The first time I saw a dream of red mansions was in junior high school. I can't read the miscellaneous words in the text, but I am simply immersed in those poems. Sad because Daiyu buried flowers and sang songs, and happy because Baodai made up. As for the next forty chapters, I never thought that it was not written by Cao Xueqin, and it felt seamless. Later, I went to high school and saw a dream of red mansions. I am completely fascinated by the relationship between people. At that time, I took out a large piece of white paper and wrote down all the names that appeared. Who is my brother, who is my brother, who is whose maid, who is whose maid? I couldn't help writing it again. This will make people clear. When I read it for the third time, a name will always pop up and bring out all the people related to him! When I was in college, I came into contact with Zhi Yanzhai's comments on A Dream of Red Mansions in the library, and then I re-examined the fate and stories of the characters in A Dream of Red Mansions. I began to look for hints in the book, trying to infer fate. Just guessing, I found out how Baoyu got fame, how such a free and romantic person could go along with it, and how such an energetic person as Xifeng could give her daughter's fate to a village woman. I went to see a dream of red mansions with such doubts. I finally understand that the paper is full of absurd words and a bitter tear, and the author Dou Yun is crazy. Who can understand the taste? It is a kind of lonely courage, and no one needs to understand, understand and identify with it. I just want to say it! Whether anyone appreciates it or not, how to appreciate it is none of my business. After reading this time, I haven't touched a dream of red mansions for more than ten years! I'm afraid I can't understand it, and I'm even more afraid I can understand it. I'm glad I didn't finish reading A Dream of Red Mansions.
Once again, such a cramped reading is to read a dreamy realistic novel of seven generations after a hundred years of loneliness. I was immersed in reality and forgot that books are magical reality. Comparing, groping and finding the logic inside is the same. Finally, I exhausted myself. A person who has studied for a hundred years is too tired to stand up, and it is too tired to put emotions on a tree for a long time.
Reading is still the case, especially if I want to do literary research! Liberal arts research is not like engineering. One is one, and the other is two. Even if it is wrong, it is still a method of exclusion. Liberal arts are different, with thousands of people. Don't try to explain and persuade, just leave it there, and those who understand will naturally understand. After sitting on the bench for ten years, I am afraid it will continue to be cold. This bench has ignited the fire in my heart, making me warm and chilling for three winters.