寒风中,74岁的王宽老人向我走来。他驻足站定,像一棵苍松,又似一座雕像。这是一位慈祥的老人,头发梳得十分整齐,没有一丝凌乱。微微下陷的眼窝里,一双深褐色的眼睛诉说着岁月的沧桑。唇角的一抹浅笑,眉间的一丝淡愁,都显得那么凝重、从容。收养孤儿、茶楼“卖唱”、赈灾义演……此前,有关他的故事我听过许多,不过,因为是听来的,总觉得有点“肤浅”。渐渐地,随着采访的深入,我发现,“肤浅”的不是故事,而是自己。 Cold wind, 74-year-old Wang Kuan came to me. He stopped standing, like a pines, but also like a statue. This is a benevolent old man with very smooth hair and no mess. Slightly subsided in the orbital, a pair of dark brown eyes tell the vicissitudes of years. Hips touch smile, a touch of pale brow, are so dignified, calm. Adoption of orphans, restaurants, “Singing”, disaster relief performance ... ... Previously, I heard many stories about him, but because it is heard, always feel a bit “superficial ”. Gradually, with the deepening of the interview, I found that “superficial ” is not a story but a self.