摘要："一千多年前，这里属于南越国的领地。"古树的声音低沉而悠远，"那时的梧桐山啊，漫山遍野都是高大挺拔的梧桐树。它们的树干笔直如剑，树冠如华盖般舒展。每到秋天，梧桐叶变成金黄色，整座山就像被阳光点燃了一样辉煌。"

颂明&深探合作之《深圳童话》

第三章 梧桐山，一个让人心酸的传说

古树的声音像是从很远的地方传来，又像是直接在辰辰脑海中响起："孩子，坐下来吧，这个故事很长..."

辰辰乖乖盘腿坐在古树前的草地上，阳光透过树叶在他身上洒下斑驳的光点。

"一千多年前，这里属于南越国的领地。"古树的声音低沉而悠远，"那时的梧桐山啊，漫山遍野都是高大挺拔的梧桐树。它们的树干笔直如剑，树冠如华盖般舒展。每到秋天，梧桐叶变成金黄色，整座山就像被阳光点燃了一样辉煌。"

辰辰闭上眼睛，仿佛看到了古树描述的那幅壮丽景象。

"最神奇的是，"古树继续道，"这里曾是凤凰的家园。凤凰，百鸟之王，它们有着七彩的羽毛和优雅的长尾，鸣叫声如同天籁。每年秋天，成千上万的候鸟从北方飞来过冬，凤凰就会在最高的梧桐树上举行盛大的欢迎仪式。百鸟围绕着凤凰飞舞歌唱，那场面...啧啧，真是美不胜收。"

古树的声音突然变得低沉："可是好景不长。当时的南越王酷爱音乐，尤其痴迷琴瑟之音。朝中官员为了讨好国王，每年都要砍伐大量梧桐树制作乐器。你知道吗，孩子？制作一把上好的琴瑟，需要从上百棵梧桐树中精选出纹理最均匀、质地最密实的一段木材。"

辰辰的心揪了起来："那...他们砍了很多树吗？""太多了，孩子，太多了..."古树的声音颤抖着，"短短几十年间，山上的梧桐树几乎被砍伐殆尽。凤凰失去了栖息的梧桐，再也找不到适合筑巢的地方。我记得最后一只凤凰离开时的哀鸣，那声音...让所有听到的生物都为之落泪。"

一滴晶莹的树脂从古树的树皮缝隙中渗出，像是一滴眼泪。

"凤凰离开后，南越国很快衰落了。有人说是因为失去了凤凰的庇佑，也有人说是因为过度砍伐导致水土流失，农田荒芜..."古树深深叹息，"如今，梧桐山上几乎找不到一棵野生梧桐了，只有这个名字还在提醒着人们曾经的错误。"

辰辰的眼眶湿润了："那...那后来呢？凤凰再也没有回来过吗？"

古树轻轻摇晃着枝叶："有传说称，当人类真正学会尊重自然、爱护环境的那一天，凤凰就会重新归来。孩子啊，我希望你能把这个故事告诉更多人，让大家都记住：大自然给予我们的一切都不是取之不尽的，我们必须学会珍惜和保护。"

辰辰郑重地点点头，小手不自觉地抚摸着古树粗糙的树皮："树爷爷，我保证会把这个故事告诉所有人。我们现在的梧桐山也很美，有很多杜鹃花和其他树木..."

"是啊，"古树的声音变得温暖起来，"我看到人类正在慢慢改变。你的父亲，还有他的同事们，每天都在为保护这座山上的植物而努力。这让我看到了希望。"

远处传来爸爸的呼唤声，辰辰依依不舍地站起来："树爷爷，我爸爸来找我了。谢谢您告诉我这个故事，我永远不会忘记。"

"去吧，孩子。"古树的声音渐渐淡去，"记住，每个生命都有它的故事，都值得被倾听和尊重..."

当爸爸走近时，看到的是儿子站在古树前，脸上带着既悲伤又坚定的表情。阳光透过古老的树叶，在男孩身上洒下金色的光斑，仿佛给他披上了一件神圣的衣裳。

"辰辰，怎么了？"爸爸关切地问。

辰辰转过身，眼睛亮晶晶的："爸爸，我知道梧桐山为什么叫梧桐山了。这是一个关于凤凰、关于错误与救赎的故事……"

English Version

Chapter 3: Wutong Mountain – A Heartbreaking Legend

The ancient tree's voice seemed to come from far away, yet also echoed directly in Chenchen's mind: "Child, sit down. This story is long..."

Chenchen obediently crossed his legs on the grass before the tree, dappled sunlight dancing across his skin through the leaves.

"Over a thousand years ago, this land belonged to the Nanyue Kingdom," the tree's voice was deep and distant. "Back then, Wutong Mountain was covered with tall, straight phoenix trees. Their trunks stood like swords, their canopies unfurled like royal parasols. Every autumn, their leaves turned gold, and the whole mountain blazed as if lit by sunlight."

Chenchen closed his eyes, picturing the magnificent scene.

"But the most magical thing," the tree continued, "was that this was once home to phoenixes. The kings of birds, with rainbow feathers and graceful tails, their songs like heavenly music. Every autumn, when thousands of migratory birds flew south, the phoenixes would hold grand welcoming ceremonies from the highest phoenix trees. Flocks would swirl and sing around them—ah, what a breathtaking sight."

The tree's voice suddenly darkened. "But it didn't last. The Nanyue king adored music, especially the qin and se zithers. His officials, eager to please, cut down countless phoenix trees to craft instruments. Did you know, child? A single fine zither requires wood from hundreds of trees—only the most even-grained, densest sections chosen."

Chenchen's heart clenched. "Did... did they cut down many?"

"Too many, child. Far too many..." The tree's voice trembled. "Within decades, the mountain was nearly stripped bare. The phoenixes lost their homes, their nesting grounds gone forever. I still remember the last phoenix's cry as it left—a sound that made every living creature weep."

A drop of resin seeped from the tree's bark like a tear.

"After the phoenixes left, the Nanyue Kingdom declined. Some say it lost their protection; others blame the deforestation that ruined the land..." The tree sighed deeply. "Now, hardly a wild phoenix tree remains on Wutong Mountain. Only the name lingers, a reminder of past mistakes."

Tears welled in Chenchen's eyes. "Then... did the phoenixes ever return?"

The tree rustled its leaves gently. "Legends say they'll come back when humans truly learn to respect nature. Child, share this story. Let everyone remember: Nature's gifts aren't endless. We must cherish and protect them."

Chenchen nodded solemnly, his small hand stroking the rough bark. "I promise, Grandpa Tree. Our mountain is still beautiful—with azaleas and other trees..."

"Yes," the tree's voice warmed. "I see humans changing. Your father and his colleagues work daily to protect these woods. That gives me hope."

Dad's voice called in the distance. Reluctantly, Chenchen stood. "Grandpa Tree, Dad's coming. Thank you for the story. I'll never forget."

"Go, child," the voice faded. "Remember—every life has a story worth hearing..."

When Dad approached, he found his son standing before the tree, face etched with sorrow and resolve. Sunlight through ancient leaves gilded the boy like a sacred robe.

"Chenchen? What's wrong?" Dad asked gently.

Chenchen turned, eyes shining. "Dad, now I know why it's called Wutong Mountain. It's a story about phoenixes... about mistakes and redemption."

来源：小说讲坛