I imagine we should come to this village on a clear autumn or winter day, when the purest blue of the sky forms a vast backdrop, clean without a trace of drifting clouds. The white clouds settle in the low mountains, merging into a vast sea of clouds that obscures the Lancang River in the gorge. We stand by the roadside, swimming in the rolling sea of clouds beneath our feet. This is the scenery we can see from the Silizhu viewing platform by the road, and it is also the best gift of nature that the Silizhu villagers on the nearby hill have possessed for generations.
Unfortunately, in spring, Silizhu Village has no sea of clouds, nor can one see the endless mountains stretching to the horizon. Let your thoughts drift freely with the winding Lancang River to infinite distances. Mist always lingers over the undulating mountains, and the transparent air currents are slow, stuffy, and dry, teasing the earth.
The barren soil becomes even more frivolous, dusty, and like the humans living on this land, full of longing for rain. In the dry season, farming is an exceptionally laborious task, yet the farmers never stop or interrupt their cultivation.
In front of Silizhu Village flows the Lancang River, and behind it, the Yangbi River passes by. The Lancang River makes a bend in front of the village, its clear blue waters lapping against the brown cliffs, producing a dull echo. Silizhu Village sits on a gentle slope, like an eagle perched on a cloud, gazing daily at the endless mountains and rivers in the distance.
Rows of old buildings with earthen walls and black tiles are like neatly seated spectators, watching the natural scenery before them. Even after the sea of clouds disperses, they are reluctant to leave, staring for a long time.
The houses in the village are all built with blue stones from the mountain, with dark green moss growing in the crevices. The bluestone paths are clean and neat. The bamboo farm tools by the roadside, having been used for who knows how many years, have lost their original bamboo color, aged like ancient times. The villagers cherish things, especially those they have used for a long time. They have invested much emotion in them, just like with cats and dogs. Even if they break, they are reluctant to discard them, until those objects eventually turn to dust under the sun and rain, falling at their owners' feet and merging with the earth.
Some old houses in the village are over a hundred years old. The carvings on the wooden doors have been polished smooth and shiny by time, and when pushed open, they emit a long "creak," like a sigh of the years. There are always elderly people sitting on the steps in front of the old houses, either feeding chickens and sheep or chatting about daily life. The simple and unadorned atmosphere of the village has long grown into their bodies, flowing calmly like water through the old houses toward the near future.
Life in Silizhu Village flows slowly and heavily, like the water of the Lancang River. Sow in spring, harvest in autumn; rise at sunrise, rest at sunset. We met an elderly man in the village, sitting on a blue stone by the roadside on the cliff, silently gazing into the distance, as if having a silent conversation with the faraway. What kind of mischievous child he was in his youth, how he followed adults to share household chores as a teenager, and how he became the head of the family after marriage, shouldering the burden of the whole family—we have no way of knowing. But this world knows; the distant sky and the earth beneath have witnessed it; the big tree at the village entrance has seen it. They will tell those unknown stories for him.
Silizhu Village, shrouded in mist, is like that elderly man gazing at the distant mountains, full of mystery and hazy beauty. The white clouds in the high sky drift through the mist over the silent village, looking down, as if carrying the village's desires to distant places.
No matter which bluestone path you stand on in Silizhu Village, through the gaps between houses, you can always see the vast and expansive mountains and earth. On clear nights, you can also see the even more vast and expansive sea of stars. These comforts from nature will ferment like mellow wine into a strong nostalgia, missed by every traveler far from home. The peaceful and tranquil appearance of the village will also grow, like the ancient tree at the village entrance, into an eternal hometown sentiment, waiting for the wanderers to return.
