Unconsciously, I've already written over 100 chapters. Today, I'll summarize and chat with everyone about this book and what's happened to me these past two days.
First, I want to thank the Readers for acknowledging and appreciating my work, and for offering so many constructive suggestions.
Here, I want to give special thanks to Tianchai Shaolian, Luozhisang, and all the loyal Readers who are willing to watch ads to increase my income.
Your support has given me the motivation to continue writing this book, adding a glimmer of light to the meager daily income from it.
At least in this corner of the world, there's still a group of people supporting me.
Next, about my romantic life yesterday.
I've mostly dealt with that matter; she and I won't be in contact anymore, and I've also come to terms with it. Why should I pour my heart and soul into someone who was in my life for less than 1/18 of a year?
While that might sound a bit like a jerk, it's the truth.
Should I hurt myself for someone who was completely unrelated to me before? That thought is truly foolish.
I think we've both moved on from this relationship; she probably moved on even earlier, or perhaps never truly entered it in the first place.
So what can I do? She has made her choice; how can I force her?
Although it's hard to let go, memories have already become the past, destined to drown in the blank ocean of my and her future.
Counting memories is like fiddling with a string of precious gem beads, but no matter how beautiful they look, they are ultimately just stones; no matter how beautiful a memory is, it is ultimately dead.
Drowning in past beauty will only lead to a decline in morale.
These words are less about me lecturing and more about me trying my best to suppress my emotions.
Forcing rationality to dominate my brain, thereby suppressing that soft little spot deep inside.
Well, since everything is in the past, and everything that needed to be said has been said, we should go our separate ways on the path of life and have nothing to do with each other from now on.
I'm not a romantic, nor am I someone deeply affectionate. All the words above are merely to commemorate a past.
I placed the last bouquet of flowers on its tombstone.
From now on, I will forget sorrow through joy, like a noble jade.
Next are a few poems I wrote myself, just to express my feelings and mourn the young man who has died.
Pacing on a Rainy Night.
It's deep into the night, but people don't rest; the railing drizzles, and the rain is hazy.
Tears soak the humerus, deepening its color; the night urges the moon to chill, and sorrow dims the spirit.
Memories are the dregs, dreams are the wine; the wind intoxicates my scarred soul.
Barefoot, I wander through the small courtyard's water; my skin is a straw cloak, the night a bamboo hat.
Mud stains between my feet, and slanting rain through my dark hair.
Still recalling the tears of yesteryear, three years of subtle intention.
There are myriad sorrows in the world, and by the time one regrets, it's too late.
The Yellow River surges, never flowing backward; how can heaven pity me and return my youth?
Oh Rain, how magnificent you are! Wash away my narrow-mindedness! Cleanse the world's filth!
A cold smile faces the bright candlelight, gently pouring memories to scorch a heart of ice.
No Youth.
In former years, youth was wasted in idle sorrow, dawn and dusk, confused and disheartened, soul-wrenching.
How many times mad, how many times deranged, how many times lost, only then realizing the absurdity of youthful tears.
With a low laugh, treading on the tears of skulls, raising my head to look down on ten thousand feet of frost.
From then on, the mortal world follows the wind, in bright clothes and on spirited horses, towards freedom.
Drunken Nonsense.
Many beings anticipate fame's clamor, yet fame often fades into nothingness.
The fierce wind and bloody battles remain through the ages; who doffs their armor and returns with glory?
Autumn rain and jade melt the soul, drifting; under the phoenix tree, enlightenment rings the clear bell.
Half a cup of Dukang wine down the throat, a night of drunken memories, laughing at youthful recklessness.
Foreword:
A lifetime of worldly ties, merely to observe. Today, I reread 'Dream of the Red Chamber'; having read it a hundred times, I find nothing particularly new, yet its poems still feel quite ancient. I copied a few to idly enjoy; looking back, I simply smile and dismiss it.
Worldly ties, indeed, are emotions. Those who sever worldly and emotional ties, though they may have the form of ancient sages, lack the inner nobility of ancient sages. Those who are not extraordinary, not enlightened, are ultimately but muddy things, making people laugh and cry.
Born in the mud, how can one not be stained? It is only later generations who cleanse themselves.
Seven emotions and six desires are human nature; to sever emotions and righteousness, is that not to abandon the root for the branch, to go against the grain? Yet, it is the way of nature, not to be forced.
Cultivating Buddhism, cultivating methods, or achieving enlightenment are all about cultivating the heart. When the heart's nature is firm and the mundane heart is clear, it ultimately becomes the heart of the Dao.
Thus, one can hide in the mortal world, neither happy nor sad, without desires, always smiling.
After-Drunken Ramblings.
Sitting bareheaded by the sparse fence, a straw scarf fragrant with autumn frost.
A brief illness, cold dew on the three paths, chanting with knees hugged in the cool fragrance.
Clear spring shadows pull the drunken moon, the slanting wind still feels like old times.
Musk and orchid's sweet scent, clouds and rain's lament; water hyacinth's fragrance drifts over the bright moon island.
Carved silk and ink still dim, the window idle, chess finished, fingers still cool.
Still remember the place where flowers were buried in old times, not envying beauties, but envying fallen petals.