Relentless as time goes by, but not my memory of that night.
that night, the father of warmth, be like everlasting of the Yangtze river water flow quietly in my heart, like a day dongsheng sun warms my heart, my life.
twenty years ago, I remember that is a lonely village in the hazy one dark winter night, no stars, no moon, the night is normal. Act in an opera in our village is acting, making baby ah sound with high and low and clear and melodious sound while the jinghu, to wave, the temptation to my childhood. Curiosity I like glue pestering my father took me to the theatre. Always love my father, he is regardless of the daytime tiredness, and dragged tired body to go with me to.
the day ying white snow field, cold light snow pure the earth, to purify the air, Bai Xueying awning, LanYingYing light shone. Snow underfoot isalso a soup, in the quiet night to be true and far away, as they walk on the wild uninhabited desert. My father always holding the cold like purple ginger buds small, hidden in his warm sleeves for me warm. Cold day, but freezing me a joy and pride in the little chest. Suddenly, his father a staggered fall on the snow, a piece of the root of the roughness bare feet at his father. I felt the sting of the father"s face was strong distortion was ugly. I keep silent palpitate, callous to stare blankly in the snow, standing beside the father of lodging, at a loss. I"m afraid my father would halfway back. However, my father, my father, he, but small cuttings from snow slowly walked up and patted the snow crumbs, rubbed his wines sore ankle, and firmly hold my the more cold hands, lurched forward. Behind the front suddenly and violently Li to roar of the wind, at the foot of the snow held high, a nasty YiHuan ground rang and sound is very messy. I think the father each step bit keenly jaws, I seemed to feel the father behind the two lines of deep shallow footprints in Yin is full of blood... Whereas the strands of warm water, still hot spring continually from his father"s hand, coming...
that night, father used his wines like sore feet sculpture made in the snow, let me on the shoulders of his tired look at the night of the play. While my hands never left his father those warm and hard hand grasp...
twenty years have passed, I experienced a never-failing nison sunset, countless flowers bloom and fade, the full moon, not the vicissitudes of life make this night a distant memory. The operas that night I didn"t remember how many, but the warmth of his father that night has been flowing in my heart, warm my life, never gone away...
无情的时光流逝，却带不走我对那一夜的记忆。
那一夜，父亲的温情，似亘古不绝的长江水从容地流在我心底，似日日东升的太阳温暖着我的胸怀，我的生命。
二十年前，我朦胧记得那是寂寥乡村中一个黑黑的冬夜，没有星星，也没有月亮，那个夜晚很平常。我们邻村正在演戏，咿咿呀呀的唱戏声和着清亮悠扬的京胡声丝丝缕缕、高高低低地飘扬过来，诱惑了童年的我。好奇心驱使我如胶般缠着父亲带我去看戏。一向爱我的父亲，便也不顾白天的劳累，拖着疲惫的身子同我去了。
下了一天的大雪映白了田野，轻盈冷冽的雪纯洁了大地，净化了空气，白雪映着天幕，透射出蓝莹莹的光。雪在脚下咯吱咯吱地发出脆响，在寂静的冬夜里传得真切而又遥远，一如走在杳无人迹的荒原大漠。父亲始终握着我那冻得如紫姜芽般的小手，藏在自己温热的袖管里为我暖着。酷寒的天，却冻凝不了我那小小胸膛里的一股喜悦与豪情。突然，父亲一个趔趄跌倒在雪地上，一块粗黑的树根裸露在父亲脚边。我感觉到父亲的脸被强烈的刺痛扭曲得很难看。我心慌地沉默着，木然地楞在雪地里，站在倒伏的父亲身边，不知所措。我害怕父亲会半路退回。然而，父亲，我的父亲，他，却一截一截地从雪地里慢慢撑扶起来，拍了拍身上的雪屑，揉了揉崴疼的脚踝，又坚决地握住我那更加冰冷的小手，向前蹒跚走去。风在身前身后暴唳地吼着，脚下的雪一高一低，一急一缓地响着，声音很是凌乱。我觉出父亲每走一步都咬紧着牙关，我似乎感觉到父亲身后那两行深深浅浅的脚印里殷满了鲜血……而那股暖流，却依旧温泉般不断地从父亲的手上传过来，传过来……
那一夜，父亲用他崴痛的双脚雕塑般立在雪地里，让我在他疲惫的肩膀上看了一夜的戏。而我的双手却始终不曾离开过父亲那双温暖而又粗硬的大手的把握……
二十多年过去了，我经历了不尽的日升日落，数不清的花开花落，月圆月缺，不尽的沧桑使这一夜成为遥远的记忆。那夜的戏文我虽没记住多少，但那夜父亲的温暖却一直流淌在我心里，暖着我的生命，从来没有消失过……
