Speaking of the old street, the dilapidated bluestone street, the long square benches with peeling paint, the old Eight Immortals table, three or five old people sitting there playing cards all afternoon, and the bustling crowd, selling out The shouts of sugar-coated cakes, a moss-covered arch bridge, running children holding paper pinwheels in their hands, colorful dusk, and layers of old roofs rising with smoke.

Escaped from the hustle and bustle of the cross street, we turned into a quiet old street. Unlike other streets, there are no food stalls and no shouts. People come and go in twos and threes and walk very lightly. There are many old sloping doors and windows and quiet half-open shops on both sides of the road.

The weather was excellent, and the afternoon sunshine squeezed in from the branches and leaves of the eaves, flooding the ground.

The walls are covered with mottled lines, and roses climb up the old eaves, blooming warmly and elegantly. Wearing a thin shirt and Hanfu, I walked on the bluestone road and was immersed in the breath of the ancient city.

I never like to take pictures. Even if I wear my favorite Hanfu, I still feel ordinary. Even if you take a photo, it is just a back view. The ancient city wall is within reach, the flat and cool bluestone road, the dense green and the stunning red. I think of my unfinished dream many years ago, in Jiangnan, in the apricot blossoms and spring rain in Jiangnan. The long-lost meaning of "spring water is as green as the sky, painted boats listen to the rain and sleep" is also evoked by this ancient poetic street.

At that time, I thought and longed for it.

In the alley of Wuyi, the bluestone faces the evening. Holding an oil-paper umbrella, she wore a plain skirt, her hair was lightly tied, and she wore a hosta. Walking through the bluestone alley, you can listen to the sound of rain falling on a patch of apricot blossoms. The flowers fell to the ground, and the rain fell under the eaves, like tears, penetrating the quiet alley, and falling to the ground with a weak sigh. Picking up a petal and collecting it, the pink face looks like carmine. The moist fragrance of flowers blew through the sleeves, blowing off the skirt of the clothes, and the rain was thick with the thoughts flowing through. Stepping over the moss on the steps, stepping on the accumulated rain on the stones, stepping on the tranquility in my heart, letting the corners of my skirt be stained with moisture. He raised his head and smiled, the edge of the umbrella covering it with half a hint of tenderness. Half a beam of light falls from the eaves, and the fragrance of flowers and plants outside the eaves gradually brews and becomes intoxicating. A cup of old wine will be stored by the years. But that girl was like a distant lilac, dissipating in the mist. After it dissipated, I still saw a rough and mottled city wall in front of me.

Passing by an old locust tree, its name is engraved on the dilapidated plaque: Dong Xuanhuai. The human voice was weak, and the radio under the tree was shouting, telling its life story over and over again. Green leaves and thick stems. Countless red ribbons are wrapped around the branches, swaying gently in the wind. For thousands of years, I don’t know who has stopped for it like me. Devoted men and women come and go, folding their clothes under the tree, clasping their hands, closing their eyes and making wishes one after another. I wonder if all of them will come true after many years. The leaves rustle in the wind, and the rustle falls on the palm of my hand, with the coolness of summer flowing through it.

I bumped into a small shop displaying all kinds of handmade products. I lifted up my skirt and walked in quietly, carefully looking at the porcelain cups and wooden toys of different colors. Picking up a green tea cup, the color is bright and green. The shopkeeper came over and asked me if I knew the three basic colors of tea cups. I looked at the tea cup in my hand, and the cold porcelain penetrated my fingertips, and I choked for words.

“It’s moon white, sky blue, and pink blue.” The store owner began to enthusiastically give me knowledge. My eyes passed over the neatly arranged teacups, with heavy makeup and light colors, but I couldn't name them. It's just that I always like to use green teacups to serve tea and watch the tea soup slowly rise and fall in the white-walled porcelain cup. Cyan always gives people a fresh feeling of the plum rain in the south of the Yangtze River.

The ancient city is gentle and has stood there for thousands of years to listen to the fireworks of the world, while the old streets are calm and quiet, becoming synonymous with tranquility in the hustle and bustle.

Narrow alleys, thick stone slabs, mottled earth walls and broken wooden windows. This may be the last human fireworks in the hustle and bustle. There are few people living there, scattered shops, waving flags, and an ancient atmosphere. There are no shouts to attract customers, no aroma of various foods, only the wind wandering through the streets and the warm and solid sunshine.

At a small corner, I met a small church. Green ivy wrapped around me, racing to climb to the top of the tower. Green leaves, red walls, history wraps it tightly around it. It stands quietly in this ancient city, silent, with a rare exotic atmosphere.

There are a lot of hydrogen balloons tied to the trolley in front of the church. They come in different colors and are very beautiful. Occasionally there are children watching eagerly on the roadside. I remember that I was like this when I was a child. I always wanted to use a big hydrogen balloon to pull myself up. It’s just that those balloons always leave without saying goodbye for various reasons. When I look for them again, they are already gone.

The sneaking hydrogen balloon climbed slowly in the sunset.

There is a kite in the distance, pulled by someone unknown. A group of children were chasing and playing in the empty square. Their laughter was like bells, being carried away by the wind along the slender string of the kite. My eyes followed the kite that was flying away, my thoughts were spinning, and I finally fell asleep in the twilight of the ancient city.

An old street carries childhood memories, with blue bricks and small tiles filled with time. Half poetic, half fireworks, ordinary life, quiet and peaceful.