故 友 海 棠

文｜任丽君、翻译｜唐建军

Old Friend Crabapple

by Ren Lijun , translated by Tang jianjun

每到阳春三月，心里就开始惦记了。那几株海棠，像住在心上的人，永远让人魂牵梦绕，仿佛彼此间有种“一期一会”的约定。春节刚过，天还料峭，我就忍不住一次次去探看她的枝头——期待能发现几颗迫不及待的“小脑袋”。掐算着往年会面的日子，还想问问春风，只怕错过和辜负。说来也怪，春日里万千花容，百般妩媚，唯独海棠拂过心上悄然留影。若一年见不着一面，总归觉得错过了一场盛宴，空落落的。

Each March, as the gentle spring unfolds, I find myself already pining for it in my heart.Those few crabapple trees are like beloved ones lodged in my heart, forever haunting my thoughts, as if we share a pledge of "one meeting in a lifetime." Just after Spring Festival, while the cold still lingers, I find myself repeatedly drawn to their branches—hoping to spot a few impatient little buds peeking out. I calculate the dates of our past rendezvous and wish to ask the spring breeze, afraid only of missing the moment and letting them down. It's curious: among the thousand blossoms of spring, each so alluring, only the crabapple brushes softly against my heart and leaves its image there. If a year passes without that encounter, I always feel I've lost a splendid banquet, and my heart sinks with emptiness.

是夜，二月初八，一弯新月慵懒地挂在树梢。是时候见一面了。卸下白天的繁忙，去赴一场如期的约定。蹬上我的单车，直奔沁河边那条熟悉的路，真是“未见其面先闻其香“，阵阵花香扑面而来，引着我进入她们的世界。啊哈！她等着我呢！瞬间有种被温柔包裹住的幸福感。我闭上双眼，深深地吸一口气，细细品味着花香，任由那清幽的香顺着呼吸滑进身体，沁入肺腑，融入每一根血管、每一个毛孔……连日来的疲惫在这一刻，一扫而空。

That night, the eighth day of the second lunar month, a languid crescent moon hung upon the treetops. It was time to meet again. Casting off the bustle of the day, I set out to keep our long-expected rendezvous. Pedaling my bicycle, I headed straight for the familiar road by the Qin River—and truly, "before seeing her face, I caught her fragrance." Waves of blossom-scent rushed toward me, drawing me into their world. Aha! She was waiting for me. In that instant, I was wrapped in a gentle warmth, a feeling of pure happiness. I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and savored the floral perfume, letting its delicate, ethereal fragrance slide down with each breath, seep into my lungs, and merge into every blood vessel, every pore… In that moment, the weariness of days past was swept clean away.

我坐在海棠树下，抬头看花。她们不是最早报春的使者，也不与众花争春，热烈而不张扬，明艳却不骄矜，自有一番节奏和天地，不疾不徐，自在盛放。万千繁花过眼，唯有她温柔又坚定的模样，轻轻落在我心上。

I sat beneath the crabapple tree, looking up at the blossoms. They are not the earliest heralds of spring, nor do they vie with other flowers for the season's favor. Warm and vibrant, yet never ostentatious; bright and beautiful, yet never proud—they keep their own rhythm and realm, unhurried, unfolding in serene ease. Though a myriad of blossoms pass before my eyes, it is only her gentle yet steadfast countenance that softly alights upon my heart.

月色下的海棠，没有了白日的浓丽，却添了几分清寂。光照下的花瓣薄如蝉翼，微风拂过翩然起舞，像说着悄悄话。虽然我们语言不同，此刻我们心意相通。花无言，却有魂。清风拂过，那摇摆的花枝，便是对我最好的回应。

Under the moonlight, the crabapple blossoms lost their daytime radiance and acquired instead a touch of serene solitude. Bathed in the glow, their petals were as thin as cicada wings, dancing gracefully in the breeze as if whispering secrets. Though we had no common language, at that moment our hearts understood each other perfectly. Flowers cannot speak, yet they possess a soul. When the soft wind passed, the swaying branches were the most eloquent reply to me.

说起来，我和海棠的缘分，有些年头了。从前在附近上班时，日日经过这里。小河南岸的这株西府海棠，成为我上下班必停的地方，春天看她花满梢头，夏天看她绿叶婆娑，秋天看她叶影灿灿，冬天看她枝干嶙峋。我把自己的心里话都说给她听——喜悦的、烦闷的、满怀希望的、失落无助的……她从不打断我，也从不评判我。海棠开花的日子，大概是这一年里最幸福的时光。那不仅仅是美，更是一种力量，一种“春天又来了”的笃定。

As it happens, my bond with the crabapple goes back many years. When I used to work nearby, I passed by here every day. This Xifu crabapple tree on the south bank of the little river became a place I would always stop at on my way to and from work—in spring, watching its branches laden with blossoms; in summer, watching its leaves rustle in graceful green; in autumn, watching its foliage shimmer in golden hues; in winter, watching its bare, rugged limbs stand stark against the sky. I poured out all my innermost thoughts to it—moments of joy, of frustration, of hope, of helpless loss… It never interrupted me, never judged me. The days when the crabapple blooms are perhaps the happiest time of the whole year. It is not merely beauty; it is a kind of strength, a quiet certainty that spring has come again.

可有一年春天，一株海棠老友遭了“劫难”。不知是谁不懂怜惜，竟砍去她近一半的枝条。那原本低垂到可以亲吻河水的花枝，断的断、残的残，还有一地没来得及绽放的花苞。我站在树下，心疼得说不出话，眼泪在眼眶里打转。我轻轻抚摸着粗糙的树干，一遍遍地安慰她，也安慰自己：“没事的，你那么坚强，总会慢慢抽枝长叶，重归枝繁叶茂。来年春天，再以满树繁华与我重逢。”

But one spring, an old crabapple friend of mine met with a misfortune. Someone—who knows who, with no understanding or mercy—had cut away nearly half of her branches. The boughs that once bent low enough to kiss the river were now broken and shattered, and scattered on the ground lay countless unopened buds that never had the chance to bloom. I stood beneath the tree, my heart aching so much that I was speechless, tears welling up in my eyes. Gently, I stroked her rough trunk, over and over again, comforting her—and myself: "It's all right. You are so strong. You will slowly sprout new branches and leaves, and return to your lush fullness. Come next spring, you will greet me again with your full glory of blossoms."

从那之后，我便更勤地去看她。冬天树叶落尽，光秃秃的枝干上压着雪，我依旧站在树下跟她说话，把心里的喜爱和惦记，毫不吝啬地告诉她。

After that, I began to visit her even more often. In winter, when all the leaves had fallen and snow lay heavy on her bare branches, I still stood beneath the tree and talked to her, telling her without reserve all my affection and longing.

然后，那个冬天，奇迹发生了。也是一个雪后的日子，我远远地望向她，忽然看见光秃秃的枝干上，有什么东西闪了一下。走近了，我几乎不敢相信自己的眼睛——竟是一朵花！一朵粉白的花，孤零零地开在寒冬里，开在积雪未消的枝头。那一刻我站在树下，又惊又喜，满是感动。我想，定是海棠有灵，感知到我的心意，特意来应我一声。

And then, that winter, a miracle happened. It was another day after a snowfall. As I gazed at her from afar, I suddenly caught sight of something glinting on the bare branches. Drawing closer, I could hardly believe my eyes—it was a flower! A single blossom of pale pink and white, blooming all alone in the depth of winter, on a branch still dusted with unmelted snow. At that moment, standing beneath the tree, I was stunned and overjoyed, my heart brimming with tenderness. I thought to myself: surely the crabapple has a soul—she must have sensed my devotion and come all this way to give me a reply.

我给那朵花留了影。可惜后来换手机，照片藏于岁月里了。但那朵花的样子、那个冬天里的惊喜，却一直开在我心里，从未凋谢。那是我第一次真正相信：万物有灵。你付出的每一分爱，都会以某种方式，回到你身上。今夜，我又来看她了。月光下，树上的花依旧繁茂。可仔细看，水面上、地上，已落了些花瓣。飘在水里的，随波轻轻荡着，像一首无声的歌。这便是海棠——她不等人来迎接，也不等人来告别。该开的时候开，该落的时候落，从不犹豫。

I took a photograph of that flower. Unfortunately, when I later changed my phone, the picture was lost somewhere in the passage of time. But the image of that blossom—and the wonder of that winter day—has continued to bloom in my heart, never fading. That was the first time I truly came to believe: all things possess a soul. Every ounce of love you give will find its way back to you, in one form or another. Tonight, I have come to see her again. Beneath the moonlight, the blossoms on the tree are still lush and full. But looking closely, I notice that some petals have already fallen—on the water's surface, on the ground. Those drifting on the river sway gently with the ripples, like a song without words. This is the nature of the crabapple—she does not wait for anyone to welcome her, nor does she wait for anyone to bid her farewell. She blooms when it is time to bloom, and falls when it is time to fall—never hesitating.

我凑近一枝，细细地看。西府海棠的花，是复瓣的，有的两层、有的三层，像叠起来的绢纱。最外一层花瓣是粉红色的，越往里越白，到了最里面，是淡黄色的花蕊，细细的，软软的，像攒了一小簇阳光。每一朵盛开的花旁边，都有大大小小的花苞，紧紧抱着，像熟睡的女孩们。绿叶这时候已经长出来了，衬在花旁，不抢风头，却默默护着。花与叶，相互依偎，一起走过春天。这样的美，确是独一无二的。单看一朵花，端庄、娴静，看满树繁花，又似一波一波浪潮翻涌，带着清香，带着丽色，带着一种奔腾的磅礴的力量。唐玄宗曾把杨贵妃的醉态比作“海棠睡未足”，“海棠春睡”的典故便流传千年。宋代苏轼在宝鸡做官时，夜里举着蜡烛看海棠，写下“只恐夜深花睡去，故烧高烛照红妆”。原来古人也懂这种心情——怕错过、怕来不及、怕一转身花就谢。

I leaned in close to a branch and studied it carefully. The flowers of the Xifu crabapple are double-petaled—some with two layers, some with three—like folded silk gauze. The outermost petals are pink, growing whiter toward the centre, and at the very heart are pale yellow stamens, fine and soft, like a tiny cluster of captured sunlight. Beside every blossom in full bloom are buds of all sizes, tightly clasped, like sleeping girls. By now the green leaves have emerged, setting off the flowers—never stealing the show, but quietly guarding them. Flower and leaf, nestled together, journey through spring side by side. Such beauty is truly one of a kind. A single blossom is dignified and serene; yet the whole tree in bloom is like wave after wave surging forward, carrying delicate fragrance, radiant colour, and a sweeping, magnificent force.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang once compared the drunken grace of his consort Yang Guifei to "a crabapple still drowsy from sleep," and thus the celebrated allusion of the "crabapple in spring slumber" has been handed down for a thousand years. In the Song dynasty, the poet Su Shi, while serving as an official in Baoji, held a candle to view crabapple blossoms at night and wrote: "I fear only that in the deep night the flowers will fall asleep, so I light a tall candle to illuminate their crimson beauty." So even the ancients understood this feeling—the fear of missing out, of not being in time, of turning around only to find the flowers have faded.

西府海棠的“西府”，指的便是陕西宝鸡一带，古称西府。如今宝鸡市把它作为市花。两千多年前，汉代人就开始在园林里种它；到了唐代，宫廷里处处可见它的身影。这么算来，我与这棵海棠的缘分，不过是这漫长花史中微不足道的一瞬。可于我而言，这一刻，便是永恒。夜深了，我起身推车，回头又望了一眼。那棵海棠静静地立在河岸边，月光在花瓣上缓缓游走，像时光本身。

河水流着，花开着，我在。

明年春天，我们如约再会。

写于2026年3月26日夜

The name "Xifu" in Xifu crabapple refers to the area around Baoji in Shaanxi Province, known in ancient times as Xifu. Today, Baoji has adopted it as its city flower. Over two thousand years ago, people of the Han dynasty began planting it in their gardens; by the Tang dynasty, it could be seen everywhere in the imperial palaces. Measured against such a long floral history, my bond with this crabapple tree is but an infinitesimal, fleeting moment. Yet for me, this very moment is eternity.

The night grew deep. I rose, wheeled my bicycle, and glanced back one last time. The crabapple tree stood quietly by the riverbank, moonlight drifting slowly over its petals—like time itself.

The river flows on, the blossoms bloom on, and I am here.

Next spring, we shall meet again as promised.

Written on the night of March 26, 2026

作者简介；任丽君，笔名青竹、慧泽。师范出身，躬耕讲台多年，从小学到高中，一路教学相长、步步为进。专注语言文字工作多年，以热爱为灯，以坚守为经，在教育沃土上撒播文字的种子。现为丛台区作家协会副主席兼秘书长。自幼喜读书、爱写作，作品散见报刊。却始终自勉为学海行舟人，笔耕不辍。座右铭；路漫漫其修远兮，吾将上下而求索。

About the Author

Ren Lijun, who writes under the pen names Qingzhu and Huize, is a teacher by training. She has devoted many years to education, teaching at every level from primary to high school, growing alongside her students step by step. With a lifelong dedication to language and literacy work, she lights her way with passion and steers her course with perseverance, sowing the seeds of words in the fertile soil of education. She currently serves as Vice Chair and Secretary-General of the Congtai District Writers Association. A lover of reading and writing since childhood, her works have appeared in various newspapers and periodicals. Yet she always reminds herself that she is but a voyager on the vast sea of learning, and she never ceases to write. Her motto, taken from the ancient poet Qu Yuan, is: "The road ahead is long and winding; I shall search high and low."