This is an old article written at the beginning of this year. I have made some modifications and decided to repost it, reminiscing about the state of mind at that time. Lately, I haven't been writing much.
I often find myself in a situation where I don't feel like doing anything. It's like the Yellow Crane has flown away and will never return, leaving only the white clouds in my mind. I have no interest in anything, whether it's reading, studying, or playing games. Whenever I sit quietly by the window with the light on, I think of Wang Mojie's words about the falling mountain fruits in the rain and the chirping of insects under the lamp. It always brings a warm feeling to my heart. It turns out that the state of mind shared between Wang Mojie and I, spanning thousands of years, is encapsulated in these ten words. If there were parallel dimensions, I wonder if his heart would suddenly skip a beat, receiving a signal from me, from a thousand years in the future?
Perhaps it is impossible, as it goes against the paradox of the grandfather of physics. But songs can transcend the human soul. Today, I accidentally came across a song called "Ocean Eyes," which I had added to my favorites a long time ago. The ethereal and distant voice of the singer made me unable to resist listening to it on repeat for a while. Despite listening to English songs for so many years and reading English articles extensively, I still can't fully understand them. I can only interpret them based on my own environment and state of mind. To me, it feels somewhat melancholic. I seem to see a pair of eyes that have crossed a thousand years, piercing through the misty sea. The emptiness and sadness conveyed by those eyes immerse me in their depths.
But my understanding may not be accurate, and I am too lazy to seek the true interpretation. Why should everything always be meticulously verified? After all, each person has their own environment, not only in terms of the state of mind but also in terms of the geographical environment we have lived in for thousands of years. How else can we explain the Spanish colonizers bringing guns, steel, and smallpox to infect the Native Americans? I have recently read most of "Guns, Germs, and Steel," in which the author not only traces the origins through empirical and logical reasoning but also refutes the long-held Western theory of racial determinism.
In fact, it is not the case. As early as before the Common Era, our peasant uprising leader Chen Sheng had already shouted the slogan "Why should there be nobles and officials? Isn't everyone equal?" Can any foreign country compare to that? Obviously not. However, Chen Sheng's limitation lies in the fact that if it is not racial determinism, then what is it? Perhaps this peasant uprising leader couldn't care less about many things because the tyrannical Qin Dynasty was still waiting for him to overthrow it. On the eve of the uprising, could he sleep peacefully?
It is said that those who achieve great things remain calm even when Mount Tai collapses. Liu Cixin's portrayal of Dr. Luo Ji, entrusted with the heavy burden of humanity's crisis, still manages to enjoy life gracefully. If this heavy responsibility were to fall on me, I'm afraid I would either end up like Prime Minister Zhuge Liang, exhausted and sleepless, tirelessly fighting against evil, or I would never dare to be like Dr. Luo, wielding the Shadow Assassin and effortlessly annihilating the ETO organization (laughs).
All those various thoughts that pervade my mind ultimately end up as ashes, leaving only the lingering shadow of a dim lamp. Like Su Shi, who has a jug of wine and a stream of clouds, like Wang Mojie, who has a mountain rain and the chirping of insects, what about me? It seems like there's nothing left to compare to, so I guess I'm done writing.