路 2014-5-2 17:19
收到闺蜜快递过来的包裹（新增推荐的书目）最后跟贴：lz说的书我一本都不知道，汗啊！！都是新书吗？我out了。最后发表：chenlitao ...2	Alicefowley 2014-4-4 22:23	394688	chenlitao 2014-5-2 17:07
在澳洲买的kindle能够阅读中国亚马逊上购买的中文图书么？最后跟贴：you should be able to log in to your kindle using the China user id and password. 最后发表：binbenban	hedgehog 2014-4-18 10:46	76769	binbenban 2014-5-2 14:47
岳飞被杀真实原因揭密（ZT）最后跟贴：最后发表：amyvovo ...2	jeru 2005-11-6 09:16	565638	amyvovo 2014-4-29 19:25
我的每周一书——普罗旺斯的一年最后跟贴：银狐发表于 2014-4-26 14:53 纠正一下，是电视剧。you tube 上有各种版本，挑个你自己喜欢的 youtube了，好老的片子啊，，不过挺搞笑的。感情我小时候就都排成电视了~~ 最后发表：erax	erax 2014-4-23 17:23	232200	erax 2014-4-29 17:09
诗•五古两首＂我心久已老＂最后跟贴：好小的时候我就开始爱回忆或许我从未年轻过最后发表：心然	飞雪满楼 2012-11-24 11:13	81947	心然 2014-4-27 01:53
上周末和几个在澳的中国老一辈文人聚了聚，收获不少最后跟贴：另外就是谈起了一些关于简化字的往事。几位都痛心疾首-----被当年苏联给坑了最后发表：Hillwang ...2	Hillwang 2014-4-11 16:20	315720	Hillwang 2014-4-26 23:24