Let me talk about it with his representative works.
Lin Qingxuan first entered the literary world in the first period of his creation. He devoted more energy and passion to the countryside. His representative works include Journey of a Youth, Yuanyang Incense Burner and so on. Later, instead of sticking to the creation of local prose, he tried to integrate the oriental aesthetic concept with Buddhist philosophical feelings, and began the second period of his creative career represented by Bodhi Series, and also entered the heyday of his personal creation, in which prose collections were included.
Lin Qingxuan's prose is quiet, full of agitation in quietness, warm in cold, and concentrated in flow. His prose is not limited to the feelings of hometown in Taiwan Province Province, but expresses homesickness under the feelings of cross-strait integration, such as red heart sweet potato.
What impressed me most was the wooden fish wonton:
One day in winter, there was a faint light rain in the sky. I am reading a beautifully printed diamond sutra. Finally, I read the passage "Everything is animistic, like a dream, like dew, like electricity, so look at it this way". The sound of wooden fish just came from a distant alley, which made people feel Wu Wuji. I sat up with my clothes on, holding an umbrella, determined to find the voice of the wooden fish.
The wooden fish knocked hard and scattered in the rain all over the sky. It knocked and stopped, far and near. It's not like a wooden fish that fell badly when chanting in the temple. I followed the sound track and hurried through the alley. Far away, I saw a little old man in a wide cloth and felt hat. He hobbled from the other end of the alley pushing an old booth car. The stall car was hung up.
As soon as I approached, I realized that it was just an ordinary stall selling wonton. I asked the old man why he chose wooden fish to knock, and his answer was simple. He said: "Old customers who like to eat my wonton will come out to buy wonton as soon as they hear my wooden fish." I can't help being speechless. It turns out that wooden fish is in him, just like ringing a bell selling tofu in the countryside or a horn in the hands of an ice water vendor to attract children.
The old man also saw my disappointment. He said, "Sir, you can have a bowl of my wonton. It's all made of lean meat, and even the chefs in the hotel love to eat my wonton. " So I abandoned my evil thoughts for wooden fish, stood in front of a red door with an umbrella and ate a bowl of small light wonton on the old man's stall. In the storm, I tasted the old man.
Later, I gradually became a loyal customer of the elderly. Working until the early hours of the morning every day, I can hear his wooden fish from a distance. I waited for him in the alley. After eating a bowl of wonton, I began to continue my unfinished work. Only when I got acquainted with the old man did I know that the signal that he chose wooden fish as wonton had his unique ingenuity. He said that because his business is late at night, I really can't think of a tool that can be heard by people far and near without waking the sleeping people. Yelling like a rice dumpling seller in the middle of the night, he felt it was detrimental to his dignity and took some measures. Finally, he chose Muyu-so that sober people can hear his call without interrupting the dreams of the sleepers. Wooden fish will always be wooden fish, no matter from what angle, it still has its loveliness, that is, it is used in a wonton stall. I ate the old man's wonton for more than a year and didn't lose contact until I moved.
The old man is an ordinary person in the corner of our society. He has been selling wonton in Linyi Street for 30 years, and he has become a famous person in the nightlife of that area. Of course, he is very confident in the wonton carefully packed in an iron box after cooking. The wonton he sent with the sound of wooden fish has also become a golden signboard in that area. Wooden fish is a part of life for him and those who eat wonton. I met the old man that day. He is still wearing a cloth and knocking on the wooden fish for thirty years, but the old man has completely forgotten me. I think time is just a string of voices on him. I stood in the alley and watched him slowly push open the stall and disappear into the corner of the alley. I can still hear the sound of wooden fish passing through the night sky, warming the hearts of late sleepers.
Do you feel the faint Buddhist philosophy?