On the barren slope, the cold wind cuts through as I search for traces of you, my heart treading alone through the lingering snow, carrying unresolved yearning. The moment of your ruthless farewell stabs at my heart, leaving me in this harsh winter devoid of any sign of life – a pale sky, dead tree trunks, mournful crows, and chilling gusts piercing down my throat. My trembling body persists, clinging to dreams of finding my true self. It's then I seem to hear someone say: "Young man, with belief and persistence, there's nothing that can't be overcome. If spring resides in your heart, every season is spring. Winter brings more tests, more persistence, and more hope than spring." I turn back, striving to keep up with its pace. With a goal set, moving forward will make even the harshest winter feel like a sunny spring."
Instinctively driven, I enter this restaurant despite having no appetite. Life isn’t as imagined; time moves fast as I find myself stuck in a corner juggling schoolwork. The mountains are lush green, occasionally dotted with houses midway, emitting wisps of white smoke, their roofs laden with corn. Zhang Zhi, a renowned calligrapher from the Eastern Han Dynasty, born an unknown year, approximately passed away in the third year of Emperor Xian’s Chuping era (192 AD), was from Dunhuang Jiuquan.
Entering June, wild mountain vegetables flourish. Cows graze, monkeys retreat, and various greens like fiddlehead ferns sprout competitively. Most striking are the dandelions covering the hillsides with bright yellow flowers, resembling a carpet of gold. Alongside them, roadside wild chrysanthemums bloom in purple and white, vying for beauty and elegance. You adore roses while he loves peonies; you pine for peach blossoms while he's intoxicated by pomegranates; you admire resilient plum blossoms while he appreciates graceful orchids.
In the quiet of night, one confronts sorrowful memories, an irreparable retrospection. It's not about favoring Valentine's Day but rather dedicating a period to the night. I notice a glass box housing a notable piece of white marble inscribed with words: "On September 18th, 34th year of the Republic of China, General Sun Weiru accepted the surrender of Lieutenant General Okamura Yasuji and his 200,000 troops here in the Sixth War Zone." This stone tablet was reportedly discovered in 1998 by two employees of Zhongshan Park in the lower level of the Zhang Gong Shrine. Originally built to commemorate the Viceroy of Huguang, Zhang Zhidong, after the surrender ceremony, General Sun Weiru commemorated the historical moment by inscribing "Surrender Hall" on red paper and placing it above the door, later renaming the shrine officially to "Surrender Hall."
Leisurely chatting with my father, we entered Hankou's Zhongshan Park around 10 AM.
I repeatedly questioned my heart, wondering if I was overreacting or indulging in baseless lamentations. Cherry blossoms have neither given me money nor awarded me honors, no unforgettable romance under cherry trees, no discussions of unwavering goals within cherry groves, no instances of gratitude in cherry gardens. Clearly, even nature's beauty must be experienced emotionally. Without sentiment, the pursuit of beauty remains unattainable.
The following year, when viewing cherry blossoms again, I specially bought and wore casual attire, fearing the rough demeanor of military uniforms would desecrate such delicate natural scenery. A sense of worry and panic accompanies the journey. Kerosene became a sought-after commodity.
Subsequently, S only appeared at night, rarely during daylight hours. Loving the elegant phrase "Dreaming with books as pillows at midnight," I favored reading during "spare time" – nighttime reading. In the distance, winter wheat faintly emerges, its green shadows showing through the snow. And thus freedom came.