The rice ears are as beautiful as a painting, fully showing the fine scenery of the fields.
That night in Taitung, the typhoon passed through, the air was damp and cool, with occasional light rain drifting down. I had been here for a year, and today I finally saw Chen Jiannian at Tiehua Village. I had traveled a long way just to experience live the warmth I had once received from his CDs, that thrill of utter freedom, of breathing and rising and falling together with nature. Back when I was still in Taipei, I actually knew nothing about Taitung; it was because of his singing that my longing for Taitung accumulated rapidly (and blindly). In a way, it is because of him that I am here today.
"Beautiful Rice Ears" - I had heard this beautiful song before but only remembered fragments of the melody. Back then I often rode a motorcycle through the urban jungle during Taipei's rush hours, and when I was about to be suffocated by the murky air around me, or drowned out by the seething noise, I would casually hum tuneless fragments under my breath, as if that way I might find a path through the cracks, or breathe in one mouthful of clean, flawless air. At that time, I did not know the song's name, nor did I understand its mood and meaning.
Today, listening on site, Chen Jiannian sang straight into my body and my heart with that penetrating, clear voice. The guitar chords turned deftly, and the drummer beside him lightly tapped the drumhead, producing a drumbeat that seemed to come from far away and gave off a deep feeling. I have often felt that the wonder of music lies in the fact that what moves people is often some unexpected detail, often connected to the listener through some very personal factor or utterly inconspicuous reason. It might be a memory, it might be only the smell and light of the surroundings at that moment, or it might be because of the relationship with the person listening beside you. That kind of intimate connection stirs something beyond the auditory level, reaching a feeling beyond the five senses.
After learning this song's beautiful name, during the performance a vivid scene appeared in my head like a film. I felt as if I were listening with my whole body, watching, even sensing with my pores. I saw a valley, a valley tucked between two small mountains, the valley sloping gently downward, my eyes facing the setting sun, the sunlight making everything before me shine golden. Looking closely, terraced fields were scattered layer upon layer through the valley, stretching from nearby all the way to the mountainside in the distance. They were covered with full, drooping rice ears, and it was exactly the harvest season. With the melody of the song I clearly saw the rice waves swaying in the wind, and a cool breeze blowing down from the mountain made the swaying rice ears brush against one another and give off a rustling sound. Whenever the singing dropped low, a farmer wearing a straw hat would appear in the field, his back turned as he walked along the nearby ridge. The farmer's clothes and hat fluttered lightly in the wind blowing down from the mountain. The farmer stretched out wrinkled yet strong, thick palms and gently brushed over the rice waves, walking leisurely along the ridge with his back to me, never once turning around...
Because of the backlight, I could only see his silhouette and outline, but everything was so clear to me as I was immersed in the melody. I imagined that the farmer in the dream was my older self.
(Editor's note: Below is a recording shared of Chen Jiannian performing "Beautiful Rice Ears," composed by Puyuma elder Lu Senbao.)