A Note at the Start

      This piece is written for myself, to mark and celebrate my eighteenth year and my graduation from high school. I began writing it a full sixteen months before graduation, revising and rewriting it along the way. It wasn't finished when I first published it, but I still want to put down the endless splendor in my heart—whether or not any of it ever comes true. I hope more people will come to know that, far, far away, there is a young man carrying another ideal world in his heart.

The Ideal Continent

There is a bonfire in the distance, burning for those who have waited long.

《Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence》

If I hadn't so often gazed into the distance, I suppose I would have put down roots in the northwest hinterland for good.

      The tide rises and falls, washing over my heart. Moonlight spills across the harbor, leaving a vast, hazy glow. The train keeps up its rhythmic clatter, and I gaze into the distance, slowly replaying my own restlessness. City after city unsettles me, but the south I've longed for—I've finally come to your side.

      When I grew weary of the desert, weary of the lone plumes of smoke, weary of the streams, I yearned all the more for the distance. A seed planted in the yellow sand, yet it bloomed under the eaves of the south.

      I have spoken to the loess earth, and wept to the Wei River. You simple, steadfast people rooted in the northwest—why do you live out generation after generation, an endless cycle, on this land, this barren yellow land? "Young one, this is our homeland. It was once as bountiful as the south. Barrenness is not insurmountable."

      I was not born upon the loess. Like Li Bai, I left my homeland and saw the great roc rise with the wind. And like Li Bai, I never returned, hearing the jade flute's hidden notes drift from some courtyard. But in the end, I too left the loess behind, carrying my hundreds of millions of dreams.

      Endless life, endless love. You are the warm sun, I am the deep winter, and when we merge, tens of thousands of seasons bloom. Walking side by side, the setting sun stretches our story long, so long—long enough for life after life.

      Love is my feeling for the south, and it is my feeling for you. You are the last gift the loess gave me—the warm sun, the hope, the April day of the human world. The evening breeze carries you and me southward, to listen to the sound of the tide rising and falling.

To be continued…………