在台湾长大，有机会能去西湖，大概是在台湾“解严”之后，已经靠近一九八八年了。

　　在这之前，几十年间，从青少年开始，读了很多关于西湖的诗，看了很多关于西湖的画，知道了很多关于西湖的故事，却一直不能亲身去西湖，不知不觉，已过了中年。

　　头脑里装了太多西湖历史典故，我与西湖已经不可能“素面”相见了。

　　风景一旦成了名胜，塞满了太多古人、前人的记忆，往往也就是风景死亡的时

　　刻吧。

　　名胜常常需要一次记忆的大爆破，使名胜还原成原来的风景。

　　*总成一梦

　　一九九零年，绕道香港转机，第一次飞到了西湖。

　　那天是旧历除夕的下午，天空密布着低低的云层，同行的H说：大概要下雪。

　　我忽然想起张岱在《陶庵梦忆》里有《湖心亭看雪》一段：“雾淞沆砀，天与云，与山，与水，上下一白。”

　　天、云、山、水，上下一白，我会看到三百年前张岱看到过的那一天的“白”吗?

　　下了飞机，直接到西湖，投宿的酒店在孤山旁，地势较高。房间在西楼的七楼，是顶楼了。进了房间，打开窗户，一片轻雾细雪，迷离涌动流荡。

　　湖水很远，时隐时现。远远一痕起起伏蜿蜒的山峰，若有若无，错错落落，随云岚流转变灭。

　　视觉一片空白，重重叠叠的白，重重叠叠的空，像宋瓷釉料开片的冰裂，不同层次的白，可以如此丰富。

　　“这是台北故宫‘夏珪’的那一卷《溪山清远》啊!”(图一) 我心里慨叹着。是纸上大片空白里一缕淡如烟丝的墨痕，淡到不可见，淡到不是视觉，淡到像是不确定是否存在过的回忆。

　　没想到，南宋人画卷里的心事，在这里，看到了“真迹”。

　　为什么是那一年除夕的傍晚到了西湖?

　　为什么是在读了许多西湖的文学、看了许多西湖的画之后才来了西湖?

　　张岱写《西湖梦忆》的时候，明朝结束了，张岱披发入山，他已经失去了西湖。

　　“梦忆”里他举一例：有一仆役为主人担酒，一失足，摔碎了酒瓮，不知道怎么办，就咬自己手臂一口，心里想：这是梦吧?

　　“繁华靡丽，过眼皆空，总成一梦。”张岱的句子我是在青年时读的，

　　过了二十年，到了西湖，好像也要咬自己手臂一口，用肉体上的痛，告诉自己，这是真的。

　　约好五点出发游湖，走出饭店，到了湖边，一艘船也没有。想起这是除夕，船家也多回家过年了吧?

　　湖上一片空濛，天空微微细雪，风里有腊梅清新沁鼻香气。

　　张开眼睛，看到雾、雪、水、天弥漫的一片空白，闭起眼睛，空气里袭来梅花时断时续的香、皮肤上乍暖还寒的温度，听觉里不知何人荡桨，微微水波声，渐行渐近。

　　一个妇人的声音，在濛濛寒风细雪间询问：“叫船吗?”

　　那舟上妇人的声音如此熟悉，不是第一次听到。

　　那是曾几何时渡过我的一条船吗?我咬一咬手臂。

　　“不回去过年吗?”上船坐定，妇人撑篙，一篙到底，船身慢慢离岸驶去。

　　“带完你们，就回家吃年夜饭。”妇人声音柔软，在风中如轻轻盈盈细雪纷飞

　　消散。

　　“贵姓?”H问船家。

　　“姓付，付钱的付。”

　　没有听过这姓氏，想或许是「符」的简写，决定不再多问。

　　湖上没有船，空空荡荡的西湖，空空荡荡的分不清界线的云、雾、水、雪，像面对一张还没有着墨的纸，一张空白的纸，这么素净，这空白，像是最初的洪荒。

　　天地还没有分开，一片浑沌，然而宇宙要从那空白里诞生了。

　　我好像听到一声悽怆撕裂的婴啼，从洪荒之初的寂静中爆炸，像是大喜悦，又像是大悲伤。像是繁华，又像是幻灭。

　　在这空白里的大爆破，将出现什么样的风景?

　　细雪散了，云散了，雾散了，会有山峦起伏，会有流水潺湲，会有桃红柳绿，会有鸟啼花放。

　　如果初春三月来，晴日暖阳，会在西湖看到什么?

　　*虫二

　　九零年代之后，两岸来往方便了，一年里好几次到西湖，四处乱走。

　　不同的季节，不同的时辰，不同的心境，西湖淡妆浓抹，果然有千百种面目。

　　春日是“苏堤春晓”的西湖，“柳浪闻莺”的西湖。

　　夏季是“麯院风荷”的西湖，“花港观鱼”的西湖。

　　入秋是“平湖秋月”的西湖，“三罈印月”的西湖。

　　黄昏时有“雷峰夕照”看晚霞的西湖(图二)，有“南屏晚钟”听净慈寺庙院钟声的西湖。

　　到了冬天，大雪纷飞，还剩下远远一痕“断桥残雪”的西湖。

　　“西湖十景”，其实不是“景”，而是时间，是岁月晨昏的记忆，我一一都到了现场，都看了，都知道了。

　　却不知道为什么，像发现丢失了贴身的什么物件。急急忙忙回头去找。走回原来的路，原来的长堤，原来的拱桥，桥上镌刻的字，字的凹痕，凹痕里斑剥的苔藓，都还一样，然而，却忘了回来要寻找什么。

　　初春破晓时分，走上苏堤，曙光微微亮起来，苏堤一路两、三公里，千万朵灼灼桃华摇动的殷红，柳丝飞扬耀眼的新绿，千顷粼粼湖水波光。

　　我一个人，兀自站在一株桃树下发呆。

　　“发呆啊……”妇人笑着。

　　一阵寒风，原来在湖心亭。

　　面前一石碑，妇人指着石碑上“虫二”两个字说：“乾隆在这里题了这两个字，考一考大臣。你们是读书人，知道什么意思。”

　　船家妇人没有为难，继续往前走。

　　乾隆聪明，也爱卖弄聪明。大臣中不少人知道“虫二”是“风月无边”，“风月”二字，去了外边，就是“虫二”。但要讨好主子，都装不知道，解不开，让皇帝觉得开心，难倒了别人。

　　船家妇人大器，讲完就往前走，不在意答案。

　　我再来西湖，不是因为乾隆碑上的字，而是为了船家没有答案的故事。

　　*春莺啭

　　有一次去西湖，是给浙江美院讲课，想到刚回国的李叔同也在这校园教书，写了“长亭外，古道边，芳草碧连天”的歌，心里不禁一阵酸楚。

　　一个学生告诉我：“校门外就是柳浪闻莺……”。

　　我走出校门，在湖边的草地上躺了一个下午。

　　一条一条柔细的柳浪，在春天的风里翻覆飞扬，春天摇漾，这么柔软，像一条细细长丝。

　　躺久了，好像懵懵懂懂，似睡非睡，恍惚间满耳都是莺声，轻细的呢喃啁啾，也像初春蚕口刚吐出的新丝。

　　日本雅乐里还保存了唐代白明达写的《春莺啭》一曲，筚篥、龙笛、琵琶，合奏起来，像一片浩大的春光。

　　据说是唐玄宗午寐醒来，听到一片莺啼，下令乐工作曲，记下那一日春光里的莺声。

　　春日渐暖，要有一个午后，躺在西湖南岸柳荫吹拂的草地上午睡。要闭着眼睛，细听一片莺啼，声音如人世间一切微乎其微的琐碎唠叨。

　　要听到入睡，听到许多脚步声，来来去去。许多人来过，白居易来过，苏东坡来过，张岱来过，乾隆来过，李叔同来过，船家妇人来过， 却一个一个陆陆续续又都走远了。

　　脚步声来来去去，琐琐碎碎，也像一片春光柳浪里的莺声啊。

　　春天要过完了，走过苏小小的墓，走过林和靖的墓，知道来晚了，只能在墓前一拜。

　　端午在西湖，总会想起喝了雄黄酒的白蛇，熬耐不住酒在胸口涌动，要显出蛇的原型了。

　　炎热的风里，有一阵一阵麯院的酒气，混和着荷花的香。

　　“麯院”是南宋皇室官家酿酒的处所，夏季的风里漂浮酒香。

　　“麯院”四周满满围着荷田，溽热夏日，酒麯发酵蒸腾，渗杂在沉甸甸的风里，渗杂着荷叶荷花浓郁的香气，花香、酒香，随风散在四处，让走过的游人醺醺然颠倒欲醉。

　　“麯院风荷”一景，不是景，其实是全部嗅觉的陶醉沉迷，要闭上眼睛才能感觉。

　　“麯院”被后人误读为“曲院”，以为是在九曲桥上看风荷，嗅觉记忆被误为视觉，已失去了鼻腔里满满混合风荷的酒香原味。

　　修行五百年，幻化成女子的白蛇，也敌不过这样夏日浓郁芳烈的酒麯之香啊。

　　脱去人形，脱去女胎，酒的芳冽让蛇在人的身体底层蠕动，要显原型了。

　　西湖要过了夏日肉体的原欲蠢动，过了动物性本能的骚乱，才慢慢有入秋的宁静淡远。

　　一到西湖就看平湖秋月，没有历练春的妩媚，没有过夏日的纠缠执着，一头栽进空寂，或许还是遗憾吧。

　　张岱若不是先经历了“繁华靡丽”，或许没有机会领悟最终的“过眼皆空”吧。

　　*

　　我意外走到西泠印社，一个青年站在湖边，拿了几锭墨在兜售。我把墨拿在手上看，长椭圆形，镌模是云龙的底，上面「黄山松烟」四个篆字。掂在手上很轻，墨色已脱胶，不是新墨，已很有岁月了。

　　我问青年：“那里制的墨?”

　　青年腼腆，轻声说：“家里旧藏的。”

　　“写书法吗?”我问。

　　他摇摇头。

　　总共没有几锭，我都买下了。

　　李叔同出家前，把所镌刻的印，封在西泠印社山石壁上，题了四个字“前尘影事”。

　　我怀里揣着新买的墨，在石壁上找那四个字。

　　那一年，李叔同三十九岁，在虎跑寺剃发，法号弘一。

　　我看过李叔同青年时在日本上野读美术时的照片，清俊逼人。也看过他在春柳剧社演戏剧照，反串“茶花女”，穿法国女装，妖娇妩媚，像春日灼灼桃花。

　　他在虎跑寺落发，多年服侍他的校工同行，看到佛殿地上遗落的头发，校工满眼是泪，就拿扫帚去扫。

　　弘一阻止了校工，他说：“此后这事要我自己做了。”

　　虎跑寺在西湖外围，桂花极好。

　　秋分之后，西湖会有暑热过后的清凉，空气里开始流动着初初吐蕊的新桂的花香，但是，似乎都不及虎跑寺的素净清洁。

　　*三罈印月

　　秋分以后，西湖的光取代了纷红骇绿的色彩。

　　秋天夜晚、西湖随处走走，满满一整湖都是月光，一整个天空也都是月光。

　　像是演完戏的李叔同，脱了假发，脱了戏服，卸了妆，落了发，只是回来做真实的自己了。

　　有一年为台湾的公视拍摄西湖，停留比较长的时间，苏堤、花港，风荷、都拍摄了，却在“三罈印月”卡住了。

　　我在船头，讲述三罈的故事。导演要求话讲完，船刚好绕三罈一圈，最后镜头停在我身后的三罈湖景。

　　我讲了十余次，船绕了十余次，镜头跟拍十余次，最后一刻，不知道为何，船头总是对不到三罈。

　　船夫紧张，怨气自己得很，他真心希望圆满，但他背对三罈，加上湖上的风时紧时缓，很难控制船身快慢。

　　我跟他说不是他错，“抽支烟，休息一下……”

　　休息时，我跟船夫闲聊，说起苏东坡当初带老百姓疏浚西湖，修堤道，为的是水利，怕湖水漫漶，淹没良田，最后把挖出的淤泥堆成岛，岛上立三个石头罈塔，三公尺高，用来计水位高度。

　　“真的?”他不知道为什么好像忽然松了一口气，我拍拍他肩牓，两人大笑。另一艘船上掌镜的人听不见，都不知道我们笑什么，我说：“再来一次……”

　　“三个石罈，每一个罈五个圆孔。夜里，罈心点灯，一个罈会有五个圆形的光。三个罈，十五个圆孔的光。倒映水中，远远望去，一共三十个圆圆的月亮。到了月圆晚上，加上天上的月亮，湖中的月亮，西湖就有了一共三十二个月亮。也有人说，应该是三十三个，再加上心里的一片明月。”

　　我讲完，船头正对三罈，镜头结束了，所有人鼓掌欢呼，我与船夫击掌大笑。

　　一千年来，许多人月圆之夜，刻意来西湖，特意找三十三个月亮。

　　明末张岱就已经警告，七月半，看不到月，只看到人头。

　　三罈印月，三十几个月圆的光华，印在水中，当然也只是心中的幻相而已。

　　“三罈”后来也被大众讹传为“三潭”，“三潭印月”听起来好像更有佛理哲思。

　　西湖风景，有时像东坡跟一千年来执着风雅的人开的一个玩笑。东坡自己也常执迷，但他懂得不时调侃嘲笑自己的执迷，所以可爱。

　　西湖风景使人如此留连执迷不悟，“三罈印月”，真真假假，却原来只是大胆开示了一夜月光的幻相，像一部“法华”。

　　我在净慈寺大殿门上看过弘一大师“具平等相”四字匾额，是我看过尺寸最大的弘一书法。无一点造作，演完戏，卸了妆，只是回来本份写字抄经了。

　　我为什么要知道这些?知道西湖一千年来的“靡丽繁华”，然而我的面前只是一片空白。真的是“过眼皆空”吗?

　　我咬一咬自己的手臂。

　　苏东坡修苏堤，的确是为了水利，堤修好了，解除水患，留了六个通水泄洪的桥洞，六座桥一一命了名。堤上间隔种了一株柳一株桃花，他或许没有预料，给此后一千年的西湖留下永恒的风景──苏堤春晓。

　　白居易来西湖，苏东坡来西湖，在当时都算是贬谪，从中央京城贬谪到偏远荒野。

　　或许因为贬谪，看风景的心情就大不一样，“晴光潋滟”看到的的西湖，东坡觉得好，当然，“山色空濛”的西湖，他也觉得好。生命好像知道了进退，有了平常心，“具平等相”，也就有了看山看水的分寸。

　　西湖成为古代文人重要的功课，懂得眼前风景只是有缘，能有平等心看眼前色相，晴日或下雨就都是好的了。“回首向来萧瑟处，也无风雨也无晴”，东坡的好句子，都是他借风景做功课的笔记吧。

　　风景本来也是心事，心事太多，到西湖，却往往也看不到风景。

　　一次陪几位长辈游西湖，年长于我，他们的西湖典故当然更多。上了船，历历在目，说来说去，都是往事。

　　那是初春，天气阴晴不定，不多久湖上起风，船家收了布棚，抱歉地说：“上面有安全顾虑，三级风就要收棚回航。”

　　长辈们当然扫兴，但也优雅，只是轻轻喟叹。

　　回行途中，开始飘春雨，点细如杨花纷飞，船家聪慧，看出宾客扫兴，在长风细雨的船头低吟长啸一句：“山色空濛雨亦奇啊……”

　　我总觉得东坡重来西湖，竟是投胎做了一名在湖上渡人的船夫。

　　*断桥

　　一年的西湖，从初春的苏堤春晓，看到入冬的断桥残雪， 也恰恰是看了生命的繁华璀灿，到领悟最终的沉寂空幻吧。

　　“断桥”是白蛇与许仙告别的地方，白蛇腹痛待产，被法海天兵天将逼到绝路，走到断桥，人世情缘眼下都要断绝。从小跟母亲看这一段戏，白素贞白衣素服，在舞台上像一缕冰莹白雪。大段唱腔，一生的事，娓娓道来，真是凄婉。但似乎也知道情爱伤痛都要过去，春夏花红柳绿，也还是要入隆冬，处处残雪，只是一片白茫茫大地真干净。

　　我试了在西泠印社跟青年买的墨，墨色如轻烟，烟在水中散开，轻烟里一层层透明的光。

　　墨上镌了“黄山松烟”四字，但是现代人不容易理解“烟”的含意了。

　　烧了松木桐木，烟往上升，攀附在烟囱四周壁上。扫下这些烟，搜集起来，加胶、加麝香、制成一锭墨。

　　烟囱越顶上，烟的微粒越细，最细、最轻扬、飞到最顶端的烟，才是“顶烟”。

　　宋人最好的水墨，原是烟的渲染。郭熙的《早春》，米芾的大字《吴江舟中诗》，纸上绢上的墨，都如轻烟，迷离如一夜湖面上的光。

　　九零年末偶然经过纽约，在一家艺术中心看到一挂轴。白纸上斑斑点点，许多火烧灼的痕迹，像是宇宙洪荒初始，错错落落的爆炸、燃烧，我一霎时仿佛听到似唢呐的婴啼，好像茫茫空白里要有许多生命出现。

　　爆炸的火焰慢慢熄灭，尘埃落定，有细如蚕丝的烟，一缕一缕在空白里流窜升起。电光火石的爆炸溅迸，灰飞烟灭的迷离沧桑，那是一千年过去的西湖山水吗?

　　我看了创作者拼音的名字：Cai……

　　那是我第一次看到蔡国强爆破的作品，知道一千年过去，宋的墨色如烟，还在纸上说山水故事。(图三)

　　*破

　　每到西湖，总惦记一件事，是第一次走到虎跑寺，庙的后方有弘一落发的草庵。一张竹床，一张草席。

　　我看到壁上悬挂一件灰布僧衣，上面补了又补，补了不下一百次。我细看每一处破口，每一片大小补丁，每一针脚，一件衣服，如此破旧褴褛，却有人的端庄华丽。想到弘一临终写的“悲欣交集”(图四) ，想到他最后的句子“华枝春满，天心月圆”，都像在说西湖，我低头在僧衣前合十敬拜。

　　第二次去，僧衣不见了。草席竹床也不见了。原地修了豪华的弘一纪念馆，塑了真人大小的石像。

　　我心里一直惦记那件僧衣，不知它是否还在西湖哪个角落。

　　不知为什么，蔡国强爆破留在纸上火烧后的破洞、焦黑、烧灼、灰飞烟灭，一一都让我想到那件僧衣。

　　2012年2月4日立春蒋勋定稿于中国台北淡水河畔八里。

　　Growing up in Taiwan, I never really had an opportunity to visit West Lake until the travel ban was lifted on the island sometime around 1988.

　　For decades before that, I had read several volumes of poetry about West Lake, saw numerous paintings of the lake, and heard many stories about it. Nevertheless, I had not been able to go there myself. In this way, I passed the first half of my life without personally visiting West Lake.

　　With too many historical stories in my mind, it was impossible for me to meet the lake ¡°like a stranger¡±. Once a sight is turned into a place of fame and stuffed with too many memories of people of the past, the actual sight itself may perhaps already be on the verge of death.

　　It really takes a big, grand ¡°explosion of memory¡± to restore a place of fame to its original beauty.

　　A dream comes true

　　In 1990, I transited Hong Kong on my way to West Lake for first time.

　　It was the afternoon of New Year¡¯s Eve on the Chinese lunar calendar and the sky was densely covered with clouds. H, who went with me, said, ¡°It is probably going to snow.¡±

　　It suddenly occurred to me that Zhang Dai once wrote in Tao Yan Dream Memories about ¡°seeing snow in the Mid-Lake Pavilion¡±, which reads ¡°There is a heavy dew on the rimes; the sky, the clouds, the mountain and the water are all white¡±.

　　The sky, the clouds, the mountain and the water were all white from top to bottom. ¡°Will I see the same ¡®whiteness¡¯ that Zhang Dai saw 300 years ago?¡±

　　I wondered.

　　We went directly to West Lake after getting off the plane and stayed at a hotel next to Gushan Mountain (Mountain of Solitude) where the ground was relatively high. The room was at the top on the seventh floor. I opened the window after entering the room, and flurries of snow, mingled with fog, floated into the room.

　　The lake was far away but could be seen from time to time. The mountains were undulating in the distance and were also visible at times, albeit randomly spotted. As the clouds floated in and out of sight, the mountains also emerged

　　and disappeared.

　　What I saw was total whiteness and emptiness, yet such whiteness and emptiness seemed to have one layer upon another. It was like the ice crack veins on the porcelain glaze of the Song Dynasty. Different layers of whiteness could actually be so rich.

　　¡°Is this the work Xi Shan Qing Yuan (Pure and Remote Mountains with Streams) by Xia Gui in the National Palace Museum in Taipei?¡± (fig. 1) I exclaimed to myself. There were traces of ink marks on the paper that were as thin as wisps of smoke. The traces were so thin that they were almost invisible and beyond visual sight. It was so thin that it felt like memories that were probably not real.

　　I did not expect to see for myself the ¡°real scene¡± of what was inside a painting from the Song Dynasty.

　　Why it was on the New Year¡¯s Eve of that year that I finally saw West Lake? Why did I come to West Lake after reading so much literature and seeing so many paintings about the lake?

　　When Zhang Dai wrote the A Dream Memory of the West Lake, the Ming Dynasty had already come to an end and he had been exiled to the mountains with unruly hair. He had already lost West Lake.

　　In the book he gave an example: A servant was pouring wine for his master when he slipped and broke the wine jar accidentally. At a loss for what to do next, he bit himself on the arm and thought to himself, ¡°Is this a dream?¡±

　　¡°Only emptiness remained when the flourishing and luxury passed like a dream.¡± I read Zhang Dai¡¯s sentence when I was in my youth. Twenty years passed and I was here at West Lake. It seemed that I should also bite myself on the arm to let physical pain tell me that all this was real.

　　We agreed to leave at 5 pm to take a tour around the lake. We left the hotel and got to the lake only to find that there were no boats at all. It occurred to me that it was the New Year¡¯s Eve and I guessed that most of the boatmen had gone home.

　　There was a haze above the surface of the lake and there were flakes of snow in the sky. The air was filled with an aroma of plum flowers that was fresh and bracing in the wind. With my eyes open, I could see a sheet of blankness with fog, snow, water and the sky mixed together.

　　With my eyes closed, there was constantly the aroma of plum flowers in the air. My skin felt cold with a little warmth. The sounds of someone pulling on the oars from nowhere could be heard. The slight movement of the waves moved closer and closer.

　　A woman¡¯s voice came along amid the drizzle and the cold wind, asking, ¡°Need a boat?¡± The voice was so familiar that I did not think that it was my first time to hear it.

　　Was it a boat that had ferried me before? I bit my arm.

　　¡°Not going home for the New Year?¡± I sat into the boat. The woman pushed out the barge pole to the bottom of the lake and the boat left the bank slowly.

　　¡°I am going home for the New Year¡¯s Eve family dinner right after ferrying you.¡± The woman had a tender voice that disappeared in the wind like light snow.

　　¡°May I have your family name?¡± H asked the boatwoman.

　　¡°Fu, as in the word Fu Qian (paying money).¡±

　　I had never heard of such a surname, which I thought might be a simplified version of Fu (symbol), and so I dropped the question.

　　There were no other boats on the water and the lake was empty. It was so empty that one could not tell the boundaries between cloud, fog, water and snow. It was like facing a piece of paper with no ink on it yet. Such a blank piece of paper, so plain, neat and empty, reminded one of the cosmos in its embryo.

　　The heaven and earth were not split apart yet and it was complete chaos. However, the universe was about to come into being out of the emptiness.

　　I seemed to hear a baby¡¯s cry exploding in the quietness of the primitiveness that was sad and tearing. It sounded like extreme happiness as well as inconsolable grief. It felt like prosperity as well as disillusion.

　　If a huge explosion occurred in such emptiness, what kind of sight would

　　there be?

　　The snow dispersed, so did the clouds and the fog. There would be mountain ranges rising and falling, streams flowing, flowers blossoming, willows turning green, and birds singing. If I came in March on a sunny spring day with warm sunshine, what would I see on West Lake?

　　Chong Er

　　After the 1990s, it became convenient for people on either side of the Taiwan strait to visit each other. I would go to West Lake several times in a year and travel all over China.

　　West Lake has thousands of looks¡ªeither plain or lavish¡ªin different seasons, at different times and with different moods.

　　In spring, there is the Dawn on Su Causeway in Spring and the Orioles Singing in the Willows.

　　In summer, there is the Qu Yard and Lotus Pool in Summer and the Fish Viewing at the Flower Pond.

　　In autumn, there is the Moon over the Peaceful Lake in Autumn and the Three Ponds Mirroring the Moon.

　　In early evening, there is the Leifeng Pagoda in the Sunset (fig. 2 ) against the sun¡¯s glow in the sky and the Evening Bell Ringing at Nanping Hill from in

　　the yard of Jingci Temple.

　　In winter when it snows thick and fast, there is the Remnant Snow on the Bridge in Winter left in the distance.

　　The Ten Scenes of West Lake are actually not about scenes, but about seasons and time, the memories of different mornings and evenings for all these years. I have seen every single scene with my own eyes and I got to know them all.

　　All of a sudden, I turned back from the road, for no reason, as if I had lost something very dear to me. For the second time I hastened back onto the path I tread before, the causeway, the arch bridge, words engraved on the bridge, the dents and the peeling moss in the dents, they were all the same, but I had already forgotten what I was looking for.

　　At dawn in early spring, I walked onto the Su Causeway. The sky lit up little by little. The Su Causeway was two or three miles long. There were thousands of peach blossoms glaring in red and new willow branches flying high in bright green. There were waves in the lake glistening over thousands of acres.

　　Alone, I stood under a peach tree, still and dazed.

　　¡°Dazed?¡± the woman smiled.

　　A gust of cold wind blowing, I found us already by the Mid-Lake Pavilion.

　　In front of a stone tablet, the woman pointed at the two characters ¡°Chong Er¡± and said to me, ¡°The Emperor Qianlong inscribed the two characters here to test his ministers. You are an educated man and should know what they mean.¡±

　　The boatwoman did not stick to the question and moved on.

　　Emperor Qianlong was clever and loved showing off. Many of the ministers actually knew that ¡°Chong Er¡± meant ¡°Feng Yue Wu Bian¡± (the wonders of natural beauty are boundless). The two characters ¡°Feng Yue¡± without the exterior part became ¡°Chong Er¡±. However, to please the emperor, they pretended ignorance to make the emperor happy who felt that his test had baffled the others.

　　The boatwoman was a smart woman and moved forward after saying these words, paying no attention to the answer.

　　I came to West Lake later, not for the characters on the stone tablet, but for the boatwoman¡¯s story that had no answer.

　　Spring orioles singing

　　I once went to the West Lake to give a lecture at the Zhejiang Academy of Art. I felt sad when I thought that Li Shutong, who had returned to China from abroad, and who was teaching on that campus, wrote a song of farewell, “Outside the road-side pavilion, beside the ancient path, the green meadow seems to merge into the sky. . . .”

　　A student told me, “The view of Orioles Singing in the Willows is just outside the campus.”

　　I walked out of the campus and lay on the meadow by the lake for an entire afternoon.

　　Soft and thin willow branches floated and waved in the spring wind. They were as tender as long threads.

　　Lying for a while, I seemed to feel dizzy and was half asleep. My mind was not so clear and I was surrounded by the sounds of orioles. The soft and thin chirps were like newly produced silk thread by silkworms in early spring.

　　The court music of Japan has a song called Spring Orioles Singing, which was written by Bai Mingda in Tang Dynasty. It is an instrumental collaboration of Tartar pipe, dragon flute and Chinese lute, which sounds like a great spring scenery.

　　It is said that Emperor Tang Xuanzong heard the chirping of orioles when he woke up from a nap. He then gave an order that music be made to record the singing of orioles on that day in spring.

　　When the springtime becomes warm choose an afternoon and lay on the meadow on the south bank of West Lake for a nap with the willow trees waving. Close your eyes and listen carefully to the chirping of orioles whose voices are just like all the other small and trivial noises in the world.

　　Listen until you fall asleep and hear footsteps come and go. Many have been there. Bai Juyi has been there; Su Dongpo has been there; Zhang Dai has been there; Emperor Qianlong has been there; Li Shutong has been there; the boatwoman has been there. But one after another, they all went further away.

　　The sounds of steps coming and going are trivial and are like the orioles singing in the willows in springtime.

　　The spring was almost over. Passing the tombs of Su Xiaoxiao and Lin Hejing and knowing that I was late, I could only pay my respects.

　　If you happen to be at West Lake during the Dragon Boat Festival, one is always reminded of the legendary Madame White Snake, who was about to revert to her original shape after the regular wine she drank churned in her chest.

　　Bursts of the smell of wine mixed with the fragrance of lotus flowers came from the Curved Yard.

　　The Qu Yard was the royal place where wine was made in the Southern Song Dynasty. There was the smell of wine in the wind in the summer.

　　The Qu Yard is surrounded by lotus fields. In the humid and hot summer, the smell of wine fermentation mixes with the warm air and is combined with the fragrance of lotus leaves and flowers. The scent of flowers and wine permeates everywhere and people passing by become tipsy.

　　The view of Qu Yard and the Lotus Pool in Summer is not visual, but an olfactory enjoyment and intoxication. One can only feel it with the eyes closed. The ¡°Qu Yard¡± was later misunderstood as ¡°seeing the lotus flowers on a winding bridge¡±. The olfactory memory was mistakenly understood as being visual. The original wine smell mixed with lotus fragrance in the nose was lost.

　　After 500 years¡¯ practice, the White Snake had taken on a woman¡¯s form, yet she could not match such a rich scent of delicious wine in the summer.

　　The scent of wine stripped her of her human from and the appearance of a woman, leaving her wriggling at the bottom of the human body where the snake inhabited, about to revert to her original shape.

　　Only when the summer passes with its instinctive physical desires and animal-like instincts, will West Lake have an autumnal tranquility and quietness.

　　It might not be complete if one sees the Moon over the Peaceful Lake in Autumn immediately without experiencing the charming spring and passionate summer beforehand.

　　Were it not for the “prosperity and luxury.” that Zhang Dai had experienced before, he would not have realized the ultimate ¡°emptiness of things that have passed.”

　　*

　　I accidentally walked to the Xiling Society of Seal Arts and saw a young man selling ink cases by the lake. I took up the long oval case and looked at it. There were four characters engraved on it-“Huangshan Songyan” (Yellow mountain and pine smoke). It felt light in my hand and the ink color had already faded. It was not new ink, but was old.

　　I asked the young man, “Where is the ink made?”

　　The shy youngster answered with a light voice, “It’s from my family collection.”

　　“You practice calligraphy?” I asked.

　　He shook his head.

　　There were not many, so I bought them all.

　　Before he became a monk, Li Shutong put all his engraved seals in the mountain cliff near the Xiling Society of Seal Arts and inscribed four characters-“Qian Chen Ying Shi” (things of the past).

　　Holding the ink I bought in my hands, I looked for the four characters on

　　the cliff.

　　Li Shutong was 39 years-old that year. He had his hair cut in Hupao Temple and acquired the religious name Hongyi.

　　I once saw a picture of Li Shutong when he was studying art in his youth in Ueno, Japan, and he looked handsome. I also saw his acting photos when he was in Chun Liu Theater. He played the lady of the Camellias in French 0

　　In Hupao Temple, his hair was cut. When the campus worker who had served him for years saw his hair on the temple floor, his eyes swelled with tears, and he set out to fetch the broom to sweep it up. Hongyi stopped him and said, ¡°From now on I will do this myself.¡±

　　Hupao Temple was on the exterior area of West Lake and there were beautiful osmenthus flowers.

　　After the autumnal equinox, the weather is cool at the West Lake after the summer heat disappears. There is the smell of young blossoms of flowers in the air, which however, are not as plain and neat as those in Hupao Temple.

　　Three Ponds Mirroring the Moon

　　After the autumnal equinox, the light of West Lake replaces the colors of the luxuriant vegetation swaying in the wind.

　　Take a walk around West Lake on an autumnal evening. There is moonlight all over the lake and the sky is full of moonlight, too.

　　It feels like Li Shutong has just finished his acting, taken off his wig and costume, and has removed his make-up and has had his hair cut. He becomes his original self.

　　There was a year when I stayed there for a long time because a TV station in Taiwan came to shoot West Lake. The team had shot Su Causeway, Flower Pond and lotus pool, but it got stuck at the Three Ponds Mirroring the Moon.

　　Standing in the front, I needed to tell the story of the three ponds. The director asked me to finish the story when the boat circled round the three ponds. The last shot should be the lake scenery of the three ponds behind me.

　　I told the story dozens of times; the boat went on dozens of tours around the ponds; the camera tried dozens of times. However, for no reason, the head of the boat just could not be directed to the three ponds at the last minute.

　　The boatman was nervous and blamed himself for it. He wholeheartedly hoped it worked. However, his back was facing the ponds and the wind blew at different speeds. Thus it was very difficult to control the boat.

　　I told him it was not his fault, saying ¡°Have a cigarette and take a break.”

　　During the break, I had a chat with the boatman. I told him the story of Su Dongpo dredging the West Lake with the local people. They built the causeway for the purpose of irrigation. They were afraid that the water would inundate the fields. The mud they had dug out later accumulated into an island. Three stone pagodas were established on the island that were three meters high and used for measuring the water level.

　　“Really?”± he said suddenly, taking a breath of relief for no reason. I patted his shoulder lightly and the two of us burst into laughter. People on the other boat could not hear us and did not know why we were laughing. I said, “One more time.”

　　“There are 5 round holes in each of the three pagodas. During the nighttime, a lamp is lit up in the middle of the pagoda. There will be 5 circular beams of light on each of the pagodas and 15 round holes with light on three pagodas. From a distance, there will be altogether 30 round moons mirrored in the water. In the evening when there is a round moon, there will be 32 moons in total, counting the one in the sky and those in the lake. Some say that there should be 33, including the one in one¡¯s heart.”

　　The head of the boat directly pointed to the ponds when I finished and the shot was done. Everybody clapped and cheered. I gave a high-five to the boatman and laughed.

　　For a thousand years, many came to West Lake on the evenings of a full moon just to look for the 33 moons. Zhang Dai, who lived at the end of the Ming Dynasty, warned that one could only see human heads instead of moons in the middle

　　of July.

　　The view of Three Ponds Mirroring the Moon¡ªthe beauty of more than thirty moons mirrored in the water¡ªis just an illusion of one¡¯s heart.

　　The three pagodas later became known as the three ponds in popular myth-ology. Three Ponds Mirroring the Moon seems to have more of a flavor of

　　Buddhist philosophy.

　　The scenery of West Lake sometimes seems like a joke by Su Dongpo on those who had a weakness for unworldly illusions. Su Dongpo himself was also addicted to art, but he knew how to make fun of his obsession from time to time, which made him all the more lovable. One can be so fascinated by the scenery of West Lake that one may mix the real and unreal, which is a bold illusion, just like the moonlight of that night, like the Lotus Sutra.

　　I once saw a tablet on the palace door of Jingci Temple. The four characters inscribed were written by Master Hongyi: Ju Ping Deng Xiang (All is equal). It was the largest work of calligraphy by Master Hongyi among all those I had seen. Free from pretentiousness, acting and rid of make-up, he is back to his own duty of transcribing the sutras.

　　Why should I know all this? Knowing the “prosperity and luxury” of West Lake of thousands of years, I see only a total blankness in front of me. Is it true that “things that have a past become empty.”?

　　I bit myself on the arm.

　　Su Dongpo did indeed fix the Su Causeway for the purpose of irrigation. The causeway dispersed the fear of floods and left behind six arch bridges that could channel water and discharge flooding. There was a name for each of the six bridges. A willow was planted next to a peach tree at regular intervals. He might have not expected that what he had done would become an eternal scene at West Lake¡ªDawn on the Su Causeway in Spring.

　　Bai Juyi and Su Dongpo both came to West Lake when they were banished from the court in the central capital to a remote area. Banished from the court, they might be seeing the scenery with a different mood. Dongpo thought that West Lake in sunshine was beautiful; he also thought that West Lake in the rain and fog was beautiful. It seemed that he understood that there were both advances and retreats in life and had acquired a peaceful mind. He knew how to appreciate scenery.

　　West Lake became an important lesson for ancient people who came to the realization that the scenery before one¡¯s eyes was just a result of fate. Facing the scenery with a peaceful mind, it would be beautiful on both sunny and rainy days. ¡°Looking back on the sunshine and rain in the past, there was neither rain nor sunshine.¡± The great sentence that Dongpo wrote might be the notes for the lessons he learned from the scenery.

　　Once I visited West Lake with several elders. They certainly had more stories about the lake than I did. As we were on the boat telling stories, many old memories were vivified.

　　It was early spring and the weather was subject to change. Soon, a wind was blowing across the lake. The boatman folded the hood and apologized, “Due to security concerns, the boat should go return to shore when there is a third-level wind.”

　　Disappointed, the elders were still graceful. They just sighed a little.

　　On our way back, it started to drizzle. The rain drops were like flying flowers. The smart boatman had seen the disappointment of the guests and uttered a low cry from the fore, quoting a poem: “It is just another spectacle to have the mountains shrouded in mist and rain.”

　　I always felt that the boatman who ferried people on the lake was a reincarnation of Su Dongpo who had come to the West Lake again.

　　The Broken Bridge

　　To see sceneries at West Lake at different times from Dawn on the Su Causeway in Spring to Remnant Snow on the Bridge in Winter is like seeing the process of life, from extravagance to the realization of ultimate emptiness and quietness.

　　The Broken Bridge was where the White Snake bade farewell to Xu Xian. The White Snake was about to deliver their baby and was driven to the Broken Bridge by Fahai and the divine troops descending from Heaven. Her relationship with Xu Xian was about to end. I have been watching this scene with my mother since childhood. Dressed in a white and plain costume, Bai Suzhen looked like white snow on the stage. A lifetime story was slowly presented to the viewers in her plaintive singing. However, it seemed that the pain brought by love would pass after all. The red flowers and green trees in spring and summer would finally

　　be replaced by winter with lingering snow everywhere, leaving the fields white and clean.

　　I tried the ink I bought from the young man at the Xiling Society of Seal Arts. The ink color was as light as smoke that spread in water and there were layers of transparent light in the light smoke.

　　The four characters ¡°Huang Shan Song Yan¡± were engraved on the case. But it is not easy for modern people to understand the character ¡°Yan¡± (smoke). After the pine and paulownia wood was burned, the smoke would rise to cling to the walls around the chimney. Adding glue and musk, the smoke would later be swept down and collected to make a case of ink.

　　Particles of smoke on the higher part of the chimney were finer. Only the finest and lightest smoke could fly to the top, which was called ¡°top smoke¡±.

　　The best ink considered by people in Song Dynasty was originally made from smoke. In Guo Xi¡¯s Early Spring and Mi Fu¡¯s Poem in the Boat on Wujiang River the ink of the big characters on the paper and silk was like light smoke, like glum lights on the surface of the lake during the night.

　　At the end of 1990, I passed through New York by chance and saw a hanging scroll in an art center (fig. 3). There were spots on the white paper and traces of burning. It was like the chaos at the beginning of the universe, with random explosions and burnings. Immediately I seemed to hear a baby¡¯s cries like the sound of Chinese horns and I felt that many lives were about to come into being out of blankness.

　　Flames of the explosion gradually extinguished and the dust dropped to the ground. Wisps of smoke as thin as cocoon fiber started rising in the air. An explosion came with lightening light and flint fire. Things were reduced to flying ashes and smoldering smoke, suggesting the mist and vicissitude of life. Was that the mountains and waters of West Lake one thousand years ago?

　　I saw the Pinyin of the artist¡¯s name: Cai.

　　It was my first time to see the explosion work by Cai Guo-Qiang, and I knew that after a thousand years, stories of mountains and waters will still be told on paper while the ink from the Song Dynasty will still tell stories like smoke.

　　Explosion

　　Every time I went to West Lake, I always thought of one thing. The first time I walked to Hupao Temple, I found the thatched hut behind the temple where Hongyi had his hair cut. There was a bamboo bed with a straw mat.

　　I saw a grey frock hanging on the wall with more than 100 patches on it. I looked carefully at every single broken hole, every patch of a different size and every stitch. A frock, as worn out as it was, still had the dignity of a human being. I thought of the Intersection of Sadness and Happiness (fig. 4) written by Hongyi on his deathbed and his last sentence ¡°Spring comes when branches are thriving and the heart of the sky appears when the moon is round¡±. They both seemed to be talking about West Lake. I lowered my head with my palms together to pay

　　my homage.

　　The second time I went there, the frock could not be found. Neither could the bamboo bed and straw mat. On the original site a grand Hongyi Memorial Hall had been built with a life-size stone statue.

　　I always think about that frock and wonder whether it is somewhere near West Lake.

　　I don¡¯t know why, but the broken holes, charred blackness, burning, flying ashes and smoldering smoke left on the paper after Cai Guo-Qiang¡¯s explosion all remind me of that frock.