How did hiring someone to press a pig image during Chinese New Year become a top trend?

The wind was as hard as a knife.

Xu An turned up the collar of his military overcoat and buried half of his face in it, leaving only his eyes, which were red from the cold, showing.

Even after leaving Uncle Hei's blacksmith shop, the buzzing in my ears hadn't subsided.

That hardcore rhythm of hammering iron shattered half of Xu An's social anxiety.

He was pushing that old, rickety bicycle that rattled everywhere except for the bell, with a cell phone that was broadcasting live hanging from the handlebars.

creak.

creak.

The sound of the wheels rolling over the road surface, which was only half-paved with cement and still had half of the bluestone slabs exposed, was a bit teeth-grinding.

"Family members."

"That was... percussion from Uncle Hei just now."

"The person we're going to meet next."

"They are the string orchestra representatives of our Xujia Village."

"He's also the only man in the whole village who can rival my second uncle's heavy truck in terms of volume."

The live stream's popularity remained around 800,000, with comments scrolling rapidly.

[ID Music Student]: Strings? There are violinists in the village?

[ID I'm overthinking it]: What are you thinking upstairs? It's a rural area in Henan, so it's most likely an erhu or a zhuihu, right?

[ID Expectations]: Percussion is like forging iron, so how about strings being like fluffing cotton?

Xu An looked at the comments and forced a smile that seemed frozen by the cold wind.

"Cotton fluffing?"

"That underestimates Uncle Dumb."

"What they're playing with is the soul."

As they were talking, they arrived at the small courtyard at the west end of the village, which was piled high with waste cardboard and plastic bottles.

It's less of a yard and more of a giant garbage recycling station.

The woven bags of various colors were piled up like a small mountain.

A thin, old man wearing a dark blue Zhongshan suit with frayed cuffs was sitting in the middle of a pile of scrap metal.

He is sorting plastic bottles.

The movements were quick, the fingers as nimble as if they were playing cat's cradle.

The mineral water bottle was squeezed and flattened with a "crack," then tossed into the bag on the left.

With a stomp, the can flattened with a "thud" and was kicked into the basket on the right.

This is called assembly line operation.

This old man is Uncle Ya.

Everyone in the village said he was mute, but Xu An had heard his grandfather say that when Uncle Mute was a child, he had a high fever that damaged his voice.

But that doesn't stop him from being the happiest person in the whole village.

Even when he doesn't speak, his eyes, narrowed to slits, are always smiling.

Xu An stopped the car, not daring to go straight in; his social anxiety radar was going off like crazy.

Because Uncle Ya kept a goose in his yard.

A Taihang Mountain white goose with a strong sense of territory, capable of taking on a special police dog by itself.

"Gah—!"

really.

As soon as Xu An kicked down the car ladder, the big white goose stretched its neck and, like a white arrow, flapped its wings and rushed over.

Holy crap!

Xu An instinctively shrank into his military overcoat, employing the long-lost "turtle hiding" skill.

The live stream screen shook violently, finally focusing on Xu An's terrified nostrils.

【ID: Village Tyrant】: Hahaha! It's here! The village tyrant goose!

[ID Combat Power Ceiling]: Anzi, don't be a coward! Show the spirit you had when you drew Tiananmen Square!

[ID Watching the Fun]: Host: I was terrified at the time.

Just as the goose was about to peck Xu An's buttocks.

"Snapped!"

An empty mineral water bottle hit the goose squarely on the head.

The goose was bewildered.

It shook its head, glanced at its owner sitting in the pile of scrap, let out a pitiful "ga," and waddled away with its big butt.

Uncle Ya stood up, dusted off his hands, and grinned at Xu An.

That smile revealed a mouthful of uneven teeth and two deep dimples.

He didn't say anything, but pointed at Xu An, then at the goose, and made a gesture that said "stew it and eat it".

Xu An breathed a sigh of relief and awkwardly took the camera off the handlebars.

"Uncle Mute..."

"Um... I'm Anzi."

"I think……"

Before Xu An could finish speaking, Uncle Ya waved his hand.

He seemed to know what Xu An was going to do.

In the past few days, news of Xu An painting and taking photos in the village has spread far and wide.

Uncle Dumb turned around and crawled into the small shack made of plastic sheeting and wooden planks.

Half a minute later, he came out.

She wasn't carrying any precious items, nor was she wearing any new clothes.

He was still wearing that badly worn Zhongshan suit.

But he had something extra in his hand.

A two-stringed erhu.

If that can still be called an erhu.

The neck of the instrument is made of bamboo, and it has been polished to a glossy black patina.

The soundbox... it was actually a metal can of eight-treasure porridge?

The violin skin isn't python skin either. Judging from the pattern and texture, it looks more like... a piece cut from a snakeskin bag?

The most outrageous thing is the bow.

The bow hair looked sparse and a bit knotted, as if it had been forcibly pulled from a horse's tail.

The live stream chat instantly erupted in uproar.

[ID Musical Instrument Appraiser]: ? ? ? This is supposed to be an erhu? This is just a bunch of junk cobbled together!

[ID: Can this even make a sound?]: Using a porridge jar as a violin? The sound would be like hitting a broken gong.

[ID Disappointed]: Let's just forget about it. It's probably just an old man entertaining himself, making a noise.

Xu An looked at the zither, his heart pounding.

This thing can really produce a Beethoven-esque feel?

I used to just hear villagers bragging that Uncle Ya played the violin beautifully.

But nobody has ever seriously listened to it.

Because Uncle Dumb usually only poops late at night when it's quiet, and he does it in the graveyard area behind the mountain.

It's said that... it's for the ghost to hear.

"Uncle Mute..."

"This zither..."

Xu An wanted to ask if he could get a better one, even the practice piano that cost a few dozen yuan at the village office would be fine.

The mute man ignored him.

He found a broken stool and sat down in the middle of the pile of waste paper.

That spot was right in front of the winter sun.

Although the surroundings were full of garbage, and the air was filled with a musty smell.

But the moment he sat down...

Keep your back straight.

Hold the neck of the instrument with the web of your left hand and hold the bow with your right hand.

My wrist suddenly felt heavy.

That feeling has changed.

It was like a peerless swordsman grasping his sword.

Even though the sword was a rusty piece of iron.

"Sizzle—"

The first sound test did sound a bit like sawing wood, even a bit harsh.

People in the live stream started spamming "awful".

Xu An also wanted to cover his ears, but then Uncle Ya closed his eyes.

His head was slightly raised, as if listening to the sound of the wind.

With a sudden flick of his right wrist, he pushed the longbow forward.

"Buzz—!"

A high-pitched, impassioned sound, like the neighing of a warhorse, exploded out instantly!

It's not desolate.

It's not tragic.

That was... a stampede of ten thousand horses!

It's "Horse Racing"!

Xu An's entire body was covered in goosebumps, and in that instant, everyone stood up and saluted.

How is that possible?

How could that metal can of eight-treasure porridge possibly produce such a metallic and penetrating sound?

That wasn't just the sound of the erhu; it was the clang of swords and spears as cavalry charged out!

Uncle Ya's fingers flew up and down on the strings, so fast that only afterimages could be seen.

No vibrato? No, it's all vibrato!

Every note was so full it seemed to be overflowing!

and.

He didn't seem satisfied with just playing the violin.

His feet.

Those feet, clad in liberation shoes and covered in mud.

He was forcefully stepping on the waste paper on the ground.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

That's drumbeats!

That's the heartbeat of the Taihang Mountains!

What's even more amazing is...

Not far away, pile drivers from Huixian Construction Group are working at a construction site.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The sound of my second uncle's whistle directing the crane.

"Sh-sh-"

There was even the sound of blacksmithing coming from Uncle Hei's side.

"Clang! Clang!"

All this originally noisy chaos miraculously blended together with Uncle Ya's piano playing!

The music led the rhythm, the pile driver became a subwoofer, the whistle became a high-pitched flute, and the sound of hammering iron became a timpani.

It's like... the entire Xujia Village, a huge construction site under construction.

They all became the accompaniment for Uncle Mute! He sat in the garbage heap, yet he seemed like a general commanding thousands of troops!

Commanding this ancient village that is awakening, charging towards the place called "hope"!

The live stream chat exploded; the comments were so fast you couldn't even read them.

[ID Kneeling]: Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap! What kind of god is this?!

[ID Central Conservatory of Music]: This bowing technique! This staccato bowing! This spiccato bowing! This is master-level skill!

[ID Feeling Numb All Over]: Who said this is trash? This eight-treasure porridge pot is simply divine!

[ID cried after listening]: I don't understand music, but it made my blood boil! I want to go lay bricks! I want to build our country!

[ID Conductor]: Have you noticed? He's interacting with the environment! He's controlling the rhythm of the construction site with his piano playing!

Xu An's hand holding the camera was trembling, not from fear this time, but from shock.

He looked at the mute uncle in the camera lens, the little old man who could only bend over to pick up scraps and was bullied by geese.

At this moment, in this dilapidated courtyard, against the backdrop of ruins and aesthetics, he is like the king of this land.

His face was radiant with an almost manic joy.

It's a kind of thing that... requires no language, no money, and not even an audience.

All you need is a broken violin to ignite your joy.

As the music reached its climax, the mute uncle's body swayed violently.

Several bow hairs broke off due to the intense friction and fluttered in the wind, but he didn't care.

At last.

With a long neigh, it was like a steed galloping across the finish line, soaring straight into the sky.

Stopped abruptly.

Only the clanging sound of pile driving on the construction site continued, like an echo that lingered.

When Uncle Ya opened his eyes, the light in them shone brighter than the midday sun.

He looked at the dumbfounded Xu An, grinned, and revealed a mouthful of yellow teeth.

Then he raised the eight-treasure porridge can and the erhu in his hand and gestured towards the sky.

It was like a curtain call, or a toast.

Xu An didn't say anything; he just subconsciously pressed the shutter.

"Click."

The image freezes, with a background of mountains of scrap and in the distance steel beams and scaffolding being hoisted.

In the foreground, a thin old man sits on a small stool, holding a tattered erhu in his hand.

The broken bow hair gleamed golden in the sunlight.

His smile was unrestrained, flamboyant, and full of vitality.

It's like wild grass that stubbornly sprouts from this barren land.

Even when pressed under a rock, it will still bloom.

"call--"

Xu An let out a long breath, feeling a tightness in his chest, as if something had been cleared away.

The number of viewers in the live stream has exceeded 1.2 million.

The special effects for giving tips completely covered the screen.

But Xu An didn't look. He walked up to Uncle Ya and squatted down.

This time, he didn't mind the dirt. He reached out and grasped Uncle Ya's hands, which were covered in cracks and were covered in black grime.

"Uncle Mute".

"That piece of music just now."

"That sounds really good."

"It was better than any concert I've ever been to in college."

Uncle Du seemed a little embarrassed.

He withdrew his hand and wiped it on his clothes.

Then he pointed to Xu An's phone, and then to his own mouth.

He waved his hand.

It means: I'm not good at it, I can't speak properly, don't let people laugh at me.

Xu An shook his head, stood up, and addressed the millions of viewers in the live stream with a firm voice.

"Family members."

"This is Uncle Mute."

"He can't speak."

"But just now..."

"It has already told the story of Xujia Village over the past few decades, all the hardships and joys of this land."

"That's all."

[ID Tears Up]: Well said! Silence speaks louder than words!

[ID Artist]: This is a true artist! Hidden among the people, living in the dust, yet able to create heavenly music!

[ID Big White Rabbit Cafeteria]: Photo! This photo must be hung right in the middle of the cafeteria! I want everyone to see it!

"Absolutely."

Xu An patted the camera.

"I've already thought of a title for this photo."

"Let's call it..."

"The Conductor on the Ruins"

After saying goodbye to Uncle Ya, Xu An rode his bicycle home.

The sun is about to set.

The golden afterglow shone on every brick and tile in the village.

In the distance, the outline of the White Rabbit Cafeteria was fully revealed.

The blue and white scaffolding netting looked especially warm and inviting in the sunset.

Xu An suddenly realized that this village was a huge treasure.

There are socially awkward college students here who can draw Tiananmen Square.

There are hardcore blacksmiths who can make stainless steel spoons.

There was a mute cleaner who played a symphony while holding a can of eight-treasure porridge.

And there's Aunt Wu, who can make cat clothes, and Uncle San, who wants to go to Beijing...

Each of them, taken individually, is a book in itself.

"Family members."

"Two photos have been taken."

"There's one more."

"It was also... the most difficult one to take."

Xu An stopped and looked at the old locust tree at the entrance of the village.

Under the tree sat a figure who always stared blankly at the village entrance.

That was the village's guardian.

Uncle Fool.

He does only one thing every day: wait.

As for what they're waiting for, nobody knows.

Some say he's waiting for his wife, others say he's waiting for his father who left thirty years ago and hasn't returned.

But Xu An knew.

He's waiting for someone... who will never come back.

"Walk."

"Let me show you."

"From our Xu Family Village..."

"The Watchers".

Xu An rode his bicycle towards the setting sun.

The shadow was stretched very long.

Behind him was the small courtyard where he had just been playing the violin.

The mute man was humming a tuneless tune as he peeled open the sausage he had just earned—a gift from a netizen.

I broke it into pieces and fed it to that arrogant white goose.

"Gah—"

The white goose ate with great relish.

At sunset.

One person, one goose, and a pile of junk.

It has created the most peaceful picture in the world.