Walking into Xichuan Shengwan Stone Village is like traveling through a time tunnel. On that day, there was a drizzle in the sky, and the song "Rain Alley" by Dai Wanshu blurted out, and it was like walking into Dai Wangshu's Rain Alley in a trance...

holding an oil-paper umbrella, alone
wandering in the long, long

a girl with a lilac-like
knot and sorrow.

......
She was wandering in this lonely rain alley

Walking into Xichuan Shengwan Stone Village, it was like traveling through a time tunnel. That day, the sky happened to be drizzling, and Dai Wanshu's The song "Rain Alley" blurted out, and seemed to have walked into Dai Wangshu's Rain Alley in a trance...

In the ancient village in front of me, the ancient buildings, although already mottled, still looked up or down from the ridges of dragons, phoenixes, and beasts. The drooping or warped shape and the remaining vague inscriptions show the majesty and magnificence of the past, carrying the vicissitudes of the years. There is an iron bell hanging on the trunk of a nearly 300-year-old ginkgo tree next to the ancient hall, which is used to remind students before and after class. Whenever the bell rings, its loudness, rhythm, and longness evoke the childhood memories and melancholy of many people in the 1950s and 1960s.

Stone Village, as the name suggests, the village cannot be separated from the stone, and the stone cannot be separated from the village. Stone roads, stone walls, stone houses. People walk on the rocks, water flows on the rocks, grass grows on the rocks, and trees grow on the rocks. The stone roads follow the mountains and slopes, some are rugged or winding, some are steep or flat, and extend all the way to the depths of the mountains. Along both sides of the stone road, stone houses are built against the mountains, one after another, layer upon layer, in a well-proportioned manner. While standing there, looking around, you can't help but admire the diligence and wisdom of our ancestors. Do not destroy the mountains and forests, do not use a single tree, use the thousand-layer stone gifted by nature, and use local materials to build houses, shelter from wind and rain, pass on the family lineage, and extend the incense.

Climb up the steps along the stone road to the Hero Canal at the top of the village. Looking into the distance, the Heroic Canal is like a jade belt, like a long snake, meandering among the mountains. I don’t know where it comes from, and I don’t know where it goes. The building materials of Heroic Canal are all made of thousand-layer stone. The rough and nimble hands of the villagers stretched the Heroic Canal for dozens of miles. It is said that the Hero Canal here is many years older than the Hongqi Canal in Lin County.

Staring at the crystal clear canal water slowly flowing in front of me, I was in a trance that spread dozens of miles into the mountains. The sound of tens of thousands of canal repairing villagers clanging on the stone slabs with hammers and iron picks was heard. , the sound of chants... This is the power of the people. With rough and hard-working hands and the desire to create a happy life, mountains and seas can be moved, and the sun and moon can change the sky. They are usually like mountain streams, simple and unpretentious, moistening things silently. Once it gathers into a stream, it is surging and invincible. I remember there was this sentence in the text I learned in elementary school: Order the three mountains and five mountains to clear the way, and here I come! This is the power of the people! This is the spirit of a hero! As Mao Zedong and other elders affirmed: The people and the people alone are the real driving force for creating history.

Standing on the canal, overlooking the village: green mountains, elegant waterfalls; soft mist, curling smoke; cocks crowing, dogs barking, and laughter endless. The whole village is filled with tranquility, simplicity, warmth and peace.

This is Shengwan Stone Village, a holy place that is far away from the world and can purify the soul. A place that has not yet been tainted with the odor of commercialism, a touch of nostalgia that makes people linger.