我的征尘是星辰大海。。。

The dirt and dust from my pilgrimage forms oceans of stars...

-------当记忆的篇章变得零碎，当追忆的图片变得模糊，我们只能求助于数字存储的永恒的回忆

作者:黄教授

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鹭岛三缘记2

视频

音频

原始脚本

鹿岛三元记第五折，琴展静心。
梳妆花园琴馆内，檀香袅袅。
台上老者奏罢梅花三弄，晴天起身笑道，晚辈不才，愿续一曲广陵散，以敬古弦。
言罢抚琴，弦音骤起，时而金戈铁马，时而孤鸿哀鸣，满座皆惊。
曲终，他望向 感情。
此曲赠勇士，亦赠知音。
苏玉静坐阶前，见案上有残笺，提笔书，听琴。
弦底惊雷裂石开，英雄气自笔端来。
可怜广陵成绝响，谁解琴心一寸哀。
晚晴接过诗笺，指尖触到苏玉墨迹未干的地 地方，微烫。
他取过一管玉笛，吹起折柳。
笛声轻婉，如诉如慕。
吹罢笑道，秦郎秦似烈火，苏兄诗如寒泉，晚晴这笛音，权当调和。
说着，填诉衷情一阕。
笛音轻绕画梁尘，梅影落琴尊。
何须分个高下，都是有心人。
风渐起，月将沉，意难沉。
鹭江潮信，无待归帆，只待知音。
晴天见词中只待知音四字，朗声道，晚晴记说 都是有心人，我便再添一阙江城子。
银筝曾伴玉笛吹，月如眉，映清池。
未敢轻言，心事怕风吹。
若得丹青描此意，红烛下，画蛾眉。
苏玉默不作声，将晚晴的笛音，晴天的琴韵都刻在心里。
归时在袖中摸出半片风干的荷叶。
题上，风不定人初静，明日落红应满径，藏入怀中。
第六折，雨巷寻人。
连朝风雨，苏玉染了风寒，卧病客栈。
忽闻叩门声，竟是晚晴撑着油纸伞立在檐下，手里拎着药包。
听秦郎说你未去画展，猜是病了。
苏玉挣扎起身，见她鬓角带湿，忙取帕递去。
劳姑娘挂心，罪过。
晚晴煎药时，苏玉望着她背影，吟语笑。
雨打芭蕉湿客窗，药香袅袅绕回廊。
何幸逢卿言下立，一声低首向红妆。
晚晴将药碗递给他，笑道，又作诗了。
秦郎今日在画展上为你辩解，说苏兄定是有要事才缺席。
正说着，晴天也 寻来了，手里捧着暖炉。
听掌柜说你病了，这暖炉借你用。
见晚晴在侧，眼中闪过喜色。
我带了些新茶，煮来驱寒。
三人围炉煮茶，雨声敲窗。
晴天呼道，我家书房缺幅荷池图，晚晴若肯动笔，苏兄可题诗，咱们合作一幅如何？晚晴未答，苏玉先道，病中笔墨无神，恐污姑娘画纸。
晚晴却笑。
等苏兄病愈便好，我先画着。
临别时，晴天撑伞送晚晴，雨巷中呼道，我知你对苏玉亦有心意，但他如今漂泊无依。
晚晴打断，秦郎，感情如茶，浓淡自品。
不 不必强求。
客栈内，苏玉望着那只暖炉，又摸出那半片荷叶，忽然明白，有些心意不必说破，便如这雨巷，湿了鞋袜，却润了心。
第七折，比慧争风。
中秋笔会，雅士云集。
主人以明月为题，邀众人赋诗。
秦天率先落笔，皓月如盘挂碧穹，清辉遍洒岛城东。
谁家红袖凭栏望，应与嫦娥意略同。
众人赞其风流韵迹，他却望向晚晴，似在 在等回应。
苏玉沉吟片刻，写道，月到中秋分外明，旅人枕上听潮声。
不知今夜清辉里，谁共青青数流萤。
诗中孤苦，却藏着牵挂。
晚晴读罢，指尖微颤，取过笔写水调歌头。
明月本无主，随处照人圆。
何须问向谁好，千里共清寒。
我有一池荷影，君有半床书册，各自耐流年。
潮落又潮起，不必问归帆。
笔会散去，三人沿海滩而行。
舞蹈。
家父有意为我提亲，我话未说完，婉晴道，秦郎家世显赫，婉晴愧不敢当。
苏玉低头踢着石子，听海浪拍岸，如心中潮声。
婉晴望着月亮，忽然笑道。
不如咱们以浪为题，再各赋一绝。
晴天，浪卷金沙拍岸来，千年不改旧情怀。
愿为磐石迎潮立，只待归帆载月回。
苏玉 浪去浪来无定踪，客心漂泊与谁同。
若能化作滩头石，静看青青立晓风。
晚晴。
浪稳沙滩月稳波，潮声如诉复如歌。
他年若记今宵事，风在琴弦月在河。
月光下，三人影子被拉得很长，忽聚忽散。
向着鹿岛的缘分缠缠绕绕。

修正脚本

鹿岛三元记第五折，琴展静心。
梳妆花园琴馆内，檀香袅袅。
台上老者奏罢梅花三弄，秦天起身笑道，晚辈不才，愿续一曲广陵散，以敬古弦。
言罢抚琴，弦音骤起，时而金戈铁马，时而孤鸿哀鸣，满座皆惊。
曲终，他望向晚晴。
此曲赠勇士，亦赠知音。
苏玉静坐阶前，见案上有残笺，提笔书，听琴。
弦底惊雷裂石开，英雄气自笔端来。
可怜广陵成绝响，谁解琴心一寸哀。
晚晴接过诗笺，指尖触到苏玉墨迹未干的地方，微烫。
她取过一管玉笛，吹起折柳。
笛声轻婉，如诉如慕。
吹罢笑道，秦郎琴似烈火，苏兄诗如寒泉，晚晴这笛音，权当调和。
说着，填诉衷情一阕。
笛音轻绕画梁尘，梅影落琴尊。
何须分个高下，都是有心人。
风渐起，月将沉，意难平。
鹭江潮信，无待归帆，只待知音。
秦天见词中只待知音四字，朗声道，晚晴既说都是有心人，我便再添一阙江城子。
银筝曾伴玉笛吹，月如眉，映清池。
未敢轻言，心事怕风吹。
若得丹青描此意，红烛下，画蛾眉。
苏玉默不作声，将晚晴的笛音，秦天的琴韵都刻在心里。
归时在袖中摸出半片风干的荷叶。
题上，风不定人初静，明日落红应满径，藏入怀中。
第六折，雨巷寻人。
连朝风雨，苏玉染了风寒，卧病客栈。
忽闻叩门声，竟是晚晴撑着油纸伞立在檐下，手里拎着药包。
听秦郎说你未去琴展，猜是病了。
苏玉挣扎起身，见她鬓角带湿，忙取帕递去。
劳姑娘挂心，罪过。
晚晴煎药时，苏玉望着她背影，吟罢笑。
雨打芭蕉湿客窗，药香袅袅绕回廊。
何幸逢卿言下立，一声低首向红妆。
晚晴将药碗递给他，笑道，又作诗了。
秦郎今日在琴展上为你辩解，说苏兄定是有要事才缺席。
正说着，秦天也寻来了，手里捧着暖炉。
听掌柜说你病了，这暖炉借你用。
见晚晴在侧，眼中闪过喜色。
我带了些新茶，煮来驱寒。
三人围炉煮茶，雨声敲窗。
秦天呼道，我家书房缺幅荷池图，晚晴若肯动笔，苏兄可题诗，咱们合作一幅如何？晚晴未答，苏玉先道，病中笔墨无神，恐污姑娘画纸。
晚晴却笑。
等苏兄病愈便好，我先画着。
临别时，秦天撑伞送晚晴，雨巷中呼道，我知你对苏玉亦有心意，但他如今漂泊无依。
晚晴打断，秦郎，感情如茶，浓淡自品。
不必强求。
客栈内，苏玉望着那只暖炉，又摸出那半片荷叶，忽然明白，有些心意不必说破，便如这雨巷，湿了鞋袜，却润了心。
第七折，比慧争风。
中秋笔会，雅士云集。
主人以明月为题，邀众人赋诗。
秦天率先落笔，皓月如盘挂碧穹，清辉遍洒岛城东。
谁家红袖凭栏望，应与嫦娥意略同。
众人赞其风流韵致，他却望向晚晴，似在等回应。
苏玉沉吟片刻，写道，月到中秋分外明，旅人枕上听潮声。
不知今夜清辉里，谁共青青数流萤。
诗中孤苦，却藏着牵挂。
晚晴读罢，指尖微颤，取过笔写水调歌头。
明月本无主，随处照人圆。
何须问向谁好，千里共清寒。
我有一池荷影，君有半床书册，各自耐流年。
潮落又潮起，不必问归帆。
笔会散去，三人沿海滩而行。
秦天开言道。家父有意为我提亲，我话未说完，晚晴道，秦郎家世显赫，晚晴愧不敢当。
苏玉低头踢着石子，听海浪拍岸，如心中潮声。
晚晴望着月亮，忽然笑道。
不如咱们以浪为题，再各赋一绝。
秦天，浪卷金沙拍岸来，千年不改旧情怀。
愿为磐石迎潮立，只待归帆载月回。
苏玉，浪去浪来无定踪，客心漂泊与谁同。
若能化作滩头石，静看青青立晓风。
晚晴。
浪稳沙滩月稳波，潮声如诉复如歌。
他年若记今宵事，风在琴弦月在河。
月光下，三人影子被拉得很长，忽聚忽散。
就像鹿岛的缘分缠缠绕绕。

英文翻译

Fifth Fold of Sanyuan Ji at Deer Island: Zither Performance Calms the Mind.

In the梳妆 Garden Zither Hall, sandalwood smoke curls gently.  
Onstage, an elderly musician finishes "Three Variations on the Plum Blossom." Qin Tian rises with a smile and says, "This unworthy junior dares to continue with a rendition of 'Guangling San' to honor the ancient strings."  
With that, he plucks the zither. The strings suddenly surge—now clashing with the sound of war, now weeping like a lone swan. The entire audience is stunned.  
When the piece ends, he gazes at Wanqing.  
"This melody is for a warrior, and also for a kindred spirit."

Su Yu sits quietly on the steps. Seeing a scrap of paper on the desk, he picks up a brush and writes, "Listening to the Zither."  
*Beneath the strings, thunder cracks stone; the hero's spirit springs from the brush tip.*  
*Pity that 'Guangling' has become a lost echo—who can fathom the inch of grief in a zither heart?*  
Wanqing takes the poem slip. Her fingertips touch the still-damp ink from Su Yu's brush—it is slightly warm.  
She picks up a jade flute and plays the tune "Folding Willows."  
The flute sound is gentle and tender, as if telling a story, as if full of longing.  
After playing, she smiles and says, "Brother Qin's zither is like blazing fire, Brother Su's poem like a cold spring. Wanqing's flute sound shall serve as a mediator."  
With that, she fills in a poem to the tune "Suxin Qing."  
*The flute notes gently coil around the painted beams, plum shadows fall on the wine cup.*  
*Why distinguish high and low? All are people with feeling.*  
*Wind rises slowly, the moon is about to set, the heart is hard to calm.*  
*The tidal tidings of Egret River await no returning sail—only a kindred spirit.*

Qin Tian sees the words "only a kindred spirit" in the lyric and declares, "Since Wanqing says we are all people with feeling, I will add another poem to the tune 'Jiang Cheng Zi.'"  
*A silver zither once accompanied the jade flute's sound, the moon like a brow, reflecting on the clear pond.*  
*I dare not speak lightly—my heart's secrets fear the wind.*  
*If I could capture this feeling in painting, beneath the red candle, I would paint her moth eyebrows.*

Su Yu remains silent, etching into his heart Wanqing's flute sound and Qin Tian's zither melody.  
On his way back, he pulls from his sleeve a half-dried lotus leaf.  
He inscribes it: *The wind unsettled, man just still; tomorrow falling blossoms should fill the path.* Then he hides it in his bosom.

Sixth Fold: Searching for Someone in a Rainy Alley.  
For days the wind and rain have continued. Su Yu catches a cold and lies ill in the inn.  
Suddenly he hears a knock at the door. It is Wanqing, holding an oil-paper umbrella, standing under the eaves, with a packet of medicine in her hand.  
"Brother Qin said you didn't attend the zither performance, so I guessed you were ill."  
Su Yu struggles to rise. Seeing her temples damp, he quickly hands her a handkerchief.  
"I am guilty to trouble you, miss."  
While Wanqing decocts the medicine, Su Yu watches her back and recites a verse with a smile:  
*Rain beats the banana leaves outside the traveler's window, medicinal fragrance curls around the corridor.*  
*What fortune to stand under your eyes and speak—one bow, lowering my head to the rouge-clad lady.*

Wanqing hands him the bowl of medicine and says with a smile, "Writing poems again?"  
"Brother Qin defended you at the zither exhibition today, saying that Brother Su must have had important business to be absent."  
Just then, Qin Tian also arrives, holding a hand warmer.  
"The innkeeper said you were ill, so I brought this hand warmer for you."  
Seeing Wanqing there, a flash of joy passes through his eyes.  
"I brought some new tea. Let's boil it to ward off the cold."

The three sit around the stove boiling tea, while the sound of rain taps at the window.  
Qin Tian exclaims, "My study lacks a painting of lotus pond. If Wanqing would be willing to paint, and Brother Su could inscribe a poem, how about we collaborate?"  
Wanqing doesn't answer, but Su Yu speaks first, "My brush and ink have no spirit when I'm ill. I fear I would spoil the lady's painting paper."  
Wanqing laughs instead.  
"It's fine when Brother Su recovers. I'll start painting first."

When they part, Qin Tian holds the umbrella to see Wanqing off. In the rainy alley, he calls out, "I know you have feelings for Su Yu too, but he is wandering and has no stable support."  
Wanqing interrupts, "Brother Qin, feelings are like tea—strong or weak, one tastes them oneself. There's no need to force it."

Back in the inn, Su Yu looks at the hand warmer, then takes out the half lotus leaf again, and suddenly understands: some feelings need not be spoken aloud. Like this rainy alley, it wets the shoes and socks, yet moistens the heart.

Seventh Fold: Competing in Wit and Vying for Favor.  
At the Mid-Autumn Poetry Gathering, elegant scholars gather in numbers.  
The host takes "bright moon" as the theme and invites everyone to compose poems.  
Qin Tian is the first to write: *The brilliant moon like a plate hangs in the blue dome, its clear light spills over the eastern city of the island. Whose red-sleeved lady leans on the railing to gaze? She must share a similar intent with Chang'e.*  
The crowd praises its romantic charm and grace, but he looks toward Wanqing, as if waiting for her response.

Su Yu ponders a moment and writes: *The moon is especially bright at Mid-Autumn, the traveler on his pillow listens to the tide's sound. I wonder in whose clear light tonight, together we count the flowing fireflies.*  
The poem carries loneliness, yet hides deep longing.

When Wanqing finishes reading, her fingertips tremble slightly. She takes the brush and writes a poem to the tune "Shui Diao Ge Tou":  
*The bright moon has no master of its own; shining everywhere it sees people reunited. Why ask to whom it is better? A thousand miles shared in the pure cold. I have a pond of lotus shadows; you have half a bed of books—each endures the years. Tide ebbs and flows—no need to ask for the returning sail.*

After the gathering disperses, the three walk along the seashore.  
Qin Tian begins, "My father intends to propose a marriage for me..." Before he finishes, Wanqing says, "Brother Qin comes from a prominent family. Wanqing is unworthy to accept."  
Su Yu lowers his head and kicks at the pebbles, listening to the waves crashing on the shore, like the tide in his own heart.

Wanqing looks at the moon and suddenly laughs.  
"How about we each compose another poem with 'waves' as the theme?"

Qin Tian: *Waves roll golden sand, crashing onto the shore; a thousand years unchanged, the old feeling remains. Willing to be a boulder standing firm against the tide, only waiting for the returning sail to carry the moon back.*

Su Yu: *Waves come, waves go—no fixed trace; the guest heart drifts—with whom can I share? If I could turn into a rock on the beach, I would quietly watch the green green stand in the morning breeze.*

Wanqing: *Waves steady the sand, the moon steadies the waves; the tide's sound is like a story, like a song. If in future years we remember tonight's affairs—wind on the zither strings, moon on the river.*

Under the moonlight, the shadows of the three are stretched long, now gathering, now scattering—like the tangled fate at Deer Island.