All things pass like cloud and smoke; this body, frail as reed and willow, withers early. And now what suits me best of all? To drink, to wander, to sleep. — Xin Qiji, “The Moon over the West River”
2023.6.1 — As Long As You Keep a Child’s Heart, You Stay Happy
It’s June now, but whenever it’s overcast the air still turns a little cool, and the old people are all in long sleeves and jackets. They say the south is in a blazing heat wave, over 40 degrees, but I’m sure that here by the sea at Rushan — June or July — it never gets truly hot.
I went for a walk out in the fields; the wheat has already turned yellow and is nearly ripe. Don’t rain now — don’t let the wheat rot in the ground.
In the same spot by the sea I saw that Mongolian racerunner again. So its home must be nearby, in some crack between the rocks. It isn’t afraid of me, not very wary. If I weren’t a kind man, it would be in trouble. I hope it stays there always.
The shore is still full of the little burrows of sand bubbler crabs and the big holes of some larger crab. I even dug out a few big crabs — their claws are strong, and they have sharp spines along the sides of their backs. This sight of a beach riddled with crab holes is not to be seen in winter.
The tide was big today — the daytime high tide reached 385 centimeters, at half past two in the afternoon. The surf thundered on and on, wave after wave of white foam rushing at the shore; I took selfies for a while at the water’s edge, so happy I wanted to dance.
But I can’t dance, so I just waved my arms and legs, jumped about at random, danced however I pleased. Why must you know how to dance? So long as you’re glad, so long as you’re happy, twist and sway as you like, pay no attention to anyone else — and the world belongs to you alone.
2023.6.2 — The Fifteenth of the Lunar Month: Market Day, Spring Tide, Full Moon
The Xiaotan market is the one just outside my compound, and for me it’s very convenient, so I only ever buy vegetables at the market — never at the supermarket, and never on an app. People say things at the market are a bit dear, and that the weights are short, but I still like to buy there. The market is, you might say, the one place where I socialize at all in Silver Beach — even if it’s only asking the price.
In winter the market is crowded, and in summer even more so. In winter many of the stalls stood empty; now the farmers have taken them all up.
When I’d bought the necessities and dropped them home, I hurried off to the shore, because low tide was at half past nine. I’d expected there to be people out foraging the shallows, but there were none. The tide hadn’t gone out very far. Still, I took off my shoes, and the short-sleeved shirt off my back, and walked into the water, bathing in the sun.
I’m determined to get myself a little darker — to make everything below my neck as dark as my neck, my arms and my face, instead of that pitiful, sickly white.
I walked from Menghuan Wangguo to the mouth of the Baishatan River, wading in the shallows the whole way, the seawater rushing in and drawing back — it was bliss.
The rocks at the mouth of the Baishatan River were all exposed, and someone was there prying up stones to catch crabs; one stone would hide a whole cluster of them.
Afterwards I sat on the sand a long while, letting the sun bake me some more. But by noon it blazed too hard to bear, so I put my clothes and shoes back on and headed home. If tomorrow morning is clear again, I’ll certainly come out and sun myself again.
Back home I cooked and ate, took a nap, and in the evening cycled out to Chaoxi Lake. At the lake mouth a lot of people were foraging the shallows, and along the shore a lot were fishing; further on, at the viewing platform, photography enthusiasts were shooting the sunset. A sunset over a lake isn’t as fine as one over the sea, but the evening breeze was gentle and cool, and the fifteenth’s moon had risen, now showing, now hidden among the clouds, ringed with a halo — a lunar halo, I suppose it’s called.
2023.6.3 — How to Tan Your Backside
Just two short days of sun and the exposed parts of me have already changed color. My neck and face were dark to begin with; now they’re darker still. My back stings a little — sunburn, red, though it will turn dark later. And my calves are the loveliest color, like chocolate.
Only the two halves of my backside are still white — dead white, and truly ugly. How do you tan your backside? That’s a question that gives me a headache.
In summer the sun won’t reach into the flat, so I can’t lie at home or lie on my stomach to sunbathe. And even if it did reach in (in winter), I couldn’t drop my trousers at home and bare my backside, because quite a few people now live in the building opposite, and they can see my balcony.
Nor can I go to the shore and take my trousers off and expose myself freely — there are plenty of people walking about on the beach too. Unlike abroad, there’s no nudist beach here; the Chinese aren’t that open yet. And I can’t — haven’t the nerve to — do my sunbathing outdoors in a thong.
What about pitching a tent on the shore, and letting the sun through a skylight in its roof fall on my backside as I lie there? Like one of those luxury cars with a sunroof. But they don’t seem to make such tents, and a tent on the ground is too low — passers-by would see what’s going on inside.
The best solution, I think, would be to have a big courtyard walled all around, where I could tan my backside in a closed yard. But I can’t afford a house with a courtyard. (Or to live on the top floor, with a big terrace — which, of course, would also have to be walled in.)
To be or not to be, that is the question. How to tan your backside — that, too, is a question.
2023.6.4 — The Jellyfish of Chaoxi Lake
Summer at Silver Beach is utterly unlike winter. The people have multiplied, and with them every kind of activity.
The old people take their leisure by the sea — singing, dancing, playing instruments, flying kites; it’s wonderfully lively — in the mornings and evenings, of course. Some are swimming in the sea too, their skin healthy and bronzed. At noon it’s too hot and the sun too fierce, and everyone has gone home for lunch and a nap.
There are many more young people too, and I often see pretty girls by the shore with long stretches of fair thigh showing, and can’t help looking a few more times — a pleasure to the eye. The college entrance exams are just days away, and after them there will be even more young people, I expect.
So Silver Beach has added two more markets, one to the east and one to the west, opening on the evening of the 8th and the evening of the 9th respectively.
I cycled over to the western one and found it under construction — children’s rides, and a big performance stage, right beside the Seafood City, where you can eat seafood and drink beer; no doubt in a few days, and through the height of summer, this place will be a throng — cars and crowds and a great hubbub.
In winter you could never imagine such a scene happening in a ghost town. The times have shifted, and Silver Beach has come to life too. Add to that the pandemic being over, and people’s appetite to spend will surely be up; I certainly hope this place gets lively, so people can make money.
From the building of the Silver Beach Christian church came wave after wave of hymns, joyful and united, and very devout to hear. It happened to be a weekend.
I rode on past the Baishakou Bridge, rode to Haiyangsuo Township, rode to the western shore of Chaoxi Lake. On the short-video apps I’d seen people say there were jellyfish in Chaoxi Lake. But none of them said clearly exactly where — the lake is big, after all. So I went to look for them myself.
Not at the lake mouth, and not at the visitor center, but on the long island in the middle of the lake, and at its topmost end. A lot of people were there at the water’s edge, watching or scooping them up, and I knew I’d found the right place. I put the bike down and walked to the bank to have a look.
Wow — my first time seeing real jellyfish. So beautiful: transparent, visible in the green water, and moving, pulsing and shrinking, drifting slowly forward. Some big, some small, some alone, some in schools; every one of them drew the eye.
I took a lot of photos and videos. One father had brought two children to scoop them up, and had filled a whole bucket to take home and play with. I asked him, do they sting? No, he said. The children stroked the jellyfish. I stroked one too — soft and slippery, like jelly.
I watched for a long time. I felt lucky to have found the right place, and thrilled to have seen the mysterious jellyfish and even touched them.
Later someone told me this jellyfish is called the moon jellyfish — it has tentacles and four conspicuous horseshoe-shaped gonads, like a four-leaf clover.
2023.6.6 — The College Entrance Exams Tomorrow
Scrolling short videos I came on news of Silver Beach: it has a high school too, called Silver Beach Senior High, a township school, formerly Rushan No. 6 Middle School. Today the students were taking a bus into the city for the college entrance exams, and would likely stay there two or three days, going home when the exams were over.
It was the same when I took the exams: students from the country high schools had to come into the city to sit them, and their schools were usually so far from the city that there wasn’t time to go back for meals or lodging — let alone home — so the school rented a hotel in town for everyone.
It set me sighing — country people have it harder than city people. City kids can sit the exams from home, eating their own family’s food, more comfortable and convenient, which naturally helps them perform. Country kids’ conditions are plainly worse.
And it isn’t just those two days of exams — they bear more trials besides, and before the exams they’ve eaten more bitterness. Never mind that country kids’ families are worse off than city kids’; the quality of the education they receive over three years, or twelve, is worse too.
That is, the unfairness of educational resources: teaching strength and study environment in the countryside are certainly not the equal of the city’s, especially in the megacities. City kids have a built-in advantage; from the very start they win at the starting line. Country kids are left far behind.
Even so, the college entrance exams are the one thing that can let country kids change their fate, and to a great degree at that. Alas and alack!
The longer I live in the countryside, the more I can feel what country people’s lot is like — still crudely, I know, but better than my former ignorance.
2023.6.8 — A Sky Full of Stars
The evening sky was especially blue, like a spotless young person. A person can’t stay innocent forever — sooner or later society will stain him — but the sky, the universe, will not. That was the eastern sky; the western sky was turning dim and yellow, gentle.
At night the sky was full of stars again — the Big Dipper and Polaris, which I never tire of; Venus so bright it was like a lamp. Before my eyes grow dim and blind with age, I mean to look as much as I can at this peerless, blazing sky that has wrapped the earth for billions of years.
It was like going back in time — as a child, living in the town, we’d cool off on the rooftop terrace of an evening, and every night we could see the stars in crowds.
Because I go out in the sun so often, sit with my back to it, and use no sunblock, my shoulders have begun to peel too — lift a piece and it comes off in a great sheet. My shoulders and back have gone very dark, but that will protect me from burning again, and I like being blackened.
2023.6.11 — Mount Darushan, the Symbol of Rushan
After all this time at Rushan Silver Beach, I went to Mount Darushan for the first time. Rushan takes its name from Mount Darushan — a little hill that looks like a breast.
Setting out from my compound and heading west, I rode nearly two hours and at last reached the entrance to the scenic area — over 18 kilometers in all. On an uphill I’d often get off and walk a while. On a downhill I’d be delighted, the wind whistling past my ears, cool and free.
The Mount Darushan scenic area is an abandoned one: weeds everywhere, no one tending it, no amusements, no food; only local villagers, and very few visitors. No ticket is charged, and people wander about inside as they please. The sea there is untouched too — a wild beach.
From the east you can’t see Mount Darushan; you have to go west, and far, and then climb some steps before you reach the viewing platform, where the mount is right before you. Seen from this side it really does look exactly like a woman’s breast — the sky very blue, the hill very clear, standing there silent.
Further west is the mouth of the Rushan River, where a sea-crossing bridge between Haiyang and Rushan is being built; to the south you can see the sea and the beach — the sea very broad, with a few little boats floating, and nobody at all on the beach, like a place God forgot. I stood up high and looked for a while.
Going out is mainly for the cycling — fresh air, exercise, and getting my body darker besides; add in taking in the scenery and widening my view, snapping some photos and videos, coming home to sort them out, posting them online — and the day has flown by.
2023.6.12 — A Sudden Rain
I was taking my afternoon nap when it suddenly began to rain — a crackling downpour, and no small one; I was instantly wide awake. Rain is a rare thing at Silver Beach. The forecast often says it will rain or be overcast, but nine times out of ten it’s wrong — probably because the wind here is strong and the clouds unstable, which makes the forecast worthless. The winter snow forecasts taught me how hard it is to predict the weather here.
The rain went on for nearly an hour; the ground was soaked, and water gathered into streams along the curb. I stood at the window watching a long time and listening a long time — the sound of the rain was lovely, and the wind was very cool, and it felt wonderful. Though I was a little worried about the wheat in the fields.
The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started, the sky cleared, blue sky and white clouds showing through, and the dry earth drank its fill of water yet wasn’t muddy — just right. I went straight out to look at the fields: they hadn’t suffered any damage; it seemed merely a gentle watering. The ditches on both sides of the road had filled up again, running from the higher side to the lower, forming a puddle in the middle of the road — the sky deep blue, the grass lush green.
The air was so fresh. I stood in the middle of the dirt road, birds and insects calling, plants growing madly: “what the ear takes in becomes sound, what the eye meets becomes color.” “Looking up, I see the immensity of the cosmos; bowing my head, I look at the multitude of the world. The gaze flies, the heart expands, the joy of the senses can reach its peak, & indeed, this is true happiness.”
2023.6.14 — Not Social Anxiety, Just No Wish to Socialize
People often send me direct messages, or ask me while I’m livestreaming, whether I’d like to meet up, have a chat, have a meal, take a walk together, or discuss philosophy — and one even told me he was a bottom and asked whether I was a top — the two roles in a male couple — and I gently declined them all. I don’t want to meet people.
I’ve never admitted to having social anxiety, and I truly don’t — I simply don’t want to socialize.
For me, socializing isn’t meaningless; it’s that socializing means having to consider other people’s feelings, and I don’t want to consider other people’s feelings or work out what they mean. Considering other people’s feelings is too tiring. And I can’t manage not to consider them while I’m socializing.
Socializing has many benefits — you get information faster — but I’d rather give up that speed and grope and search and feel things out on my own, even though it means spending more time than others and learning things later; I don’t regret it in the least.
I still like being alone, quiet, considering only my own feelings, caring nothing for others, for anyone at all.
2023.6.15 — Cutting the Wheat, Drying the Wheat
Going out to the shore in the morning, I saw quite a few farmers gathered on the square drying wheat, spreading it out and raking it even. I was wondering where these villagers were from, and how their wheat was already harvested when the wheat on my side wasn’t yet.
Then in the evening, when I went out to stroll in the fields, I found the wheat there had already been harvested, and that the people spreading wheat on the square that morning were the farmers of these very fields, and the wheat was cut from here — and I’d been none the wiser.
They hadn’t even told me, but quietly harvested all the wheat, and so I never saw the harvesting; all that was left was stubble everywhere, the tracks of the combine in the field, and the smell of wheat straw in the air.
I was glad for the farmers — they’d had their harvest at last — but there was a pang of loss in it too: the wheat I’d watched over so long was gone, never to be seen again, and what would I watch over now? It was as if life had lost its meaning.
They’ll dry the wheat, grind it into flour, make steamed buns and noodles. Maybe they’ll plant other crops in the field. And when autumn comes they’ll sow wheat again, and the wheat will endure the winter and begin once more to tiller, to head, to flower, to fill with grain, to ripen, to be harvested — over and over.
2023.6.16 — Rushan Town, the City, a Bike Ride
This was my first time going to Rushan town proper. I’ve no real interest in cities; it was just for the cycling and the exercise — and you have to have a destination. And the town is the right distance from Silver Beach — not too far, not too near, within what I can manage.
It took me an hour and forty minutes to ride into town — 16.8 kilometers. The wind was from the south, at my back, and gave me little resistance. The road was flat, and the slopes gentle. The sun shone on my back the whole way; I rode shirtless in the wind.
I rode all the way to the KFC in town and rested there an hour. To top up my energy I had the burger-fries-cola combo, only RMB 19.9. There’s no KFC at Silver Beach. At Silver Beach I eat vegetarian. Out and about, I’ll make an exception just this once.
For the ride back I took a different route, so that the two together made a big loop. The way back was 26.2 kilometers and took three hours. On the return I had far less strength, and there was a headwind, so I rode much slower. But luckily most of it was under the shade of trees.
I cycle in a very casual way: when I tire, I get off and push the bike a while, or sit by the roadside and rest a good long time. My clothes are casual too — no bag, everything in my trouser pockets. Not like the cyclists I pass on the road, all fully kitted out, and riding in groups.
I don’t want to be in a group with anyone; I only want to ride alone, ride however I please, free as the wind.
2023.6.17 — The Thirtieth of the Lunar Month, Saturday: Market, Shallows, Night Market
Going to market has become a habit, and a very enjoyable thing — though without the freshness of when I first came, the steady watching of people and things still makes me richer. I had breakfast at the market and bought napa cabbage, cauliflower, eggs, century eggs and peaches.
In the evening I strolled by the sea; it was low tide, and I saw many crabs, some little fish, and a lot of sea corn. The beach lay broad and far; it was overcast and windy, and the wind was wonderfully cool. Weihai really is China’s most livable city — no contest.
Both night markets by the shore were open. The Seafood City night market is where you can gather to eat, with barbecue, a lot of young people, pretty girls; the rides, though nobody was on them, were all running. The Yinlong Bay night market was as ever — bustling, crowded.
In the morning at the market I saw an old man holding up a little puppy — a very cute puppy. He teased a child, asking if he’d like to raise it, giving it away free, but the child’s parents, of course, wouldn’t agree. I’d like to raise a puppy too, raise it up and have it for company. But drifting and wandering as I do, I couldn’t bring myself to abandon it when I leave, so I can only choose not to have one.
As the weather warmed, I shaved my head again. A shaved head is what I like best; a shaved head is the freest, the most individual. I simply can’t put on an act, living by the rules as most people do, just to get a slightly better opinion from others.
2023.6.18 — Nothing Is More Beautiful Than a Starry Sky
The past two nights were cloudy and I saw no stars. Tonight it’s clear again, and the sky is full of stars once more.
See enough starlight and you know how dim lamplight is. See enough of nature and you know how affected people are.
2023.6.20 — After the Rain: Stars, a New Moon, Frogs, and the Foragers
Silver Beach’s air was good to begin with. After rain it’s better still — so fresh it could let a person live past a hundred. Today there was light rain all day, the sky overcast throughout, but toward evening the clouds were blown apart at last and a clear blue sky showed through.
I walked out into the open, to the shore, where I could see the whole dome of the sky — not like at home, where I see only half of it. Not only a sky full of stars, but the new moon in the west — today is the third of the lunar month, and the moon is bent like a hook. Venus is frighteningly bright too.
The ditch outside the compound was full of water, so the frogs had started up their racket again — croak, croak, croak — as if there were a hundred million of them. In the middle of the road I saw a toad hopping, so I caught it and helped it across, so it wouldn’t be run over by a car.
Around nine or ten, low tide had gone out farthest, and I saw people at the water’s edge foraging the shallows with flashlights, the weak beams swaying this way and that. I’d like to forage too, but I have no gear, and at night I’m as good as blind; I truly envy them their good eyes.
A north wind was blowing, and walking back it felt colder still. It’s June, and still this cold — hard to believe. But I like the cold, like quiet, like the boundless sky, like the vast open country, like frogs calling late at night, like everything natural.
2023.6.21 — The Summer Solstice, the Sun at Its Farthest North
Today is the summer solstice: sunrise at 4:35, sunset at 19:16. I’d set the alarm to get up at four to watch the sunrise, but no sooner had I turned it off than I fell asleep again, and missed the one chance in the whole year. A pity — but body and mind have both grown old.
June at Silver Beach is the most comfortable, most free month of the year: the temperature is just right — unlike May, which still swings between warm and cold; June stays comfortable throughout, cool morning and evening. Nor is it like July, the hottest month, when the summer holidays start and there are more people than ever; June doesn’t have that many yet. Because the temperature is just right, and unlike spring, autumn or winter you don’t need extra layers — only shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, and flip-flops — and you can go in the sea, and cycling about is a pleasure, June is the finest month of all to me.
In summer I often find myself missing winter, and often even thinking winter is better than summer, when in fact winter isn’t better than summer — it’s just the illusion that comes of missing the past, the way people always think the past was better than the present, when the past wasn’t better than the present. In winter there’s no central heating, a bath is freezing, sleep is freezing, and going out means layers and layers of clothes and clumsy movement, and the wind besides. But sunning yourself in winter is far more comfortable than in summer, and in winter you can soak your feet, and instant noodles taste better than in summer too. I’m not a man who wallows in the past; I look only at the present and the future. “The past cannot be retrieved; the future may still be pursued.” Forget the past.
Let me note one utterly baffling thing. In the evening I was taking photos by the shore when an auntie — plainly a tourist — asked me where this was, because she wanted to post it to her feed. I said Menghuan Wangguo (a once-famous amusement park at Silver Beach, now abandoned). She looked blank, so I said, just put Silver Beach. Then she asked how to write the character yin and the character tan; I said yin as in gold-and-silver, tan as in beach. Then she asked where Silver Beach was; I said Rushan. Then she asked how to write Rushan; I was a little embarrassed to say ru as in breast, so I said, just type it with your pinyin keyboard and let the predictive text do it. It turned out she only knew handwriting input, not pinyin. There was nothing for it, so I hand-wrote the two characters Rushan for her. Then she asked where Rushan was. I nearly lost my mind: Weihai, Rushan, I said. Oh, she said, this is Weihai — I thought it was Qingdao. I was absolutely dumbstruck; suppressing my vast bewilderment, I said, you came all this way to visit and you don’t even know where you are? The tour bus brought me, she said, I don’t know. I was entirely speechless.
2023.6.22 — Happy Dragon Boat Festival
Because I don’t work, every one of my days is special, so the Dragon Boat Festival isn’t worth any particular celebration to me. As usual I went to the shore to look at the sea, the coastline, the crowds, the stars and the moon, to feel the sea breeze and the summer — standing outside it all.
Just then Damuzhi Plaza was full of people, with every kind of activity — for the old, for the young: square dancing, and a rock band too. The barbecue stalls were all open, wreathed in smoke, and there were many vendors pushing carts — bustling, shoulder to shoulder.
I threaded back and forth on my bike, careful, afraid of hitting someone. Lots of people were swimming in the sea — little kids bare-bottomed in the water, men shirtless, women in swimsuits — and pretty girls were taking pictures, and Sad Frog — a vendor in one of those cartoon sad-frog costumes that are all over the internet — was hawking his son.
I especially dislike “Peaceful Dragon Boat Festival” — the new greeting, since the day remembers a drowned poet, so “happy” is thought improper — and I don’t know how it caught on; I want only to say “Happy Dragon Boat Festival,” and happy every day.
2023.6.23 — A Crescent Moon Outshines All the World
At ten at night the moon still hadn’t set. The sixth-day moon was beautiful too — shaped like a curved blade, and not as thin as a hook the way it was a few days ago. And its color leaned red, the color of blood, or like rust, very deep. I stood at the window of the north bedroom, looking west; its reflection was mirrored in the window glass. It sank little by little, right between two black high-rises under construction. I photographed it with my phone, with my camera, and could never capture its beauty or its truth. I could only look at it a few more times with my own eyes.
2023.6.25 — A Workday for People with Jobs, a Sunday
I hear Beijing has topped 40 degrees three days running, but I’m at the very tip of the Jiaodong Peninsula, where it’s cool — few days even pass 30. In fact Beijing has nothing to do with me now; no matter how hot or cold it gets there, not the faintest ripple stirs in me.
Nor do I work, so make-up workdays mean nothing to me; everyone else has gone back to the office, and I’m still idly enjoying life. Once the holiday was over the crowds at the shore dropped sharply again, back to their old quiet. No doubt about it — I like a quiet life, not a lively one.
The wind at the shore was a bit strong, though — force 5 to 6. Riding west I had it at my back, but coming home it was in my face. The waves were a bit big, rolling, and it was overcast, so the water was murky too. I stood on the flat sand, felt the wind for a while, and let the waves wash over my feet.
Weihai’s wind really is frequent. After so many windy days I’ve come to know wind more richly, and if you set me down in the windless inland, I’d surely feel a contrast — like the jolt you get going from Chongqing to Chengdu after a long stay.
After long enough by the sea, the sea has become my everyday — not as exciting as when I first came — but every time I go to the shore it still calms me: the vast expanse of water, the rolling waves, cold wind or warm, all have a wondrous healing power. Mainly, of course, because I don’t work; not working, you’d be happy anywhere. How I wish I never had to work a day in my life again!
2023.6.26 — Eight Months at Rushan Silver Beach
From October 26 last year, when I came to Rushan Silver Beach, to today is exactly eight months. I’ve been through a month of autumn, three of winter, three of spring and one of summer, and I know the daily life here very well. It’s certainly a place suited to reclusion, to lying flat, to retirement: there’s the sea to look at, the air is clean, few people, quiet — I like it here a lot. A place has its merits and its faults: it’s far from the city and inconvenient to get around, and in winter there’s no central heating, few young people, no entertainment or social life, no takeout or convenience stores, no cinema, café or art gallery — it’s really just countryside. If you fear loneliness, can’t bear solitude, want bustle and noise, glamour and vanity, this place isn’t for you.
These past days it’s been overcast and cloudy with occasional light rain; the air is a bit damp, the ground muddy, my skin clammy, and it’s cool besides. Looking up historical weather data, July in Rushan is one of the rainier months, and should be more humid than the others. And typhoons — I don’t know whether typhoons come here; I’ll have to wait till I’ve been through one to be sure. And sea lettuce — what that is, I’d like to see for myself.
In the evening the sky was thick with black clouds, wind and cloud rising, a storm about to break — but by night the clouds had been blown apart, and the sky full of stars showed again, the Big Dipper plainly visible, and a half moon shining wonderfully bright, and it had moved to the southwest, unlike the crescent a few days ago still in the northwest. Quite marvelous: in only a few days the moon’s course had changed. And the summer solstice past, the sun too has begun to move south, the days shorter and the nights longer, the shadows on the ground longer and longer; the universe circles on and on, saying nothing — “Heaven and earth do not act from any wish to be benevolent; they deal with all things as the dogs of grass are dealt with.” Everyone else is caught up in this human relationship or that; I’m caught up only in the stars and the sea.
2023.6.27 — Market Day
The tenth of the lunar month again — market day. I meant to photograph the farmers. But I was still too shy to shoot them face to face, so I just caught their movements and expressions unawares. If you really want a better photograph you have to squat down, lower yourself, meet people’s eyes level or look up at them — not stand there looking down on them; because the farmers sit on the ground, keeping their stalls and their goods, trading with you, and if you stand you can only shoot from above, which is sure to look bad. But if I squat down to shoot them, my intention becomes too obvious, and they’ll be curious, even embarrassed or annoyed, and their expressions and movements turn stiff. Too many scruples, too few means. In the end, though, I did take quite a few photos — not the best angles, but enough to preserve something of how the market is.
2023.6.28 — The Muggiest Day
Today is the muggiest day I’ve known since coming to Rushan Silver Beach (not the hottest). The rain of a few days ago hasn’t dried yet and is steaming off, and a fog has come up, a gray haze that blurs everything — like Beijing’s smog. The sweat on my body is sticky and cloying; it’s thoroughly unpleasant. The forecast says there’ll be a heavy storm tonight; this is probably the sign of it.
But walking on toward the shore, there’s wind; and going into the sea, wading in the water with the wind blowing, it turned very cool, my sweat dried off, and it wasn’t as stifling as on land. Though the sea was misty and the view wasn’t pretty, there were quite a few people at the shore, some foraging the shallows. The summer holidays have begun and Silver Beach is getting busier; among them, more and more young people and children.
At low tide I could see crabs again, and I caught two and played with them in my palm — a female, its belly covered with red roe. In the shallow water many little fish darted about, probably sardines, now forward, now back with the tide; and I saw a rather large fish leap out of the water. Lots of people were swimming, splashing, cooling off — I really envy them.
This morning I cooked a bit extra for lunch, and a bit extra of the vegetables, so in the evening I just heated up what was left from noon and fried two eggs, and that was my dinner. Chatting with someone online about my plain and restrained life now, they said I live like an ascetic. Amitabha.
2023.6.29 — Clear After the Rain
Last night it rained all night, pattering and crackling, and I got up out of bed on purpose, opened the window, and listened a while, recording it on my phone. My phone holds a lot of rain and frogs, birdsong and insect chirr — the sounds of nature are the sweetest. With the rain for company I drifted off to sleep. In the morning it cleared, the sun came out, a north wind blowing, blue sky and white clouds.
In the evening I strolled in the fields: the green of the fields, the blue of the sky, the fresh air after rain, a lone frog calling, little birds flying over the fields, and me there in the open country, as if fused with heaven and earth. I love nature; it makes me feel especially calm and free.
I wandered down to the shore; the evening breeze blew, though black clouds had gathered again in the west, with only a sliver above the horizon showing orange-yellow light. On the flat beach many tourists were playing in the water, and shoals of little fish came up and went back with the tide. The sand was full of crab holes, ringed with the sand balls the crabs roll. The sea is different every day, and the sky too, and I never tire of looking.
When I walk in the sea I always take off my flip-flops and carry them, so that the soles of my feet can feel most truly the firmness of the sand and the gentleness of the water. This is what’s called “standing on solid ground” — never be afraid to touch the seawater, never mind about the bother of sand and mud; be close to nature instead of walled off from it. A person should live wholly bare and open.
The weather at the shore is changeable: by night the stars were out again, the Big Dipper so plain, and the moon over in the northwest, more than half full, its light cast on the floor indoors, the window’s shadow thrown on the ground — look up and you see stars, look down and you see the moon.
2023.6.30 — The Last Day of June
On the last day of June I did a foolish thing. Going out to fetch a parcel, I forgot my key. Only as the door clicked shut did I remember I hadn’t taken it. For a moment I panicked a little, annoyed with myself — but then I noticed the locksmith’s number pasted on the door, and heaved a long sigh. After fetching the parcel I called the locksmith; it turned out they were just outside the compound’s south gate, with a shop that does a lot of other business too: cutting keys, decorating, selling doors and windows, clearing drains, ferrying people about. The man poked out the peephole in the door and through the opening slipped a bent rod, and jimmied the lock from inside. For him it was the easiest thing in the world, and he charged me RMB 50.
Living alone is full of inconveniences. If you were living with someone — a wife or children, your parents — there’d always be another key with them, like a backup, and you’d just ask them to open the door, instead of paying a locksmith. Not, of course, that living alone brings more difficulties than living with others: living alone has its good points and its bad, and living with others has its good points and its bad — it just depends which life you prefer, or have no choice but to live.
Enough of that. The last day of June was a big clear day, and hot — up to 31 degrees. The noon sun was fierce, and the evening cool again, but I didn’t go out, so I didn’t go to the shore, and don’t know what it looked like today. There are more and more people here; they say that in the summer holidays even more will come from all over, bringing their children for a vacation. At night the compound’s main road has people coming and going, and no few cars; the residents gather to chat under the awnings or by the roadside, and the sound of their talk carries into the flat. Of course, compared with a county town or a big city, there aren’t that many people here yet — only more than in winter. But there are far too many empty houses here, and no matter how many people there are, there’ll never be more people than houses; most of the flats are still empty, silent, and will stay empty.
The moon has grown a good deal fuller — two days more and it’ll be the fifteenth again. The frogs are croaking, the flat is stuffy, the breeze outside is cool, and time flows on.