马学英《折花刀》

Promote national culture, uphold national traditions, unite national consensus, and foster national development.

After breakfast, the wife turned to her husband and said, "Let's go see the Bao'an waist knives."

Both university professors, she in Lanzhou and he in Beijing found it a rare treat for them to spend weekdays together. So, when summer vacation arrived, they travelled together to Dahejia.

They stayed at a hotel in Dahejia town that night. The small town was bustling with construction vehicles, making the summer streets crowded and noisy. The city underwent an underground pipeline construction project, disrupting its usual tranquillity.

After a quick phone call, Macron arrived in front of the couple in his car. Though not tall, Macron was sturdy and sincere, with few words.

"Let's visit the waist knife workshop first," Macron suggested. "The workers haven't started yet, but we can get an overview of the knife-making process. It's nearby." He opened the car door and led the way.

At the Bao'an waist knife processing park by the Yellow River, they passed through an inconspicuous gate into a yard filled with over a dozen waist knife factories, side by side. Macron's factory was the first on the left, marked by a sign reading "Ma Maicaodi Waist Knife Factory." Ma Maicaodi was his family name, and locals called him "Gouer Maicaodi," an honorary title for craftsmen in the Bao'an language.

The factory had two rooms, with a heavy pneumatic hammer standing in front. Nearby, a furnace roared with a coke fire, its flames illuminating the furnace and casting a glow on Macron's tawny face. Two grinding wheels stood a short distance away. The ground and iron boxes were cluttered with bundles of unfinished knife blanks and scattered copper sheets, horn pieces, and silver bars—materials essential for making knife handles and decorating knife sheaths. The Bao'an ethnic group's thousand-year-old handicraft tradition remains entirely handmade, save for some hammering, even today.

Brimming with curiosity and admiration for the knife-making process, the couple asked countless questions.

Macron picked up a square iron block, explaining, "This is the embryo of a folding flower knife." The block consisted of neatly beaten layers of iron and steel sheets.

"This folding flower knife has up to 380 layers of steel and iron," he continued. "Years ago, I made a three-meter-long folding flower sabre with over 1,200 layers of steel and iron. It took a whole month to complete."

"Folding flower knives are created by high-temperature forging of steel and iron, repeatedly folding and pressing to form unique patterns. Unlike surface carvings of ordinary decorations, these patterns emerge from the knife's texture."

Steel and iron were refined in the fire and forged under the hammer, merging like kneaded dough. Despite blending, steel and iron retained their unique properties. The steel's hardness and the iron's flexibility left indelible marks on the knife through thousands of hammerings. These natural patterns, hammered out one by one, were stunning.

"The patterns of folding flower knives include snowflake, flowing water, spider, and starry sky patterns," Macron explained. "Some lines are simple and unadorned, while others resemble flowing clouds, water, or intricate designs. Each pattern reflects the heartfelt expressions of Bao'an artisans, capturing the universe in an inch and depicting vivid, unpredictable images. They embody the Bao'an people's insights into the cosmos and their understanding of the world, reflecting their aspirations for a better life."

For modern people, Bao'an waist knives are practical and decorative treasures and represent a higher aesthetic taste, sparking ample imagination. They bridge ancient and contemporary art, a non-material cultural heritage palace. As the couple delved deeper into the craftsmanship of folding flower knives, they became increasingly fascinated by the works of this ancient nation, feeling a mysterious and respectful love.

Macron had two remaining knives, which he hadn't sold yet. He was waiting for someone who truly appreciated knives and could have a spiritual dialogue with his creations. He might never meet such a person, but he wouldn't sell them quickly.

As Macron prepared to put the knives back on the shelf, he said, "I might never be able to make such knives again." His wife, tracing the floral patterns on the blade and the lotus patterns on the scabbard with her fingers, had a particular fondness for traditional handicrafts due to her work in art research.

Holding the knives, she scrutinised them, turning them repeatedly in her hands. She seemed enchanted, like a mother gazing at her child.

Macron's eyes glistened with tears as he watched her. He paused and said softly, "Take the knives with you."

The couple was taken aback. With a hint of melancholy, Macron added, "Every time I finish my work and come home, my mother would stroke my face like this."

"When my mother was in her thirties, she fell ill. Although she recovered, she lost her sight and, two years later, her hearing. She has lived in a world devoid of light and sound for thirty years."

Macron's voice lowered further. "But whenever her hands stroke my face, she can sense my joys, sorrows, anger, and happiness."

Macron had waited for this day. These two strangers from afar understood his knives and thus understood his heart. Such a meeting is rare and cannot be sought; he had waited ten years.

The couple didn't bargain. The husband told his wife, "These two knives are a gift for you. I hope they bring you peace." She looked deeply into his eyes, a little shy, unable to speak. She finally understood why her husband insisted on buying these knives.

Macron felt uneasy as they prepared to leave with the wrapped knives and repeatedly reminded them, "You don't need to maintain the knives. Don't wipe them. Just put them on the knife rack."

Sometimes, what truly deserves engraved in one's heart is the understanding and trust between people and the sincere wishes and love that arise from it.