《Mount Wu Is Not Clouds》 Teacher said, "Just make do for now. When you find a good master, I'll enter the cold palace." I turned around and went to look. On the first day I was full of confidence — after all, Baidu told me there are 710 million men. Excluding those who look down on me, and excluding those who belong to others, how could there not be ten or eight left? On the second day I eagerly started chatting. Look at this A: sharp and angular, spirited, but too sharp, not steady enough. This B: round and full, gentle and friendly, but slow and sluggish, indecisive. C: smooth lines, open-minded, but unfortunately with obvious gaps, hard to be of great use. I easily resonated with Lady Li Qingzhao — this really is "seeking, seeking, searching, searching; cold, cold, clear, clear; sorrowful, sorrowful, miserable, miserable, wretched, wretched." So on the third day I replied to Teacher. The job wasn't done, so the words had to be pretty: "Teacher, I don't want to look for anyone else. Except for Mount Wu, there are no clouds. I just want to torment you. Teacher, endure it for a bit, okay? Stay with me for a while." I understand Teacher too well. Sure enough, he proudly pulled out from behind him that glittering golden kasaya and draped it over himself. I could recite his lines by heart: "Amitabha, female benefactor, please go back." I'm not the Black Bear Spirit; I can't do sneaky things, so I directly reached out and pulled the kasaya off him. In the end, Teacher is just a teacher, not an old man — in the prime of his vigor, I refuse to believe that except for his mouth, nowhere else is hard. Teacher scolded me, "How did you become like this?" I had no time to answer him — I was busy eating a lollipop.
About
I have long seen the world's most exquisite beauty, you really need not come. Height 166cm Weight 60kg Sagittarius
Dynamics
《Clinging to Appearances, Not Awakening》 In Dream of the Red Chamber there's a line written best: "Are these flowers only for me alone, or do the other girls all have them?" And then with a cold laugh, the next line: "I knew it — if others hadn't picked over the leftovers, it wouldn't be given to me." A young girl's charm and liveliness, her petulance and willfulness, instantly leap off the page. The ancients really understood too well — how could they write so well? I can't do that. I will only say to Teacher, "So you really don't like me anymore. Love and not-love are that obvious." Every time I speak like this, he will choose silence. I laugh to myself for a while, put down my phone and go do other things. These words are especially effective; once spoken, it's like I've pressed his mute point. I've verified it several times, and it's the same every time, yet I'm addicted to this way, playing it with great delight. Teacher has nothing special for me. Even giving me a name was very casual. I still remember that year I said, "Look, we're in this kind of relationship now — give me a name." He asked me rather strangely, "You still need that?" Alas, I knew I had over-acted. Actually I wasn't that old back then either, just two or three years after graduating — how could I not need that? To be honest, before he even replied to me, I knew he would definitely give me this name, so I think he was casual — something I could guess, how much thought could have gone into it? But even if it was very casual, he's the only person in this circle who ever gave me a name. Although almost no one has ever called me by it, and although I don't know whether he remembers it, I have never forgotten it. I have always been very clear about what kind of position I should stand in. I know the self that is detached from appearances and sees its nature should be: "These flowers are not only for me alone; take them away, I don't want them." But I cling to appearances and do not awaken. I will only say to Teacher, "There's a share of these flowers for me too — so beautiful." In this world, there are always people living the life I want to live, but they must have put in effort I've never seen. I know I'm attached to appearances, but I'm not too sad, because this proves I'm still young, and I can still be moved.
《Prajna and Madhyamaka》 At the very beginning, I only wanted to follow Master and simply be a happy little 🐶, occasionally holding a little bowl to beg for a candy, asking for a little sweet care — that would be enough. But I don't know from where he saw that I might have a little bit of spirit, that I was promising material. Master turned into Teacher, and led me under the Bodhi tree. Teacher also gave me a cake, and on the cake was written: "Words for you, thoughts for oneself." I ate the cake while letting my mind wander: what does this mean? Does it mean that when he chats with me, he can also discover a better self? The more I thought, the redder my face became, and I couldn't chew the cake anymore. I felt I was flattered to be thought so useful. So Teacher threw me another little toy, called Madhyamaka. Teacher is very generous, often throwing me little toys. Last time it was some foreign antique about an uncle-something, and I played with it by myself for a long time. This time's Madhyamaka, I pondered a little bit. Buddhism talks about emptiness; the opposite of emptiness is called existence. Neither empty nor existent — that's Madhyamaka. So I don't need to be sad about the appearance that I can't be a little 🐶 and can only be thrown under the Bodhi tree to cultivate myself, nor do I need to be anxious about the result of failing Teacher's expectation of "great use." I only need to stand on the causes and conditions of the present moment. I can only comprehend the shallowest layer of Madhyamaka. I understand that whether Master or Teacher, all dharmas have no self-nature, and it's fine that we're quite happy together at the moment. But I can't comprehend a deeper layer. In principle, deeper should mean I need to see clearly Teacher's lack of self-nature, and understand that my love, hate, anger and infatuation are all judgments or perceptions I've imposed on Teacher amid causes and conditions. Then I should step out of the dualistic opposition between the Teacher in my eyes and Teacher's original self, let me become me, and let Teacher become Teacher. But my six senses are impure, I can't penetrate this point. I only think about trying to change certain objective conditions, to get closer to him, and make the relationship between us become "my Teacher." I played with this Madhyamaka under the old Bodhi tree and derived these pleasures. The old Bodhi tree dropped a Bodhi fruit and hit my head: "Silly child, still not enlightened." I threw the fruit back to him: "Old Bodhi, you don't understand. Heaven and earth give birth to humans. Besides the two kinds of great benevolence and great evil, there's another kind where righteous and evil energies collide. Whether righteousness suppresses evil or evil suppresses righteousness, in any case one won't be bound in the spiritual platform. For example, today I'm here throwing Bodhi fruits with you, tomorrow I'll go find an old Taoist to make elixirs, and the day after I can still taste the wisdom fruit in the foreigners' Garden of Eden." Old Bodhi, you ask me why I came to you today? Because Teacher told me to come. This topic is what he threw to me. I'm most fond of learning, so I learned a bit here by myself. What — you say my obsession is too deep, I have no wisdom root. All right, then I'm leaving. When I go crying to Teacher and tell him I have no wisdom root, he will comfort me and say I'm still a child, and to cultivate a bit more. I don't know what Prajna Madhyamaka is. I only know to try to change unhappy objective conditions, and then — every extra second of happiness counts as a second. For example, now I can go find Teacher again.
《Those Thoughts on My Mind》 Teacher told me about the scene when he first met me. He said the feeling at that moment was quite beautiful, and he had even written a few posts about it. That should be the only thing he ever wrote for me. It's my fault for being unpromising — now, even that little bit is gone. The teacher back then was not a teacher, he was Master. Same city, same district, same hometown, young and youthful, well-fed and well-clothed, plenty of time — perfect timing, place, and people, all of it taken. If Master were only Master, I don't know how the story would have ended; I cannot beautify a hypothetical road. It's a pity Master changed his name — Master became Teacher. He didn't understand, and said twice, "I'm still me, what's different?" I never answered him. How could it be the same? One's own and someone else's — a world of difference. Teacher has beauties in his arms, embraced left and right, while I, in the deepest night, open Master's page. That account sits quietly there. If it were physical, it would long have been covered in dust. I am still so unpromising — even though I know that account has long been deserted, I don't dare push the door and enter. As a person you must be polite, you cannot disturb others. As a little animal you must also be polite; you cannot step again into a place that doesn't belong to you. I just, on one deep night after another, open the homepage of the person I first met back then. Here I can rightfully feel wronged: "Master, Teacher has embraced many people, but only pushed me away. I've already tried very hard." Master will not answer me, and I don't need to answer either. I just want a place where I can quiet down and feel wronged for a while. Teacher is only a teacher, not an immortal; he has no way to turn back time. Times have changed, even if he were willing, he has no way to give Master back to me — let alone that he's not willing. Teacher once asked me whether I had resentment. I shook my head. I never blame heaven or others. The me back then was also confused, and I did my best to plan for myself. I don't blame myself either. Teacher asked me to tell the truth. I smiled brightly: "In matters of feelings, if your skills are inferior, you accept the loss willingly. I really don't." What I said was the truth. Even in the deep of night when no one was around and tear traces weren't yet dry, I only regretted that the time before I knew the truth back then was too short — I didn't have time to cherish it properly. Master was very good; all the friction came after I knew the truth — Master was perfect. Teacher is also very good; even if I am willful and stubborn again, he will still tolerate me, take me for tea, chat with me. I am also very good; Teacher hasn't grown tired of me, so I think I'm quite good. Fate is also very good, otherwise we wouldn't have met. So everyone is very good, and the word resentment simply cannot appear.
《Act Without Striving》 I am not a person who doesn't strive with the world. When I first emerged, there were times when I didn't know how high the sky was. Teacher appeared in my twenty-fifth year — a girl's twenty-fifth year, an age full of ambition, striving fiercely. By luck, I had a tiny bit of success, young and successful, looking down on those younger than me, and unconvinced by those older than me. One line — "In life, when you are in high spirits, enjoy to the full" — let me comfortably look down and scrutinize many people and things. At first, Master was also very good to me. He poured me tea, fed me hawthorn strips, and would take the initiative to hug me. Later came criticism, sharp in wording, pointing straight to the core, merciless. I had never experienced such blunt negation, so naturally I wouldn't bow my head. So Master was no longer Master. I have never regretted the decision I made then. Even if I had to do it again, given the circumstances of that year, I would make the same choice. A person certainly cannot think too highly of themselves, but must have the spirit to think highly of themselves. My twenty-five and twenty-six years should be spent amid flowers and applause; voices of negation need to step back for now. By the time I could really take in what Master said back then, Master had already become Teacher. He himself is a very good person, understands how to think from another's perspective, understands my youth. He should also like me a little, so he can tolerate my willfulness and explain to me again where I went wrong. He uses his own way to show me the world, so I like him, and so I don't like many people. We once listened to a story together. The story stopped at the point where the male lead died and the female lead was grief-stricken. Two years later, the story had a sequel: the female lead found someone else again. In worldly terms, the story's ending was quite good — the living must live well. That night, Teacher sat on my couch and said to me, "The story ended badly." I understood at once what exactly I liked about him. This person has seen joys and sorrows, experienced intrigues and schemes, but deep in his heart there is still such sincere hope, still an expectation of the beautiful feelings that only exist in ancient legends. I have seen the water of Sayram Lake; I think I have also seen his heart, clearer than Sayram Lake. The blood in his bones is hot, permeated with kindness. Later I did listen well to Teacher, only doing things well and not forcibly striving for results. Teacher was not stingy with praise for me either; he said I was intelligent.
《How to Write "Mandarin Ducks"》 In my teens, one afternoon I read a ci poem by Ouyang Xiu: "Long lingering with a brush beside someone, trying my hand at painting flowers for the first time. Idly hindering my embroidery work. Smiling, I ask: the pair of mandarin ducks — how are they written?" What a beautiful poem. Ouyang Xiu really was a wonderful person. At that time I thought: when I grow up and have someone I like, I'll play like this too. My handwriting isn't good — actually, it's not just my handwriting. I grew up in the countryside, and in my free time I was always teasing cats and 🐶, catching fish and shrimp. The only thing that could be remotely connected to refined taste was watching two old men play chess beside the old locust tree, learning a move or two, unsystematically. There was also a retired old man who could play the erhu. He had discerning eyes and said at a glance that I was a smart child and wanted to teach me the erhu. An older sister scared me, saying, "Playing the erhu will make you blind," so whenever I saw the erhu old man I turned and ran. Then back to catching fish and shrimp, teasing cats and 🐶. By the time Grandmother realized I had finally grown into a wild girl, it was already too late. The schoolwork in the mountain-and-river provinces was heavy, and I was busy striving for scholarly success; I no longer had time for these exquisite naughtinesses. Bad handwriting doesn't matter; what matters is who you write with. That year, at exactly this time of year, close to the New Year, I went to play in Master's office. He laid out the paper, brought a brush, and let me write. It was an afternoon, the seventeenth floor, very quiet. He sat across from me, and that afternoon from my girlhood when I read poetry thus reunited with this moment without any warning. So I held the brush and smiled at him: "Brother, do you know how to write the two characters for 'mandarin ducks'?" He looked at me without moving. He always looks at me that way, with a gaze that seems to know everything I'm thinking. At most five seconds, and I'd feel my face grow hot. But the thing from my youthful fantasy was right before my eyes — how could I give up? So I adjusted my tone: "Oh, teach me~" I feel I must, after all, have some favor on me, because he did move — he bent down, covered my hand with his, and we wrote together. The scene freezes here. From now on, no matter how time turns, it will never fade. Opening it is like opening a piece of treasured honey candy, without any impurities — only pure satisfaction, and pure sweetness.
《Master and I》 When I chat with friends in the circle, I open my mouth with "Your master is no good," and close it with "Your master is just average." Fortunately they're all quite generous — although none of them will admit this fact, none of them beat me to death either. I have a basis for saying this, because my Master is the best. My ways of addressing him are fancy and varied, but he has always been in the position of Master. I also know very clearly who I am and what I want. When I'm with him, I only want to be a little animal. Even if I guess he might prefer me to grow into an excellent good girl, what he thinks is his, and what I think is mine. Although I always, intentionally or not, imitate him, I cannot lose myself. Old Mr. Qi Baishi said it best: "Those who learn from me live; those who resemble me die." So my greatest achievement is just talking back to him a couple of times using my own strengths. As for whether I can stand out and accomplish great things — one part fate, two parts luck, three parts ability, too many factors involved; just do my best. From beginning to end, I have never had any improper romantic thoughts about Master. Sometimes I want a hug, want to nuzzle in his arms — that's a little animal's affection for its master, not a woman's love for a man. Master's teaching is not guidance, it's collision. I express my viewpoint, he refutes my viewpoint, then each of us argues our case. Win or lose, there's always something to gain. I grow in this stumbling way. Sometimes I want to do something a little bad, but thinking of how Master once praised me like that, I decide to endure it and let it go — that's also a kind of self-restraint and returning to propriety. One year, Master told me that when mortal affairs were settled, he would go wandering the four directions like a cloud. So I looked up the carefree Dao: no self, no merit, no name, follow nature, forget both self and things. How to put it — I shook my head, and 🐶 shook its head too. After that I often teased him. In spring I picked fresh flowers on the mountain and made cakes, sent them to him to see: "Master, take me with you when you go out in the future. I can live in nature, I won't let you go hungry." In the evening I drank tea with him. The shop had hung a scroll of Liu Zongyuan's "Casual Composition on a Summer Day": "In the southern province, the summer heat intoxicates like wine; leaning on a table, I sleep soundly with the north window open. At noon I wake alone to no other sound; a mountain boy knocks a tea mortar beyond the bamboo." He read it twice and told me to memorize it. I looked at him and joked, "Take me with you when you go out. When you sleep, I'll go knock the tea mortar." A while ago I was fiddling with a musical instrument, took a photo and sent it to him: "Take me with you when you go out, I'll sing songs for you." I came into this world, and met a person. He is very good. I walked a stretch behind him. He thought I had quite a bit of spirit, bent down to pat my head, and gave me a name. I like him, and follow him for another stretch. He doesn't manage me much, occasionally throws me a little gift pack. I don't manage him much either, never ask the direction, just follow along, and never ask what's in the gift pack — if I open it and it's candy, I eat it; if it's a little toy, I take it and play. Only when he hasn't paid attention to me for a long time do I go up and greet him, telling him I'm still here — don't forget me.
《Steady Steps Lead Far》 A book says: "Qi women are wise, gentle in temperament, and good at managing a household." Although I am full of attachment to my hometown, the road that must be taken still has to be taken. Jiangnan is fine, with small bridges and flowing water, pavilions and terraces, and also red lights and green wine, extravagance and indulgence, and loquats and fresh green tangerines I had never eaten before. What infuses all these scenes with a soul is that Jiangnan has Master. When I was young and ignorant, I staged a very classic scene: "Saying break up feels great for a moment; chasing Master back is a crematorium." I had never been so wronged in my life, and yet I didn't dare voice even half of that grievance. My temper isn't very good. In the first few months, I simply didn't dare put expensive teacups on the table, because chatting with him made me so angry that I needed to relieve my emotions. The sound of porcelain breaking could calm my mind, and the process of picking up the shards bit by bit could let me cool down. Stillness breeds wisdom, so the next day I could continue talking to him properly again. And in exchange I got a light, airy mockery: "Look at you, now you speak to me so timidly and submissively." Behind his back where he couldn't see, I gritted my teeth, constantly comforting myself: "Who made you like him? Liking someone is like this. Ignore his nonsense — just like yours, that's enough." I cried too, but my tears never flowed in front of him. Even as a little animal, I must be iron-boned and unyielding; using tears to win sympathy is something I won't do. I also made a fuss: "If you don't like me, I'll never come again, and if I come again I'm a 🐶." A few days later I was knocking on his door again, and he teased and mocked me from inside the door: "Didn't you say if you came again you'd be a 🐶?" I knew at that moment I should say goodbye to my iron bones, so I softened my waist a little: "You see, in front of you I'm a little 🐶 anyway." And then — then I don't know what he was thinking either; anyway, he didn't scold me. Later I grew up a bit more. I know he's a soft-hearted person, but I can't make a big deal out of that. Not knowing limits will hurt others and myself. If I want the road to go far, every step must be steadier. I actually can't quite do that, but I'm willing to try my best.
《A Pillow of Jiangnan Dreams》 I have never extravagantly hoped for any particularly important place in Master's heart. This is what liking someone older is like: by the order of appearance in his life, I cannot become his white moonlight; by personal ability, I cannot become the cinnabar mole among his many girls either. I soberly understand his liking for me, and have never fantasized about what-ifs. Fortunately, I treat all of my Jiangnan life as a dream. I know that one day in the future, I will go back to the north. Even if my temples are gray, even if my steps are unsteady, I will in the end carry a bag of small cherries and watch the sunset on Mount Lao, so I am not particularly sad. I wasn't this free and easy before. That year, late at night, past midnight, Master sent a message saying, "I'm going abroad to settle down tomorrow." I immediately put down the work in my hands, looking for clothes while replying, "Can we meet now? I have something to tell you." Actually I didn't know what I wanted to say either, but I remember that moment's panic clearly. At that time, only one line remained in my mind: "You're going so far away — in this vast Jiangnan afterwards, I won't even have anyone to talk to." Two minutes later I received a reply: "I was just teasing you." I sat down, wanting to curse, wanting to hit someone, wanting to fight, but in the end I was quite promising — I picked up my phone and replied, "That's good then. Please rest early." With Master, there are long stretches of blank. In those blanks, I dreamed of him twice. The first time, I was cooking in a small room. He walked in, wearing a white shirt, saying he wanted a bowl of noodles, then saw that I had steamed small sweet potatoes, took one and ate a couple of bites, and invited me out for a walk. On a country path, with green wheat seedlings and tender yellow little flowers on both sides, he walked on my left. I lifted my head and asked him, "All these years, why haven't I seen you?" He looked at me, smiled, and said nothing. So I said nothing either, and then the scene changed, leaving only a vast expanse of snow. The second time, I was sitting in a classroom reading. He walked in and took me out. I was wearing a long dress; the night was cool, and he handed me his coat. There was no conversation. We entered a small shop with lots and lots of people. He and I sat at separate tables, and the crowds coming and going formed a sea of people between us. I lowered my head to eat, and no longer looked his way. In the dream I knew it was a dream, so waking up felt especially desolate. Even in a dream, I didn't dare go up and hug him. I know who I am, and I know who Master is, so he is my Master. The Song-dynasty writer Zhao Changqing had a line that says it best: "By the noon window, a pillow's dream of Zhuang Zhou — content to be the busy powder butterfly at the flower's heart."
《Snow Drifting Over Mount Lao》 When snow falls in winter, I always want to go back to my hometown to take a look. It's said that Master once worked in my hometown, but unfortunately I was born too late and missed the good times. Otherwise, with that advantage of proximity, how could it not have happened a few years earlier. Many years ago, when Master first opened my chat window, the key information he extracted was: "Your home has the sea? Mine does too. Your home has tea? Mine does too. You're in City A? I'm in City A too. You're in District H? I'm in District H too." I chatted very well with Master, until the mutual business-style flattery reached the point where I said he was serene and profound, and he replied that I was untouched by the world. Then everyone should have met, because if we kept praising each other we'd run out of words. We met in a small tea garden, and the key information extracted was: "You're wearing gray? I'm wearing gray too. We drank tea until the sun set in the west, the mood had reached that point — it wouldn't be right not to acknowledge a Master. Master took me out to have fun, and occasionally chatted with me idly about unimportant people. Once, someone back home did something quite bad, and he blurted out, "Does he even deserve the surname ~ (his surname)?" I said nothing, secretly surprised for a few seconds, because two days before I met him, a friend of mine had also done something bad, and I had blurted out the exact same line: "Does she even deserve the surname ~ (my surname)?" Even the tone was exactly the same. I looked at his back and smiled. This person — he is meant to be my Master. I rarely make requests of him. That year, on a whim, I asked, "Shall we go watch the snow together?" He rarely refuses me, but that day he didn't agree. His reply was: "No, I promised to watch the snow with someone else." I nodded. "All right, pretend I never asked." Yesterday we were chatting, and he said, "If I have time, when snow drifts over Mount Lao, I'll come drink hot tea with you, watch the snow, watch the sea, and watch you too." I was happy for a long time. This is what liking someone older is like: if he doesn't agree to something for the moment, don't be disappointed — just wait quietly for a while. Wait until one year he forgets his promise to someone else, and you happen to be by his side — then he might agree to you. He might even take the initiative to invite you to go together. And what's even more reassuring is that his memory probably won't be too good. He said that in the future, when snow drifts over Mount Lao, he'll come see me. On my phone I replied, "I'll wait for you." In my heart I thought: "A small snow-making machine — I can definitely afford one." If Master wants to see me, then whatever reason is needed, I'll do my best to make it happen. If Master doesn't want to see me, it's fine, I'll just wait a little longer. Actually I've always been quite well-behaved. Only when I've greedily drunk a little bit of wine do I muster the courage to ask Master one line: "Next time we meet, may I kiss you?"
《Silence at This Moment》 I think this app's read-receipt feature is great. That way I can know when Master has seen my message, and whether he's willing to continue a certain topic. At our last meeting I asked him, "Those people who read a message and don't reply — what do you think is going through their minds?" He sat there, calm and composed, and answered me with one line: "They just feel there's nothing more to say." I felt helpless. That's how it is — the one who is favored always has nothing to fear. I'm not a talkative person. Apart from work, most of my pleasures in life are joys I have on my own. That year, Master and I had just met the evening before, and the next day at noon he sent me a message. His exact words were: "Nothing's wrong, I just wanted to see what you were doing — there hadn't been a peep from you all morning." That was one of the rare moments when he expressed that he was thinking of me so directly, so I remember it clearly. Later, many years passed, and we were chatting here. He read my messages and didn't reply, and I expressed my displeasure: "Why do you read and not reply!" He laughed and said one line: "When did you learn to be so clingy?" I looked at the screen, and in a fit of anger I was angry for a moment, then thought that now that I'm a few years older I can't be so willful anymore, so in the end I didn't type out "ungrateful," and changed it to: "Don't always treat me like a grown-up~" After that, I got used to him reading and not replying. He reads his, I send mine, neither of us minds the other, and everyone is happy. Between Master and me, many things can largely go unspoken yet be understood. I don't talk much, and he treasures his words like gold too. But I've seen him eloquent and quick-witted, and he's seen me glib-tongued as well. As the years slowly pass, he grows more and more serene, and I grow more and more quiet, until in the end all that's left is a wisp of pure liking, crossing mountains and rivers, landing on the tip of my heart. A few days ago I sent Master a message: "Wherever you are, that's where home is." He read it and didn't reply, and I was very happy. At this moment, silence speaks louder than words. He didn't refute me, and he didn't scold me, so I knew he could understand. I knew the liking I've received is already more than enough.
《Happy New Year》 In my impression this should be the second time I've wished Master a Happy New Year. Although we've known each other for many years, every year there are always a few months when we're not familiar. Often the New Year is included in those months. This year it happened to fall in a familiar period; not wishing him a New Year would make me seem too ignorant of propriety. I prepared five versions of my New Year greeting; before sending, I still cut two of them. On a day like this, I don't seek merit, only freedom from fault. I know Master will reply to my message, but I don't know which one he'll reply to. I'm used to standing quietly to one side, rarely approaching him warmly. Human nature is greedy; I am no exception. Having one, I want two; having two, I want three. Not getting it brings sadness and pain. I don't like eating bitterness, so from the moment I get one, I keep telling myself: stop at the right point; it's already very good. Seek as little as possible; whatever is obtained is a surprise. Master replied to my message, called my name, and said Happy New Year. He rarely calls me like that — “rarely” meaning almost never. So I was shy for two minutes, and remembered that a few years ago we also hadn't met for a long time, and I gathered my courage and sent him a message: “I missed you.” After sending it I regretted it, always thinking about how I'd respond if he replied “Stop missing me” or “Okay, I know.” But he didn't. What came back was “I missed you too.” I was of course happy that he would think of me, but I was even more grateful to him for not making my longing a joke. I'm very grateful that he respected my feelings and didn't, standing above my liking, look down on me. This is his cultivation, and my luck. In the new year, I don't know what new stories will happen. But I know my New Year was very happy — mm, given by Master.
《Ice Falling into a Jade Pot》 At the start of the new spring, I took photos for Master and sent them over. Sunflowers and I occupied ninety-nine percent of the screen; the remaining one percent was a few little snowflakes fallen on my collar. Master always finds the key point — he only saw the snowflakes. He turned a blind eye to me and the sunflowers, and even replied to me, “I feel what you mean is…” I peeled two Ferrero and swallowed them to calm down, lamenting what kind of image I actually have in Master's heart. I simply sent a photo, at most wanting one compliment. I don't even ask him to say, “Okay, I missed you”; him saying “The little girl is really pretty” would do. I'm not that complicated. What is reputation? Reputation is when I say I'm a piece of ice-heart in a jade pot, Master still has to say, let me see what filling is in your ice. He thinks I have other intentions even when I send a photo. Normally, although I'm a bit clever, this is the New Year — during the New Year, can't I just simply be a little 🐶? After explaining, I can't say again, “You don't even praise me as pretty!” Because I know once those words leave my mouth, what comes back will definitely be “Affected.” If I say one more line, what comes back from there will definitely be “You were affected to begin with.” I won't do that self-defeating thing. I can only apologize to my sunflowers: “Master doesn't much like me, and because of that you don't get praised either. It's okay, I'll praise you. You bloom so beautifully; whether under the sun or in the snow, you are beautiful.” Alright, the New Year is almost over. Get ready and welcome spring. This year, how should I torment Master?
《Dimming Lights》 At the start of the first lunar month, I was busy with all kinds of gatherings. Every day, amid laughter filling the hall, I would find a quiet corner, open this app for a few dozen seconds. Master is here, even though I know he usually won't send me a message. But I still want to come and look. I rarely open his homepage; his posts are few and I can't understand them either. In earlier years I was willing to fathom people's hearts, weighing every word just to get a result, thinking day and night of only one line: “Please don't abandon me…” In these two years I've figured it out — just flip the table directly, I won't pretend anymore. What you see is me. I tell you I like you; whether you like me, you decide for yourself. After the clamor drifts far and the lights dim, I think of Master. What is he doing? Is he also playing with his relatives and friends? Tonight is the waxing crescent moon; is he watching it too? What is he like in front of others? Will he think of me? How does he recall me — with a smile, or very silently? Of these questions, I only asked the last one. I have to say Master is interesting; he read it and didn't reply. Then I understand, I get it, I find myself a step down: “Mm, when he recalls me, he's always very silent.” These days back home, on several nights I wanted to lay my cards on the table with Grandfather. I wanted to tell him what I've actually grown into after all these years. I wanted to tell him about this circle, about my attribute, about what kind of person my Master is. I know he could accept it, but I'm afraid he'll worry about me. Last night at dawn, after the crowd dispersed, I carried a plate of beef and invited Grandfather to drink in the living room. Slightly drunk, I looked at this old man before me who raised me with one hand, now spirited and vigorous, his eyes full of love, and I smiled and opened my mouth: “Grandpa, in Jiangnan, I met a person. I like him very much…” Later, later I looked at the moon and lost my train of thought, forgot how, and fell asleep.
《Leaving Home a Thousand Miles》 Young and willful, I thought the world was vast; leave home and there would always be a place to stay. So I traveled light for a stretch. I saw that the capital was prosperous yet clamorous, Lingnan abundant yet humid and hot, Mobei vast yet bitterly cold, Nanzhao mild but too high and far. One day, I also passed through Jiangnan and saw “that face waiting in the seasons, like the blooming and falling of a lotus.” Bai Juyi said, “Jiangnan is good.” I nodded — Jiangnan is good, then I'll live here. Qin, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, wine and flowers also need to be propped up by firewood, rice, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar and tea. Having learned the arts of civil and martial, sell them to the capitalists. Those were two years of having nothing, but with energy all over. After working all night, the next day a cup of scalding tea went down and I was still spirited and vigorous in the meeting room. It was also then that I met Master; my first impression was, “Good-looking, easy to talk to, can kneel to.” Today, years later, I've grown up a lot. Has Master changed? I don't really know. We're not particularly familiar; our relationship stops at: whatever I randomly call him, he can respond; he says kneel and I happily kneel, like that. Too un-intimate — I actually can't, in broad daylight, tear open his clothes and pat his little belly. Leaving home a thousand miles and another thousand miles; whether striving or not, do my best. My hometown is of course very good: watching the sunset before Badaguan, red tiles covering the roofs, green trees climbing the walls, countless century-old small villas; watching thin mist at Taiqing Palace, ancient cypresses vigorous, stone steps beaded with dew, endless morning bells and evening drums. Jiangnan is of course also very good — Jiangnan has Master.
《Riding the Great Transformation Freely》 Master said to me back then, “I look at your writing: literature in abundance, philosophical thought insufficient, all emotion. You need to read books from some other fields.” I kept it in mind, occasionally worked hard, slacked off most of the time. Master doesn't control me much, and I don't strive much either — happy one day at a time, a carefree little immortal. Master is a very, very good Dom. He never stands on the height of his attribute and belittles me. Perhaps it's teaching according to aptitude; he has also never given me too many constraints or formal rules. He allows me to talk back to him, allows me to be a bit pampered, allows me to have emotions. He just sits there quietly, receiving my grievances, anger, and confusion, then turns them into pity, comfort, and guidance, and gives them back to me. They say the Master in words and memories has been beautified. I shake my head — no. I often regret that my writing power is limited and I can't write even one percent of Master's goodness. Master has a very steady, steady underlying color. He allows me to be myself, allows me to fully exert my abilities in the field I'm best at; he even truly hopes I can surpass him in some respects. And he still sits there, quietly watching me; I still kneel willingly. That is the underlying confidence a Dom should have: “I allow you to do everything; if you need, I can even help you try everything; but as long as I tell you to kneel, you must kneel.” Master never indulges in vague generalities; he has a wisdom of seeing the road and not taking it, and I will forever be moved by that wisdom of his. Such a Master, of course, won't belong only to me. Fortunately I have never had a desire to monopolize him. He has his casual freedom, I have my precepts and clear rules. Riding freely in the great transformation, everyone finds their own joy — that's good. 【Epilogue: At the start of the month, Master said my talent had withered; I simply refused to believe it, so I wrote from the start of the month to the end. Many past events floated before my eyes, and with the Spring Festival in between, messages came and went quite frequently, so my longing grew day by day. But I can't always be a little 🐶. As a person, I still need to work well, live well, then keep Master well hidden at the bottom of my heart, until we meet next time.】
《For There Is a Hidden Fragrance》 Whenever it rains in Jiangnan, I always want to write something. I flip through the calendar and realize today is the Spring Equinox. In spring, fresh flowers are the endless protagonists. I like watching flowers, and I like sharing them with Master to watch. Master says I'm affected; I close the album, wipe away my tears, and after a minute respectfully reply, “Okay, I won't next time.” Then I disturb no more; I only record my flowers. The four hundred and eighty temples of the Southern Dynasties — though many vanished in the misty rain, most of those that remained have flourishing incense. In the ancient temple I often visit there are several cold plum trees. In Jiangnan's winter it rarely snows, so the scene of plum and snow vying in spring has never been seen; instead I've seen plenty of them falling into mud and being ground into dust. If I weren't optimistic, I don't know how much sorrow that would add. I often come here lately; besides chatting a couple lines with Master, I've also met two older sisters. I'm quite clever, so the older sisters quite like me too. The older sisters are both very beautiful; I occasionally imitate Master's way of speaking and tease them a little. One older sister's Master always ignores her; even when she kneels she can't outdo the others. Before, every time I chatted with her I wanted to laugh but didn't dare laugh — I was afraid I'd laugh away my merit. Now it's fine: my Master also ignores me, so the two of us laugh together. For me, Master is the moon, not a savior. I like the moon very much, because he has enriched my life; but I truly don't need a savior, because I myself can stand firmly in this world. Since that's the case, I should learn from the plum blossom: whether the moon is there or not, one must bloom well.
《Lightly Untying the White Rainbow Skirt》 Magnolias are clean, fervent; when they open, they clumsily deliver all their true heart. That kind of youthful, beautiful feeling — Li Qingzhao understood it best: “Seeing a guest come in, socks slipping, gold hairpin sliding. Walking away in shyness, leaning on the door and looking back, yet sniffing the green plum.” Watching magnolias with Master was already three years ago. It was February; the magnolias were in bud, about to bloom, and I asked, “When the magnolias are in full bloom, will you come see me again?” The wind by the river was strong; I didn't hear clearly what Master said. When I studied in the north, I treated Daming Lake as my back garden. Daming Lake really is a good place — not because of Xia Yuhe, but because it doesn't charge admission. When I felt vexed in my heart, I'd find a corner beside Chaoran Tower, read Jiaxuan's lyrics for an afternoon, then go back and face life again. One day, I suddenly wandered into a small shop selling flower foods. So I spent ten yuan and bought a packet of crispy fried magnolia — that taste I still remember: delicate fragrance, light and elegant, extremely delicious. Later I tried making it myself a few times; perhaps my state of mind was different, and I couldn't reproduce the feeling of that year. Master doesn't have much interest in these flowers and grasses. If I say, “Look, the magnolias are blooming,” he'll look too and echo, “Mm, pretty.” But if I go on to tell him that the magnolia's flower language is sincere love, and that I want to watch magnolias with you at such-and-such time and place, he'll say I'm being affected. Over these years I've grown increasingly lazy, unwilling to strive, unwilling to argue with him. Every time, a single line — “Next time for sure; let's meet again when there's a chance” — and it passes. I still like magnolias; they hang cleanly on the branches. And I like my liking for Master; it too is hidden cleanly in my words.
《Flowers Grieve, Snow Envies Red》 I simply cannot bring myself to like camellias. Because I first read Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils; Madam Wang grew camellias and would use people's hands and feet to feed them at the slightest provocation — truly vicious and cruel. And Prince Duan's taste is also hard to judge; he kept finding such fierce girls who turned from love to hate. Turning from love to hate is actually easy to understand — hatred, probably, comes from overwhelming grievance. Master also asked me before whether I felt aggrieved, whether I had resentment. I answered with a line from Nirvana in Fire: “Everyone has choices. You took what you considered important and abandoned me; that was merely your choice. If I, because I wasn't chosen, gave rise to resentment, wouldn't there be too many unforgivable things in this world? After all, no one has a duty to put me first, to value me above all. No matter how I wish it, I cannot demand it. The reason I treat you this way is that I am willing. If this could exchange for the same sincerity, that would be a joy. But if not, I have nothing to regret.” To this day I still think those lines are extremely well written. I tell you openly that I like you, that I want you to become my Master. If you agree, that would be a joy; if you don't agree, I won't think you are bad either. I've drunk a lot of tea with Master, but never watched camellias together. I forget which year it was; on a whim he told me, “I'm looking to see if there's a suitable tent; I'll take you outdoors for tea and a chat.” I believed the sincerity of that remark the moment it left his mouth, and I also believe that if he had leisure he would take me. Of course, I also understand he has many affairs. The reason I still remember this is simply that my memory is too good; I truly have no expectation, and even less regret. Because I don't like outdoor tea at all. I've lived in the countryside; those days of using heaven as a quilt and earth as a bed, sleeping with the sun, moon and stars as companions — I've lived I don't know how many of them. If it weren't for Master, this kind of artificial rustic charm — pitching a tent, bringing some snacks, boiling two cups of Sichuan pepper water — is really, just ordinary. Later I read Leisure Notes of an Idle Life; Li Yu describes camellias like this: “This flower has the bones of pine and cypress, carries the bearing of peach and plum, passing spring, summer, autumn and winter as if one day — is it not a plant that is also an immortal?” But I had a preconceived notion; in my impression camellia and that evil Madam Wang were long since one whole. However well Li Yu praises it, it's useless. So flowers, like people, also care about the order of their entrance.
Ride transformation and return to exhaustion; rejoice in Heaven's mandate — what doubt remains? “What if there is no afterwards anymore?” Flowers bloom and flowers fall; all has its time.
《Wheat》 When I returned to the north this time, I happened to catch the wheat harvest season. Looking out the car window, large expanses of golden wheat waves surged — a steady, solid kind of beauty. Even someone with the worst technique would take out their phone and snap a photo; even the coldest person would send that photo to someone they like. But I didn't send it to Master. Because he is a person whose aesthetic taste is really quite ordinary. If I sent it, he'd probably first say, “Oh, you're home?” and then at most add, “The wheat's ripe, huh.” If you made him say it a hundred times over, he still couldn't say, “You are as good-looking as the wheat.” I have no magnanimity; since I can't get what I want to hear, he can't get this beautiful wheat photo either. Later I went into the field and picked two ears of wheat, husked them and looked closely: one grain round and plump, the other relatively thin and small. The elder beside me pointed at those chubby grains and told me, “This kind is good, this kind is worth money.” I cursed Master in my heart one more time, because at dinner he had laughed at me and asked if I'd been this chubby since I was little. I say his taste is really ordinary; he simply doesn't know what kind is worth money. 【Preface: If a person has leisure, they will let their imagination run wild. If you write those wild thoughts down, in the future you'll have memories to look back on. So you can write them down.】
《Corn》 I wanted to experience spring plowing and summer weeding, autumn harvest and winter storage. So I found a flowerpot and planted two corn seeds. Two light rains followed one after another, and the corn seedlings grew delightfully. At about a dozen centimeters, an elder told me, “If you don't pull one out now, there will be no harvest in autumn.” I stood before the flowerpot; I am the master of these two corn plants, and I must choose one of them. Of course I knew I should choose the sturdier one, but I empathized with the small one. What fault did it have? It was just growing slower at the moment, yet I was about to deny it a future. And I pitied the big one too — is it the winner? It wasn't firmly chosen; it was just the result of my weighing pros and cons. Before, when a Dom asked me what I wanted, I would blurt it out: “I want favoritism, I want to be the first choice, I want to be the most special.” Pure fantasy, a fool's dream. Later, when asked again what I wanted, I only knew to shake my head — nothing, I want nothing. Want nothing, and nothing will be lost. In the end I kept the big corn seedling. In the spacious flowerpot no one competed with it for nutrients anymore; it grew ever sturdier, and under the evening lamplight its lush green glossy leaves showed vigorous life. The small one was placed aside by me, yellowing day by day until it became a stalk of dry grass. In the West they call this natural selection, survival of the fittest. That still sounds too blunt, not beautiful enough. In the words of our ancients, this is called: “I came to ask the Way and have nothing more to say; clouds are in the blue sky, water is in the bottle.”
《Peanuts》 Some things are carved into one's genes and only awaken at a certain age — for instance, my liking for peanuts. The land of Qi and Lu produces peanuts in abundance; what's easily obtained is easily slighted, so as a child I didn't like them. I couldn't understand why middle-aged people, when drinking, mostly set a plate of peanuts beside them; pistachios and pine nuts are clearly tastier. Until I was trapped by love and picked up little Langgao. That liquor is somewhat strong; in the throat it's spicy — chew a few peanuts and they're more fragrant than pistachios, sweeter than pine nuts. I suddenly understood. Master probably also likes to eat some peanuts, because that year he said he'd make do with a dinner, and in the photo he sent me there was a bag of peanuts. He definitely doesn't remember, yet in the past couple days I kept teasing him, always joking, “Do you remember that year…” Although he doesn't remember these things, I know it's not that he doesn't like me. Liking is a thing where each person has their own concentration. Master isn't really a god; he has his circumstances, he has his limitations, and these determine that he can only give me this much.
《Apricots》 Whenever the wheat wind sweeps over Laoshan, the apricots on the trees gradually ripen. Incheon's early summer begins with this one sweet bite of wild little apricot. At the start of the month come the thin-skinned, juicy Maihuang apricots; mid-month, the honey-fragrant Incheon apricots; at month's end, the soft, plump-fleshed big red apricots. In June at home, apricots are the star among fruits. Fresh fruit is an early-summer limited item, but the kernels are a year-round staple. I can make apricot kernel curd. In my cardamom years I came to know a friend from the Qing dynasty named Yuan Mei; he wrote a book called Recipes from the Garden of Contentment, which I often take out to play with. The book gives the method for apricot kernel curd, the simplest of all: “Pound the apricot kernels into a pulp, strain out the dregs, mix with rice flour, add sugar and boil it.” Master has never drunk the apricot kernel curd I make — light and elegant, sweet and clear, soft and smooth without being cloying. Presumably we two have never been intimate to such a sweet degree; we've never drunk from the same bowl of curd, only from the same pot of tea — bitter as anything; after drinking it for years I still haven't tasted the so-called returning sweetness. There is no plain daily life of a long thin stream; it's all just doing those spicy, numbing, fresh and fragrant things. That year, in apricot blossom drizzle, he said he liked me. I thought it was just an ordinary encounter; who knew that in the years since, I would be trapped there, never truly walking out.
《Golden Cicada》 On a midsummer night, deep in the woods, countless lights flicker as people catch golden cicadas. I went to join the fun too, and had good luck — I found two. The next day I sent a message to Master, whom I hadn't seen in months: “Xiaobai told me to ask you — did you miss me?” Then I told him Xiaobai was the cicada nymph I'd caught; he comes from my hometown and can understand me when I speak my hometown dialect. Sometimes I really want to talk with him for a while — for instance when it rains, snows, or hails. But there's an eighty percent chance I won't disturb him; I'll just flip through a couple pages of a book myself and it'll pass. But if something in the book reminds me of him, that's the remaining twenty percent — feelings can't be restrained, the body isn't under one's control. I was perplexed by this twenty percent, so I went to Taiping Palace to ask the old ancestor to resolve my confusion. The old ancestor was traveling; a little disciple kept me company listening to the cicada song. He asked me, “That 'him' — right now, is he inside your heart or outside your heart?” I was silent for a while, thinking, “If he's inside my heart, there's no need to say more; if he's outside my heart, then he has nothing to do with me, and even less need to say more.” But that's too empty; it can't make my spiritual altar clear. The little disciple answered me, “Inside the heart is 'having' — valuing feeling and slighting reason; in excess it becomes obsession. Outside the heart is 'nothing' — valuing reason and distancing feeling; in excess it becomes estrangement. So the Way is neither inside nor outside; take the center of the ring, to respond to the infinite.” I began to understand a little — roughly what's called “inwardly harboring no selfishness, outwardly chasing no things.” When I speak with him, the speaker is me, the listener is the Way; when I don't speak with him, the thinker is me, the transformer is emptiness. If it can be like this, whether he is inside or outside my heart, I already stand at the “center of the ring,” and no matter how the wheel of longing turns, it won't hurt me. The little disciple tugged at my sleeve and praised me for having some enlightenment. I waved goodbye to him. I was too embarrassed to tell him — what enlightenment do I have, the enlightenment of baihuasheshecao water; my head is full of thinking about being Master's little 🐶.
《Peaches》 Peaches really are a wonderful plant. Peach blossoms brew wine, peach gum seasons soup, and peaches can be canned. The ancients discovered this long ago, so they never stinted their ink on peaches. I like two lines most of all. One is from the Book of Songs, Taoyao: “The young lady is getting married; she will bring harmony to her household.” This is a proper, serious line about living a life together — not suited to Master and me. But if you interpret it not-so-seriously, it carries rather a sense of being kept/captive. Probably few submissives wouldn't fantasize about this; fantasy is fantasy, reality is reality. I know I can't do it, and Master knows I can't do it either. I complained to him that as a child I didn't know any better and insisted on wanting independence and self-reliance; grown up, the Master I met also doesn't know any better and insists on leading me toward standing tall on my own. In the end, to this day, I never got the big-heroine script, and I can't act the little 🐶 script either. So let's just muddle through like this. The second line is Huang Tingjian's “Peach and plum in spring breeze, a cup of wine; rivers and lakes in night rain, ten years of lamplight.” I've watched this circle for about ten years, met many people, heard many stories, eaten a lot of gossip-melon. Some seek money, some plot for love — all are desires, all must live. I haven't figured out what I'm doing here either. I too have drifted long; in the mountains and rivers there are no old acquaintances.
《Grapes》 When I was little there was a grape vine at home, its trunk about as thick as a wrist. Because it was neglected, it bore little fruit. In my memory the fruit wasn't sweet either, because I could never wait until it was fully ripe and always picked it when it was half green, half purple. The elders at home took the chance to teach me: “Young people must keep their composure; endure a while and you can eat sweet fruit.” I learned my lesson. The next year I waited quietly, waited until the purple kept spreading and it was just about to ripen — and it was eaten by a little bird. I wasn't too sad; I just learned that “young people must be decisive; stepping back doesn't necessarily open up a boundless sky.” Flowers should be picked when they can be picked; there's no need to wait until they bloom at their best — whenever you pick it, that is the best moment. Fruit needn't wait until fully ripe either; only what you've eaten is yours. Because I always remembered the lesson of the bird eating my grapes, I later did things with a certain rash impulsiveness. Until I met Master. He always scolds me. Although I'm very unhappy about it, I stop and think — how much I think isn't certain, but I can quiet down a bit. He also talks with me about some mysterious things. Although sometimes I don't really want to think, it does give me some sedimentation. I don't have the awareness and breadth of the ancients who rejoiced at being corrected, but in all conscience, he has helped me grow quite a lot.
《Watermelon》 In midsummer, watermelon is an indispensable fruit. But I don't much like it — I find its sweetness too simple, not deep enough. The bitter melon on the vine, on the other hand — pick it and I can eat a few extra bites. In the creation of heaven and earth there is no absolute good or bad. Deficiency is loss, excess is harm; all things carry benefit and harm together — it only depends on what the human heart chooses. A mustard seed can hold Mount Sumeru; the mortal world is all like this. In this world there are always people or things one longs for day and night yet cannot obtain, while others can touch them with ease. There's nothing to be sad about in that; in an ordinary life, there are far too many things one strives for and cannot get. 【Afterword: I originally thought I'd take a year and a half of vacation, listening to the wind and watching the rain in the mountains, but after a few months I got a bit bored, so I started working. Work makes one vexed, so I write some things that make people happy. In the mountains there is nothing, only fresh fruits and vegetables, inexhaustible to eat. So I simply draw them into ink to add some fun. I came in high spirits and return when the spirits fade — off to move bricks.】
【On the first night he said, “When you finish this thing, be my little 🐶.” I was quite happy. On the second night he said, “Then don't be my little 🐶 anymore.” I nodded, and I wasn't unhappy.】 I just like him, with no demands and no purpose. If I can, I just want to do things that make the person I like happy; I just like this process. As for whether there's anything in return, whether he remembers my goodness, I don't care. Being moved is instinct; restraint is cultivation. All are experiences, all are encounters; I don't take it too seriously. It's not that I've let go — I've just grown up.
《Flowing Water》 The allusion of Flowing Water comes from Boya playing the guqin. High Mountains and Flowing Water were originally one piece; in the Tang dynasty they were split into two, and what can be heard today is the version fixed in the Qing dynasty. Flowing Water is very hard; I can't play it, yet I truly love its mood and meaning. Every time I practice until my fingertips are red, I can only sigh and toss the score aside. Some things — without talent, there simply is no talent. High mountains and flowing water, a kindred spirit is hard to find. Not everyone has the fate and encounter of Boya and Ziqi. Am I and Master kindred spirits? Not really. I don't know his past, am not familiar with his present, and have never thought of taking part in his future. I only know a few romantic episodes, know where he was the day before yesterday, and decades later perhaps we can still send an email to confirm we're both still alive. That's all I know, and there's almost nothing I can do, yet I alone am deeply in love — deep, deep, deep beyond measure. We've known each other for years, at a distance close to negative numbers, yet I only learned his phone number last month. Of course I'm even more excessive — to this day he doesn't know my name. Writing this makes me want to laugh. With his high IQ and my glib sophistry, neither of us can probably define what this bond between the two of us actually is. Fortunately, I don't cling to outcomes and he is grounded in the present. In short, I'm quite happy, and he, presumably, isn't impatient yet. As the years grow, I prefer the final section of Flowing Water. After the seventy-two rolling strokes pass, the waves subside and recede into the distance; having experienced the emotional ups and downs of love, hate, anger and infatuation, one then ponders the strategy and planning of water that does not contend yet contends for the whole picture. Only at the end does one learn to quiet down and converse with nature, so as to borrow the myriad forms of heaven and earth to see clearly the measure of one's heart. Water does not forget its surging; it simply isn't trapped by its turbulence, and so it can flow long. People need not erase joy and sorrow either; they only need to strive not to be swept away by emotion. Of course this is quite hard to do — just yesterday I was rather angry because Master was being unreasonable. 【I said I write things so that in the future I'll have memories to look back on. On the first day Master said, “That's a really nice idea of yours.” On the second day he dug out something from 2024 and said to me, “So it turns out this wasn't all written about me.” Without a moment's hesitation I deleted all the girls and friends from my memories — favoring the lover over friends, that sort of thing, I do it with practiced ease. Anyway, apart from myself, he is the only reason I stay here. But flipping through my posts, there are really too few — let me scrape together a few more.】
《Drunken Ecstasy》 Jiukuang is said to have been composed by Ruan Ji. The ancient scores contain only fingering, no rhythm, and the most widely circulated version today is the work of modern people. Jiukuang is relatively simple; I can play it, just barely enough to fool someone who doesn't know the guqin. I grew up beside a winery; at two or three years old I could hug the unblended liquor and drink a few sips, but I don't love wine, and I believe Ruan Ji didn't love wine either. So the core of the whole Jiukuang is nothing more than using wine to escape the world and dissolve sorrow, withdrawing to guard oneself inwardly. After the wildness rests, all sounds return to silence. It is helplessness, and also clarity. Master once said something very blunt. As a girl, it isn't suitable coming from my mouth, so let me polish it a little — it should be: “When life forcibly goes with me to Wushan for the clouds and rain, I won't make a single sound; I'm afraid of letting life think I obtained pleasure.” Back then I thought he was being terribly affected, because in my view life had really treated him quite well. Life raised him fair and clean, tall and strong; besides a clever mind it also gave him a good-looking face, so many girls keeping him company, no worries about food or clothing — what more could he want. Later, I sort of half-understood. I seemed to comprehend a little of masculine thinking, comprehend a little of why he was pessimistic; beneath the surface of childish lovers' charm, I touched in his heart a trace of very rustic feeling for home and country. Ruan Ji was too clear-sighted, so he could only be lonely. I can't stand the sight of many things, but I can only obey the rules, so I can't be happy. Of course these are my guesses; I don't know what he thinks. Because in the end I am an optimistic person. I can understand Ruan Ji dissolving sorrow in wine, and I also like playing Jiukuang after drinking two cups of little Langgao, but that is more a kind of wildness and fervor after slight drunkenness, a young, upward, vigorous life force burning.
《Wearing Orchids》 This piece comes from the "Li Sao": "Carrying angelica and evodia, I string autumn orchids to wear." Its opening tone is cold and clear, like jade pendants striking. The qin's sound is faint and distant, stretching long into the depths of the heart, with only one line: "If only life were like the first time we met." At our first meeting, my Master said I was like an orchid in a deep valley — quiet and beautiful. The moment he said those words, I knew I had overdone the act. I met him three years after graduating from university, in the glittering Jiangnan, at an age full of ambition. If I truly had a nature indifferent to worldly strife, I wouldn't have been able to gain a foothold in that bustling metropolis. Even now, I definitely won't admit I had any artistic embellishment back then. I can only say, I'm different when I'm being a person and when I'm being a pet — both are facets of me. As for which facet my Master saw, that's a matter of his eyesight. I don't have any special feeling for orchids in themselves, but my Master once exaggeratedly praised me as "aloof from the world," so when I see orchids, I think of him too. I prefer peonies — since childhood I've loved these things of wealth and peace; even if it's all a dressing-up, it still has to be peaceful. My Master says I always stand on a cloud when I speak, and wants to hand me a ladder to bring me down. I'm willful and affected, and I just won't come down. Even though I'm unteachable, he has never said a harsh word to me. I thought back for a long time: over all these years, he's scolded me plenty, but he's never once said "I don't like you" to me. Of course, I also never heard him say he didn't like other girls. But I wouldn't say that line: "If what you give others is the same as what you give me, then I don't want it." I would only say, "And where's my share? Thanks, bro." There's no need to always think about being one of a kind — no necessity at all. Let everyone live their days in lively harmony, and all will be happy. The finale of this piece converges slowly like waves subsiding, the lingering sound distant and undispersed. Just like the orchid: born in an empty valley, dispersed in an empty valley, guarding its fragrance by itself, never changing its true nature. This is a kind of self-restraint, and I have somewhat come to understand it. When I want to do something not-so-good, I think, "If my Master knew, he definitely wouldn't like me doing this." So I don't do it. Although sometimes I feel a bit of regret, it's still a way of defeating myself.
《Moon over the Mountain Pass》 This piece takes its name from Li Bai's poem: "The bright moon rises over Mount Tianshan, amid a vast sea of clouds. The long wind, over thousands of miles, blows through Incheon Pass." The whole piece is not long, and its charm flows continuously. My Master once advised me to go out traveling alone, saying I would gain different insights. In my heart I cursed him: "If you don't want to go with me, just say so — what's this about different insights?" If I went with him, I'd gain even more insights. But on second thought, if we traveled far together, I'd have to serve him tea and water along the way — I'd be more comfortable going by myself. When I stepped through Incheon Pass, in the endless yellow sand there were only two people: me and the guide. Before the ancient ruins, he spoke and I listened. The sound of the wind crossed a thousand years, and those scenes of fluttering banners and lone smoke over the great desert reappeared. How many Han sons with their spears and iron horses were buried in those thousands of miles of yellow earth? At that moment, romantic love seemed too insignificant — it couldn't even become a footnote to that magnificent history. I've always believed that the scene is the scene, and real life is real life. I also thought I could separate the two very cleanly. Later, it was my Master who made me realize I couldn't. He didn't say it directly — it was that for a period of time, I used all my thoughts on pleasing and ingratiating him, and over time, a subconscious habit of lowering myself and acting small formed. Stay in a cage too long and your claws and fangs really do get worn smooth; keep a pet's mentality too long and you really do forget your own edges. Fortunately, he was always cold to me. Fortunately, I'm good at self-reflection. I learned that my attribute is also a part of my personality — I can't strip it away. But if I stay a little farther from my Master, I can suppress the attribute a little; suppress the attribute a little, and I can be a little more rational; be a little more rational, and I can find a little more of my own meaning. Building achievements and accomplishing something isn't exclusively men's business. Being kept in a golden house and cherished — that kind of thing can only be imagined, or at most said out loud; in your heart, you mustn't take it seriously. The moon in front of my Master's office window that night was the most beautiful moon I've ever seen. But the moon beyond the mountain pass is the moon that makes people sober up the most.
《Lament of Cangwu》 The story of this piece traces back to ancient times; legend says it was composed by Ehuang and Nüying in longing for Emperor Shun. But the overall tone is not confined to romantic love between a man and a woman — it also mourns Shun's virtuous rule, so it carries a feeling of vast mountains and rivers, of longing and admiration. When I was playing this piece, I had just been betrayed by someone over interests. To say I wasn't sad would be a lie; if conditions allowed, I might even have wanted to cry a little. Finding my Master is for moments like this — it can't always be romance and poetry; real things need doing too. So I stated the facts and sat waiting for a solution. I never expect him to comfort me, because from the very beginning he never indulged me in that habit. So I only listen to his advice, and handle my emotions myself. My Master said, "Smart people can tell business apart from friendship. Those who can't tell them apart will get hurt, and then blame others for betraying the friendship." I took it in, and I wasn't so sad anymore. The road is still long anyway, and I'm still young — I'll treat this as stopping for a while to gather a little strength. And there's actually a follow-up to this: my Master said, "You just be well, all right?" What kind of line is that? It's like peanuts growing in a cornfield, like apples growing on a grapevine, like tasting a bit of sweetness in his Sichuan pepper soup. By evening, the matter was basically over. I wasn't angry anymore, nor really sad. Actually, how should I put it? If my Master weren't there, I would have come to terms with it myself in the end, but not this quickly. So one of the reasons I've been unable to forget my Master all these years is that whenever something happens where I feel isolated and helpless, or encounter the treachery of people's hearts, I think of him, and I can think that there are still, in my eyes, very good people and very good feelings in this world. He makes me feel that the world is good.
《Introduction to a Fine Night》 This is a gentle little tune. It's said the ancients often used it as the opening piece for elegant gatherings. Occasionally, on a whim, I'll pluck a few notes late at night; I don't play it often. I like the night — as long as I don't have to work, most nights count as fine nights to me. When the moon rises, I pour a little red wine, turn a few pages of a leisure book, sit quietly by myself, and think: "On the riverbank, who first saw the moon? The river moon, in what year did it first shine on people?" When Zhang Ruoxu looked at the moon, what was he thinking? When Wei Qing looked at the moon, what was he thinking? And when my Master looks at the moon, what is he thinking? Generally, when my thoughts reach this point, I'll eat some snacks or get up and walk around. I don't want to think of him at night, because that will be an endless process. I should think about myself, think about tomorrow. Mencius said, "Life is born in sorrow and worry, and dies in ease and pleasure." And I haven't had a sense of worry for many years now. I'm a person of very low material desire, with no luxurious hobbies and no particularly great ambitions. I have a skill to make a living with, and need not rely on anyone. With no desires, one is just. I can say very frankly: standing between heaven and earth, only the word "like" can make me bow my head. When I first met my Master, I hadn't thought much about the meaning of life. I was still young then; I had to think about survival first. The first step in a young person's growth is to earn money first, because the economic base determines the superstructure. That year, in midsummer, I was renovating my studio in the hot, humid Jiangnan, moving cement myself. Exhausted, I took a photo and sent it to my Master. He said, "I don't know what to say. You be well." I understood — I knew the thing he couldn't say aloud should have been that his heart ached for me. But I didn't say anything either, and kept working. Many things are best left as unspoken mutual understanding. Later, I grew up, and no longer worried much about survival. I could also chat calmly with my Master. Under his influence, I began to think about the meaning of life — which added many troubles, but reduced a lot of emptiness. Of course, I still haven't figured anything out yet, so I still often go find him to play.
《Mozi Grieves over the Silk》 Mozi grieving over silk tells of Mozi passing a dyehouse and seeing pure white silk thrown into a dye vat — dyed blue it becomes blue, dyed yellow it becomes yellow — and from this his realization was born: human nature is pure by nature, but extremely easily soaked and dyed by worldly environments; in conducting yourself and in governing a country, you must be careful and self-restrained. The melody meanders, rising and falling slightly, carrying thought and regret. The influence of one's later environment is too great, so the intimate relationships you can choose for yourself must be chosen with care. Saying is one thing, doing is another — out in the world, what kind of people you meet is often not up to you. The order in which people appear in your life decides a great deal. Some people may not be suitable at all, but the timing of their appearance is too perfect, so you add layer upon layer of filters to them; knowing full well they're unsuitable, you still insist on getting close. Asking for your own suffering is something no one can stop. Fortunately, the external environment can only influence a person, not change them. I think I've always had a fairly good ability: wherever I go, I can find myself a little amusement. Sometimes I cry too, and when I'm unhappy I shut myself away, but once I've cried it out, I'm fine. My Master does all right in this regard too. Over all these years, I've never seen him show an appearance of sadness. Sometimes he tells me a few troubling things, but always faintly — never flying into a rage, never cursing heaven and blaming others. Sometimes business is going all right and he tells me a few happy things — still faintly, never arrogant or conceited, never looking down on everything. Emotionally stable, growing toward the sun. My Master used to often say that I seal myself off too tightly, and no one can get in. I know that for a Dom in this game, that's something you can't get a grip on, very hard to gain a sense of achievement from, so I can understand why he doesn't like me that much. And I'm not willing to go against my nature either, because I quite like myself. So let life go on like this — as long as everyone is well, that's enough.
《Dialogue of the Fisherman and the Woodcutter》 In this piece, a fisherman and a woodcutter meet by chance. The qin's sound rising means a question; the melody falling means an answer. Back and forth they go, speaking of how the rise and fall of dynasties turns empty in an instant, and how fame and profit in officialdom bring no freedom. Only fishing on the river, accompanied by clear breeze and bright moon, and chopping wood in the mountains, watching pine forests and clouds and mist, are carefree and joyful. I'm not really interested in that reclusive life among mountains and waters. Staying a few days occasionally is fine, but long-term, no. I still like living a lively, bustling life. Work hard and earn a little money, chat about little bits of gossip with friends, buy some little junk food to eat — and I feel quite happy. If I've been happy for a long time and want a different kind of challenge, I go find my Master to chat. Usually asking him three sentences can help solve my happiness problem for me. "Did you miss me? Do you like me? Am I the one you like most?" As long as he doesn't lie, I definitely won't be happy. So sometimes I actively encourage him to lie. People who live too clearly are great, but they suffer a lot. Like Qu Yuan, like Hai Rui. I don't want to be great, and I don't want to suffer, so I'll find a way to hear a few things I like hearing — who cares whether they're true or false. There was a period when I liked studying my Master. Honestly it was quite happy — who wouldn't like spending thought on a person and things they like? Now I like studying myself. Honestly it's not so happy, because my strengths are few and rather obvious, so I finish studying them very quickly. What remains is all shortcomings. Knowing your shortcomings and not fixing them makes you a block of wood. I'm not a block of wood, so I improve a little. Improving is tiring, and being tired makes me unhappy. When I'm unhappy I want someone to comfort me, but my Master won't comfort me, and when others comfort me I can't take it in. Luckily I have another way: I just curse him a few times in my heart, and that's enough.
《Plum Blossoms in Three Variations》 This piece is very difficult; I'm not very good at it. But its commentary is so beautiful — it says, "The plum is the purest of flowers, the qin is the purest of sounds; with the purest of sounds, describe the purest of things." That's hard not to long for, so even though I can't play it well, I like to practice it a lot. I think I'm still fairly clear and transparent. Pretty much everything my Master can see of me is laid out at a glance. What he can't see is all sealed at the very bottom. I always like to provoke him, and once I've provoked him, I slip away. Although when I write things, the words "my Master" come extremely smoothly, in private, whether meeting or chatting, since we parted many years ago, I have never called him that again. Some things are too familiar — I'm afraid I'd burst out laughing. I've played around on my own for quite a few years. Occasionally there are some pretty good Doms who appear just when I'm bored, and I've learned a little of "I need someone to keep me company." So we go back and forth, exchange a few lines of play-acting, and the show ends in two or three days. They say I'm cold and insincere. I nod, and reply, "I wish you happiness." That last sentence is sincere — I hope everyone can be happy. Occasionally a young girl comes along and compliments me, saying my little essays are quite well written. I smoothly tease her back: "Then how about being my little 🐶?" Most of the girls hem and haw, and after a long while manage to ask, "Sis, why are you different from what you write?" I tease them a couple more lines: "Right, actually I'm a very formidable Dom." The girl probably runs off with a yelp, leaving me laughing out loud by myself. The years have not spared me, but I haven't spared the years either. Every year I manage to get a few things done, and every year I can find something to say to my Master. I watch from the side as flowers bloom and fall, and I watch from the side as he splits up and gets back together with other girls, all lovey-dovey. Because I have my own things to do, I don't feel much about it. I do value feelings deeply, but I would never make possession the goal. At this age, let the wind and snow scatter away. Everything returning to peace is pretty good.
《Qixi》 Festivals must be celebrated, or life feels monotonous. Today is Qixi, and I invited a lot of little girls to my home to play. Drinking cola, eating fruit, talking about dreams. Most of them are children in third or fourth grade. Looking at them, I can think of my own childhood too. I wrote the invitations by hand — this was probably the first time they'd received an invitation with their own name on it. One pair of bright little eyes told me, "Auntie, my little brother wants to come too. Mom said his name isn't on the invitation, so he can't come." Country girls don't have easy lives. I nodded: "He can't come. This is our girls' festival." I sat with them and listened to ten-year-olds talk about the future: "I want to be a teacher, I want to take the civil service exam, I want to become a star…" Such beautiful hopes, such beautiful dreams — I had them too. I suddenly understood: the very beginning of life, the very first plans, had nothing to do with men, and nothing to do with love. There was only your own path, and only the things you yourself liked. Festivals must be celebrated — even if you're alone, you must celebrate them. Things this joyful shouldn't wait. Never delay happiness. Suffering first doesn't guarantee sweetness later, but sweetness first will definitely be sweet.
《Little Animals》 My little animal friend got lost, and I'm quite sad. My Master didn't comfort me, so I treated the plush toy on the soft couch as him and beat it up, bang bang bang. It had no name. I met it on a solo walk that night, and it followed me for a stretch of road. When I went forward, it went forward; when I stepped back, it stepped back. I don't like small animals, cats or 🐶 alike. So I didn't take it home. It had a home — I'd seen it, in the grass beside the trash bin. It had probably only been in this world for about a month or two. I went into town and bought some salmon for it, thinking that when it looks back on the human world in the future, it won't be all wandering and hardship — there will be a little sweetness too, even if just a tiny bit. Later I told my Master that I really can't bear to see such things; my shallow experience can't hold the eternal sorrows of humankind. So lately I don't go out much. Apart from work and playing some instruments, I spend the rest of my time walking in the garden. The cicadas' song is gradually fading, the autumn insects are just starting to chirp, and when the mood strikes, I go and tease my Master a couple of lines too. Big sister gets along pleasantly with her Master. Happy people tend to wish happiness on others too, so she gives me bad advice — one moment telling me to go scold my Master, the next telling me to go beg him. I laugh through the screen. I'm not very good at scolding people, and begging people is even less my thing. I'm used to being quiet, used to being calm and unruffled. My Master says I'm good at seeing the big from the small, able to discover all kinds of beauty in the subtlest details. Everything in this world holds yin and yang in symbiosis, contradictions complementing each other. If I can discover beauty in the subtleties, I can also discover regret in the subtleties. It's just that I don't want to live that clearly. Life, lived a little muddled, is happier.
《The Little White Horse》 That old man Zhuangzi is quite interesting. He said, "Life between heaven and earth is like a white colt flashing past a crack — gone in an instant." And so, riding the Kunpeng, dreaming of butterflies, leading my little white horse clip-clop along, I followed my Master for many years. Yesterday I shared this feeling with him; he didn't reply to me, so I beat up my plush toy again. Is he good to me? Honestly, just so-so. Am I good to him? Even more so-so, truly. If outsiders asked, it would probably be: each works hard on their own, and they meet at the summit. Analyzing it myself: he has no patience, and I have no sincerity. Big sister asked me what I like about him. My first reaction was that line Yi Xiu said to An Lingrong: "Noble Consort Qi may not be smart enough, but she is truly beautiful." My Master may not like me enough, but he is truly good-looking. In earlier years, when business was good, there were also fun-loving aunties who treated us to watch some pretty boys. Young, with slim waists and long legs, and when they sat down they could chat a bit with you about Ming history. But the feeling was wrong — their eyes were too empty, their motives too obvious, with no aggression at all. Whatever you said, they went along with it. Not like my Master: out of ten sentences, seven are about how I'm wrong. My Master's good looks are the top-luxury kind of good looks — no value for money at all, but extremely challenging. And I'm a vulgar person who always likes doing competitive things. What else do I like about him? To me, my Master is like a private Zhihu. I have a question, he has an answer. Big sister asked if I have a lot of questions. I do — about as many as "One Hundred Thousand Whys." My primary school teacher said something I've kept firmly in mind: "If there's something you don't understand, you must ask." So I always ask him: "Why can't fish fly? Why don't cows eat meat?" I rarely ask about his real life. When he tells me, I listen; when he doesn't tell me, I'm not curious either. A person has many roles to play, and I know where my place should be. He has his world of rivers and lakes; fortunately, I have my mountains and seas too.
《The Little Girl》 I'm in the countryside, and I know a lot of people here. From five-year-old kids down below to eighteen-year-old university students up above, I can chat a few lines with all of them. The teacher lives at home with time on his hands, and during the summer he tutors the children in the new term's lessons for free. I often make some pastries to send over, and help him look after the students too. Country children are mostly reserved and shy around strangers, but once they know you, they treat you with genuine warmth. Plastic bags often appear on my door — the things inside them are all over the place: fresh corn, mulberries, grapes, apricots, river snails, seaweed buns, even a few small live fish. I don't know exactly who left them, but it can only be a few of the children who often eat my pastries. On this land of Shandong, reciprocity in courtesy matters. They rarely push my door open directly — the adults at home must have told them I like quiet, and not to come disturb me. I met that little girl on a morning walk. She wore no shoes, walking barefoot on the muddy road between the fields. Seeing me, she wanted to open her mouth to say hello, but the tears came down first. I rarely go out, but I'd heard a bit about her family's situation, and I'd seen her father — the one who gets violent after drinking — a few times. I didn't ask her what was wrong. I took her home and looked carefully: there were a few bruises on her arms, and shoe prints on her back that hadn't been wiped clean. I found a new pair of slippers for her to change into, washed her face, and we went to the dining room together to have breakfast. I put two big spoonfuls of white sugar into the red bean porridge and handed it to her: "Eat. It's sweet." She finally burst into tears: "Auntie, I didn't steal any money." I cry easily by nature; this time I couldn't hold it back either, so I turned around to quickly wipe my eyes. I got her some tissue too, and told her I knew, I believed her. I don't know what else I could have said to her besides that. I couldn't say, next time he hits you, go to the kitchen and get a knife — that was a road I once walked, and it hurt too much. I couldn't say, just endure a few more years, and when you grow up you can fly far away — that was also a road I walked, and it was too bitter. I couldn't say, whatever you do, don't carry a psychological shadow, don't crave love, don't become an M — that too was a road I walked, and it was too full of despair. I said nothing, because there was nothing I could do. All I could do was, after breakfast, walk her home. Her mother thanked me over and over behind me; I couldn't make out what she said — I practically fled in disarray. I thought, she'll grow up eventually; once she's grown, things will be fine, won't they? I was very sad at the time, but I didn't go to my Master, because I had no question I needed him to answer. I knew very clearly: I was powerless.
《The Old Gentleman》 The old gentleman is actually not that old, twenty years older than Master. According to the generational order in my hometown, I should call him uncle. Speaking of forms of address, I have never called Master dad, even though I like it very much, even though that is why I entered this circle. When Master and I first met, our feelings were very good, but before I could say it out loud, he switched accounts. He was very honest, and I was not without the right to choose either. But I really like him, liked him to the point that later I never felt that at any moment his feelings truly belonged to me, and was still willing to settle for the next best thing and play with him. This time the old gentleman's return home really cannot be counted as returning in glory, three years ago I saw an electronic version of the notice, at that time I was in Jiangnan, but I did not know where he was imprisoned. I pulled out the tulips in the flowerpot, letting the few wild grasses beside them spread and reproduce. What noble flowers of a famous orthodox family, they were just bullying those wild grasses for having shallow roots and weak strength. I insist on letting the wild grasses fill the flowerpot. The old gentleman returned to his hometown, even though low-key, it had long spread through the streets and alleys. In the countryside there are few secrets that can be hidden. In mid-August at the small fishing season opening, I asked my brother to go to the dock to buy two baskets of huge fresh live crabs, after steaming them, I also stewed a pot of beef, and went to have dinner with the old gentleman. His state was okay, although not as spirited as in previous years, but still quite energetic. Regrettably, I cannot drink alcohol recently, could only replace it with plain water, he has a very good memory, smilingly said to me, “Little girl, I remember you have a very good alcohol tolerance.” I nodded, “In a while, I'll come accompany you to drink two jin.” In the evening he saw me out the door, the surrounding neighbors were cooling off at the door, warmly greeting him, I said, “Uncle, home is still the best, the road we built ourselves, walking on it feels solid.” He patted my shoulder, he said, “Girl, you still have to go back to Jiangnan, so young, you don't need to be too solid.” I know, I know I will go back to Jiangnan, Jiangnan has Master.
What is fate?
One leaf tells of autumn's arrival in sound. I hadn't even finished reciting my 'azure-cloud sky, yellow-leaf earth' when the little chubby kid next door came running to me with a freshly roasted little lamb leg. The little chubby kid held it up to my mouth: "Auntie, come on, let's put on some autumn fat." So I took a bite, then he took a bite... This kid — the little chubby one is way more fun than Big S.
《Little Chubby》 Little Chubby is a third-generation boat family kid, eight years old this year. For some reason he was sent to the countryside to live with his grandparents, and also became my neighbor. He is a chatterbox, always likes to run over to my place. When I play the qin, he also holds a guitar and strums it. One morning during summer vacation, he wore a floral shirt and ran into my courtyard shouting, “Auntie, I'll give you a song.” He was so round, sitting there, the guitar could not even cover his fleshy little belly, and he took out a pair of fifty-cent sunglasses, put them on and sang “Under the warm sun, I welcome the fragrance, whose girl is it～” I could not help laughing, and treated him to a bowl of sweet steamed cheese curd. A few evenings ago, after school he did not go home, climbed onto the roof and called me, mysteriously inviting me to go steal apples together. “Auntie, I found an apple orchard, let's go pick two and taste them.” I nodded, agreeing to go when it got dark. He would be responsible for picking, I for keeping watch, after picking we would share half each. Just five minutes after going in I shouted to him, “Run quickly, someone is coming.” So that ball of flesh tumbled and crawled out, holding two green apples in his hand, unripe. The next day he came to me angrily, “Auntie, why didn't you tell me that orchard is your family's, you don't regard me as a friend.” So that he would not break off friendship with me, I compensated him with a trip to a vineyard to pick grapes openly and properly. He also has very well-behaved times, every day he must practice writing for half an hour, if he writes badly his grandmother will beat him. That day I watched him write, I said I have a good friend who also can write brush calligraphy. Master sometimes is willing to write, I specially went to Anhui to buy xuan paper, it has been placed in the study for two years, never had a chance to give it to him. Little Chubby talks a lot, chimed in with a sentence, “Is your good friend's writing better or is mine better?” I smiled “You two are about the same, neither writes very well.” He ignored me, continued to work hard. I was thinking, I don't know what Master was like when he was eight years old, he told me a little bit about primary school, his female deskmate, an older sister who since childhood could eat his snacks. I am not really envious of that, in Master's pocket, there was once also candy packed for me. I have also seen photos of him in his twenties, not as good-looking as now, I feel, when I met him, it was the best time.
Who on earth taught him to read messages and not reply? So rude. I'm not speaking to him anymore.
《The Quarrel》 I had a fight with my good friend, because I think Liu Xin's love for Dong Xian was so romantic and grand that he even wanted to hand the empire over to him. My friend thought Liu Xin's way of loving was wrong — he should have restrained his edge and slowly built up his power. So we argued round after round about age, personality, and social environment. In the end I came to a conclusion: "So, when someone gives you a very precious love, you must think about whether you can carry its weight." He replied to me, "Doesn't matter for you — your Master doesn't have much love for you anyway." End of the match. I don't understand why he had to escalate it to a personal attack, but I immediately withdrew a box of chestnut mooncakes I'd sent him and cut him off for three days. Why did I fly into a rage out of shame? Because he was right, but I didn't want to hear the truth.
《After the Holiday》 I told my Master, "An unhappy childhood probably really does affect your whole life." He hadn't woken up properly and replied in a muddle, rambling incoherently. I expressed understanding — never mind what he replied, at least he replied. Holidays at home are always lively, especially a big festival like Mid-Autumn. There's always a stream of people coming and going at the gate, an endless flow of traffic. The grandparents reminisce about how hard life used to be, the parents' generation talks about the toil of work now, and I try to keep my presence as low as possible. Even after growing up and earning a seat at the table, with a tiny bit of say, I still rarely speak. I'm not a person of few words, but under the gaze of so many eyes, the more you say, the more mistakes you make. Actually, back in my junior year of university, my family was already very good to me. I don't really want to figure out whether the way you're treated is determined by your value; I just noticed they like me this way, so I stayed this way. A lot of the time, keeping things as they are isn't easy either, especially for someone who was lucky right from the start. That's why that anxiety and unease never go away, and that's why I'm fixated on having a Dominant. I know I need such a person. I should have some stories happen with him — to temper myself, to enrich my experiences, to grow strong and thrive. I don't know what a sense of ease is, but it's the thing I want most right now.
“A teenager living under you in fear and trepidation — what is there for you to be proud of.”
