颂明&深探合作《献给全球儿童的文学1001夜·深圳童话》

发布时间：2025-05-11 15:51:15  浏览量：4

中文版

第一章 会发光的红果实

梧桐山的夏夜总浸在绵密的雨幕里。辰辰数到第七十三滴雨水时，防护网突然发出“咚”的闷响——一团蓝绿色影子正剧烈挣扎着。

那竟是只散发着金属光泽的鸟！它的尾羽如同被月光镀了银边，爪间紧握的红果实正随着脉搏明灭，在雨夜里划出萤火虫般的轨迹。

“爸！鸟抓着星星！”辰辰压低声音喊道。素描本上的蕨类标本突然被铅笔划破——父亲的手在微微发抖。

当母亲用镊子夹出鸟儿翅膀里的玻璃碎片时，所有人都看见了那道金色瞳孔里掠过的文字。父亲发黄的《中国濒危鸟类图鉴》哗啦啦自动翻页，停在标着“1983年灭绝”的矛纹草鹛条目上，而插图正以肉眼可见的速度褪成空白。

红果实滚落辰辰掌心时，裂开的果皮下竟涌动着星河般的光点。甜味在舌尖炸开的瞬间，他听见防盗窗抱怨生锈的关节痛，听见雨滴在窗玻璃上写十四行诗。

“通灵果的馈赠。”鸟儿的声音像风吹过风铃草，“明日月圆夜，山南的树精们……”话音未落，急救箱突然发出冰层开裂般的脆响，那道伤口已然愈合如初。

次日破晓，中华秋沙鸭的鸣叫刺透晨雾。这种比熊猫稀少的鸟儿正用喙整理皇冠般的羽冠，它脚环上“生态监测”的字样已经磨损。

“三十年前的人类用推土机埋葬了它们，”秋沙鸭的视线穿透辰辰的校服口袋——那里藏着片发光的老榕树叶，“但昨晚，山南的树根开始唱歌了。”

远处传来的引擎声惊飞了鸟儿。父亲举着林业局通知冲进门时，辰辰正盯着作业本上浮现的树状荧光纹路——它们组成了两个古老的篆体字：

救救

推土机的轰鸣中，山南方向突然腾起漫天红光，宛如千万颗心脏在夜空同时跳动。

English Version

Chapter 1: The Luminescent Red Fruit

Summer nights on Wutong Mountain were always veiled in relentless rain. As Chenchen counted the seventy-third raindrop, a dull thud struck the window screen—where a blue-green shadow now fluttered desperately.

It was a bird with metallic plumage! Its tail feathers gleamed like moonlit silver edges, while the red fruit clutched in its talons pulsed rhythmically, tracing firefly-like arcs through the rainy night.

“Dad! The bird caught a star!” Chenchen whispered urgently. The fern specimen on the sketchpad was suddenly torn by pencil strokes—his father’s hands were trembling.

As Mother tweezed out a glass shard from the bird’s wing, they all saw the shimmering runes flash through its golden pupils. Father’s yellowed Atlas of China’s Endangered Birds flipped wildly on its own, stopping at the page marked Extinct 1983—Chinese Babax, where the illustration was fading into blankness before their eyes.

When the red fruit rolled onto Chenchen’s palm, its cracked skin revealed swirling starlight. As sweetness exploded on his tongue, he heard the window grate complain about rusty joints, heard raindrops composing sonnets on the glass.

“The gift of Spirit Fruit,” the bird’s voice chimed like wind through bellflowers. “Tomorrow’s full moon, the southern woods’ dryads…” Before it could finish, the first-aid kit cracked like breaking ice—the wound had vanished without a trace.

At dawn, the call of a Chinese merganser pierced the mist. This rarer-than-panda bird preened its crown-like crest, the words Ecological Survey on its leg band nearly faded away.

“Thirty years ago, bulldozers buried them,” the merganser’s gaze burned through Chenchen’s uniform pocket—where a glowing old banyan leaf hid—“but last night, the southern roots began to sing.”

The approaching engines startled the bird into flight. As Father rushed in waving the forestry bureau notice, Chenchen was staring at dendritic glow patterns on his homework—they’d formed two archaic seal script characters:

Save Us

Amidst the bulldozers’ roar, crimson light suddenly erupted from the southern woods—like a thousand hearts pulsing in unison across the night sky.