“Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.” — Benjamin Franklin
2023.8.1 — The First Day of August: the Fifteenth of the Lunar Month, Market Day, a Spring Tide, a Gorgeous Sunset Glow, a Supermoon
I didn’t go out to market until nearly eight, by which time the sun was already fierce. The market was packed shoulder to shoulder as ever — the season with the most people. To think of the bleakness of deep winter and then compare it with the bustle of midsummer is enough to make a person sigh. I bought napa cabbage at RMB 2 a jin, cauliflower at RMB 3.5 a jin, an egg pancake cut to RMB 5’s worth, and a cup of freshly squeezed orange juice for RMB 10. Let me mention figs — apparently a specialty of the Jiaodong Peninsula, RMB 18 a jin. I didn’t buy any and have never eaten one; I only think figs are beautiful. In summer I eat less and less, and the food in the fridge goes down very slowly. The rice left over yesterday morning I forgot to eat last night, so I’ll keep it for tonight.
I went out in the evening meaning to watch the sunset and its glow from the edge of the fields, but the clouds kept the sun hidden and there was no golden sunset to be seen, so I went to the shore instead. By the time I got there the sun had already gone down behind the hills — yet it was only after it set that a truly gorgeous evening glow appeared. At first there was only a pale pink cloud over the sea, but as the night deepened, running from the south to the west, the colors grew deeper and deeper — to orange, to crimson — and everyone stopped to photograph the beautiful afterlight at the horizon; it was simply breathtaking. I shot and shot, stills and then video, landscape then portrait, afraid of not catching all that beauty. And after photographing for a long time I suddenly noticed people looking east and photographing east. I turned and looked east too, and was amazed to find that the red moon had risen as well — red, or yellow, I couldn’t quite say which — but the moon was large, endlessly mysterious, and already above the sea. The evening glow had turned the sea surface red, while the yellow moon cast only a single band of yellow light across it, and these nimble lights leapt about on the water. To the west the intoxicating colored clouds were fading bit by bit; to the east the great round moon was slowly rising, growing smaller and whiter as it climbed.
I marveled at the incomparable beauty of nature — nothing can equal the beauty of nature — and I felt happy to have seen such a sight.
2023.8.2 — Very Hot
A big clear day, like yesterday, blue sky and white clouds. Though the high isn’t much — only 31 degrees — the low isn’t low either, at 25. Today’s indoor temperature reached 31 too, the same as outdoors, the highest since I came here. The forecast says the high won’t drop below 30 until August 17; endure a while longer and autumn will come.
A disappointment — no beautiful evening glow. That’s how it is with many things: you can only wait and happen upon them, never force them. Weather especially. The sky’s winds and clouds are past foreseeing. But the shore still lifts the heart and clears the mind, and that’s the charm of being outdoors; you can’t stay at home all the time. By nine at night you could see the moon just by looking up from the balcony — big, round and white in the clear sky. There are only twelve full moons in a year, and if it’s cloudy or rainy, or you simply never have time to look up, then seeing six full moons in a year would be doing well.
2023.8.3 — Very Clear
This is the third straight big clear day: the sky very blue, the clouds very white, the air very dry, the temperature very high. If I remember rightly — and I should, I’m so sensitive to weather — this is also the first run of three clear days since June 15. July had far too much rain, far too many overcast days, far too few clear ones. Standing at the window looking at the clear sky, I feel this is what summer should look like: hot, limpid, with wind blowing through the house, cicadas calling without stop, and no one daring to go outdoors.
Personally I find that when it’s hot I’m more sensitive to temperature, and when it’s cold more dulled to it. How so? These days I take a lot of cold showers — two or three times a day: one at noon, one in the afternoon, one at night. The afternoon is the hottest, up to 31, and then a cold shower doesn’t feel cold at all, just cool. Noon is a little colder, and by night colder still — sometimes I even wonder whether I should boil the water first. So a difference of only one or two or three degrees makes a great difference to how it feels.
2023.8.4 — The Fourth Straight Clear Day
The waves are big today; from far off, well before you reach the shore, you can hear the booming of the surf. Such a sight is rare in summer. As I’ve explained before, the fifteenth of the lunar month isn’t the biggest tide — that comes two or three days later. Today happens to be the eighteenth. Though plenty of vehicles pass on the road and the beach is thick with people, the sound of the waves still drowns out every unnatural noise.
2023.8.5 — Covid Positive
In the end I went and caught it. My first time, and I hope my last. Yesterday evening, strolling by the shore, on the way back I felt my legs go weak and couldn’t take long strides, only short slow steps, and I didn’t dare hold my back too straight. Back home my head felt heavy and I couldn’t keep my eyes open; I only wanted to sleep. So I went to bed at eight thirty and was asleep in no time. Waking a little after five, the small of my back, above the buttocks, ached badly; my arm muscles — the biceps — ached, my backside ached a little, my body was feverish, my head was burning, I was sweating clammy sweat, and my throat was very dry. I thought: this time it’s most likely Covid. I got out the antigen tests I’d stockpiled in winter and tested — two lines, sure enough, the C darker and fatter, the T fainter. Doubting it, I opened another and tested again — still two lines. The thermometer read 38.3. In winter there were very few people at Rushan Silver Beach and I had no contact with anyone, so infection was unlikely. But it’s summer now, and there are really too many people at Rushan Silver Beach; I’d let my guard down and often went to crowded places, and so I caught it. Luckily I still have some medicine: take the medicine, sleep a lot, drink a lot of water, stay in, keep away from crowds. I hope to be better soon.
2023.8.6 — Covid, Day Two
Mainly I just wanted to sleep, because my head was so heavy and my eyes ached and I didn’t want to open them. So last night I went to bed at eight. I slept under a blanket and sweated without stopping; my back and belly were soaked through, as if I’d been swimming. But after the sweating I felt much better. Waking at six, my head was no longer heavy and my eyes no longer ached. I got up and took a hot shower. I used to take cold showers every day, but now that I’m ill I don’t dare. I’d sweated so much that a hot shower did some good. After only a day the symptoms had changed a great deal. Some remained — my arm muscles still ached, my throat was a little dry, and I had some thick phlegm. But my back no longer ached and my temperature had come down: yesterday’s peak was 38.3, today only 37.1 — a very obvious drop. The only medicine I took was Banlangen, some cold-and-fever granules, and watermelon-frost throat lozenges, plus a lot of water, hot or cold. I think in another two or three days I’ll be fine.
Today is the twentieth of the lunar month, market day, but it poured with rain in the morning; people went to market under umbrellas and got soaked in the wind and rain. The rain grew heavier and the market-goers fewer. The five straight clear days have finally ended, and the air is much cooler. It rained hard for an hour or two in the morning, but by noon it had cleared, blue sky showing with wisps of white cloud, and the cicadas sang on.
2023.8.7 — Covid, Day Three
Last night I was in bed by seven and heard the frogs outside croaking away with all their might. I knew it: yesterday morning’s heavy rain had filled the ditch again, and the frogs in it had grown lively once more. Only I don’t know whether they were last year’s frogs or this year’s new ones. Listening to the frogs, I tossed and turned in bed (because my chest hurt I couldn’t lie on my side, and in the end could only sleep on my back), and it was late before I dropped off. Now only two symptoms are left: first, my throat is dry and sore, uncomfortable; second, my chest hurts and I can’t cough hard.
Because I’m ill I can’t go to the shore — too many people there. Three days now without going to the shore, and I’ve hardly been out at all. This evening I did go out a little, to the edge of the fields. If I can’t go to the shore I go to the fields, and there’s no one at the fields. I watched the sunset and its afterlight there for a long time; there was no evening glow, but the afterlight was fair enough — a clean sky, colors shifting by degrees, calming and easing the mind. By night there were many stars, but the sky didn’t seem quite pure; there was a thin haze, and I could only make out three stars of the Dipper’s handle.
2023.8.8 — The Start of Autumn; Covid, Day Four
Because my chest hurt I still didn’t know how to lie at night; I tossed and turned and it was very late before I slept. But getting up in the morning, the area of chest pain had clearly shrunk a good deal — only a small patch just right of center still felt tight, and I couldn’t cough hard, having to hold my chest when I did or it felt it would burst. My throat wasn’t as sore as yesterday either, but you could hear that my voice had plainly changed; this isn’t AI, it’s some damage to the vocal cords, and it should be better in a couple of days. On the whole the body is recovering and the illness is receding. Though many people have had it and many have described their symptoms, for me this is my first Covid infection, and the experience is a first for me too, so I want to make my own summary. The virus must first have entered the body through the nasal passages, and it affects the brain and nerves first, so at the start there was headache and fever, and the limbs connected by nerves — hands, legs, lower back, backside — all ached; then the virus invaded the throat and made it sore and uncomfortable; and finally it reached the lungs, which made the chest hurt and feel tight, and made coughing painful. Roughly that’s the course. My symptoms were mild and I recovered quickly; there was no need to go to hospital — Banlangen saved me.
One more thing is that I feel the cold. I never used to wear clothes indoors, but now I have to put on my short-sleeved shirt. And I have to take hot showers. And sleep under a blanket. Still, I think it has to do with the change in the weather: today is the Start of Autumn, and though autumn hasn’t come, the temperature has unmistakably dropped and is on its way down. For me, once the high drops below 30, that’s real autumn.
Today is a big day for Rushan — the 30th anniversary of Rushan’s upgrading from a county to a city, with a celebration gala at Damuzhi Plaza. There must be a lot of performances and a big audience; a pity I’m ill and can’t go, or I’d have joined in the fun — excitement is rare here.
2023.8.9 — Covid, Day Five
Getting up in the morning, my chest no longer hurt, which means the lungs are fine. Testing the lungs is really very simple: whether you can sleep on your side at night tells you. If you can lie on your side and press on the lungs and they can take it, the lungs are fine. A few days ago I could only sleep on my back. My head doesn’t hurt either, and my limbs don’t ache; I only had a fever for one day. The only symptom now is that my throat itches a little, is dry, and has some phlegm. Taste and smell never went away; they’ve always been there, and eating and drinking and everything else is normal. So my illness is a very ordinary one: sleep a lot, and it’s over in three or four days; I didn’t take much medicine either, just some Banlangen, and there’s no need for hospital. To be on the safe side I’m still keeping away from crowds and staying at home. It’s four or five days now since I went to the shore; I don’t know what it’s like there.
I’ve been ill these days and feel the cold; sleeping under a blanket at night I sweat easily and have dampened and dirtied the bedsheet, the pillowcase and the blanket. So, since I’m nearly better today and the weather is wonderfully clear with a cool wind blowing through the house, I washed the sheet and the pillowcase and hung them on the balcony to bake and blow, and they dried quickly. Doing these chores has made the bed cleaner and lifted my spirits too.
2023.8.10 — Covid, Day Six
On the sixth day I’m basically better, with only a little dryness in the throat that needs clearing now and then, but no phlegm. At night I don’t need the blanket anymore and don’t feel the cold. By day I don’t need clothes on and go bare-chested. The weather is as good as can be — a clear sky for miles, bright sunshine, and a strong wind, a northwester of force six, wonderfully cool. A north wind in summer really is a rare thing. Typhoon Khanun passing over the Korean Peninsula to the east has brought strong winds here too, but the forecast says it won’t bring heavy rain.
Because I’ve been ill I haven’t been to the shore for six days. Sometimes I wonder whether I like the sea more or high mountains more — mountains like the snow peaks of the Tibetan Plateau. Snow mountains are beautiful too. But which do I love more? I think I like the sea a little more, because the sea is flatter and broader. I’ve lost all interest in conquering mountains. I prefer a calm life, and I prefer life by the sea. I don’t care for excitement, and I don’t want to climb any peaks; I just want to be a lying-flat good-for-nothing. In the evening, after the sun went down, the clouds to the north and east were tinted pink, the wind was gentle, and I stood at the window watching quietly.
2023.8.11 — Covid Negative; Market Day; Down to the Shore
Testing for Covid in the morning, there was only one line — the C red, the T colorless. Quite different from before, when the C was purple and the T pale purple. It shows I’m no longer carrying the virus. But my throat is still very dry and produces some phlegm. Otherwise there are no symptoms. These days I’ve hardly been out of the house, and I don’t dare go to crowded places; crowded places really don’t feel safe. Today is the Xiaotan market again and it’s very crowded, so I won’t join the throng. I still have food; I’ll shop when it’s all gone. If I have to go somewhere crowded, I’ll wear my mask properly. I hope Silver Beach’s crowds thin out soon — as few as in winter, as peaceful.
Today is also a market day; I missed the last one, and the fridge is very low, so I have to go out and stock up. Mask on. I bought breakfast, peaches, eggs, century eggs, napa cabbage. Having stayed in for so many days without exercise, my body really has grown a little weak.
Riding to the shore I found the tide going out, the wind calm and the waves still; there were quite a few people on the beach, the sky wasn’t blue, the sunlight stung the eyes, and there was no scenery to speak of. Then I remembered: these past two days it’s been a northwester, blowing down from the north, and however hard it blows it can’t raise big waves on the sea to the south. That’s the difference from Weihai; Weihai is to the north, so the wind and waves there are big — I hear they’ve even closed the sea and won’t let tourists swim. I regretted picking the wrong time to go out and getting scorched outside for nothing, so I circled the shore once and came home.
2023.8.12 — Into the Sea; a Cold Shower
Today is overcast and very close; the air is clammy and thoroughly unpleasant. This is the first overcast day since August began, and it’s been overcast all day. It rained once before, but it cleared quickly after. At the shore the sea wind was clammy too. I walked to a spot by the water with no one about and played in the water a while. The seawater seems to have grown clearer — a sign that autumn is coming. The sea in autumn and winter is at its clearest. Back home, still clammy, I took a cold shower — the first in seven days. I love cold showers.
2023.8.13 — Evening Glow
Overcast in the morning, a little rain in the afternoon, wonderfully cool; toward evening it cleared again and I saw a beautiful evening glow at the shore. I went out at five and was home at eight — three hours out and about; take away an hour on the road and I spent two hours at the shore. All that time I watched the glow and the changing clouds: the sky turning from gray-blue to orange, from orange to vermilion, from vermilion to black. Feeling the sea wind, watching the evening glow, listening to the surf, my mind was utterly calm. I think I could never tire of the sea, never tire of the evening glow, never get my fill of the sea wind — that is the charm of nature. And people always weary me. Keep away from the crowd, draw near to nature, and body and mind are healthy.
The dam at the river mouth by the shore has been dug away. The sea lettuce that used to come in force every year has this year beaten a retreat; the dam had nothing to do, and after barring the way there for a month and more it was finally broken open. As to which day they dug it, I was ill and don’t know. Every day on the way to the shore I pass a tall building; from last autumn until May this year work had never started, and only the bottom six floors had glass in. Then the work got going, and today I found to my surprise that, as if overnight, every floor had been glazed.
2023.8.14 — Still Summer
I’d been wrongly assuming that once August came it would be as cool as autumn, but August is still summer: plenty of tourists, many residents, the cicadas still calling, the sunlight blazing; only the mornings and evenings are a bit cooler, and by day you don’t dare go out. As I’ve said before, autumn doesn’t officially begin until the high drops below 30. And the forecast isn’t reliable; we won’t drop below 30 until the end of August. The solar term the End of Heat really is remarkably accurate. By then the tourists and residents at Silver Beach will fall away sharply too, and peace will return.
In the heat I don’t want to cook and just want things as simple as possible, so I make steamed egg: while the rice boils, steam an egg on top, and when it’s done scrape the custard into the rice, stir it in evenly, and a nutritious meal is complete. The advantage of living in a big city is that eating is easy — restaurants of every kind, 24-hour convenience stores, 24-hour takeout; but here you can only cook for yourself. The good thing about cooking for yourself is that it makes you plainer. Appetite is the greatest of desires; if you can master your eating, a person becomes invincible.
And to save on laundry detergent I’ve invented a fine method: don’t use any. Summer clothes have to be changed every day, but they’re not really dirty, only soaked with sweat, and a rinse in plain water does the job — no detergent needed at all. Wonderful!
2023.8.15 — I Forgot to Go Out
Making videos is my only source of income, about RMB 10 a day. Ha, don’t laugh — I’m just being honest. I’m not an internet celebrity, I don’t have many followers, and generally you can’t make money at it. I make videos just to record my own life: if I earn a little, fine; if not, I treat it as public service, letting more people learn about Rushan Silver Beach. Today I made two videos and that delayed my going out until the sun had gone down behind the hills; even if I went out now I’d see no sunset, so I didn’t go. And not going out, there was nothing to record.
Let me mention food. Not wanting to cook dishes, I bought canned dace in black beans and instant noodles. At noon I just boil a little rice, open a can and mix in some dace in black beans, and that’s my lunch. One can lasts several meals. At night it’s instant noodles with two eggs and a few torn leaves of napa cabbage — that’s my dinner. There’s still a lot of dried noodles left, but dried noodles are really too bland, no flavor at all, so it has to be instant noodles. I don’t think I eat badly; to me it’s delicious, and above all it saves trouble. That’s my minimalist life.
2023.8.16 — The First of the Lunar Month; Market Day
Today is the first of the lunar month, and there’s a market too — because the sixth month had no thirtieth day, only twenty-nine, so the thirtieth’s market was moved to the first. That makes it clash with the first’s market, and most of the vendors went to the Changjiazhuang market that day, so the Xiaotan market here is sparser. Not that it stops you buying things. Only there are far fewer stalls: just one selling breakfast, and people have to queue. Eggs have gone up to RMB 7; the lowest they were was 5.8, then 6.2, 6.5. Figs are expensive too, still 15, last time 18. I bought cauliflower and carrots, and a bag of sunflower seeds (salted, RMB 15 a jin — most at the market are plain).
2023.8.17 — Sunrise; A Ride
I’d love to watch the sunrise too, but I really can’t get up in the morning. That’s an excuse too — I simply don’t have enough drive. Before the autumn equinox the sun still rises from the land, not from the sea. A sun rising from the land is of course not as fine as one rising from the sea. And a dawn glow is even harder to come by: the wind at the shore is too strong, and the clouds can’t gather. I woke at 4:40; today’s sunrise is at 5:12. Seeing no cloud at the horizon, I guessed there’d be no dawn glow. If you ride to the shore, from anywhere close by you certainly can’t see the sun rise out of the sea — only from behind Duofu Mountain. I didn’t go to the shore; I just stood at the north window and looked east, and the red sun climbed up little by little above the buildings. So if you have a decent flat with a sea view, and can watch the sunrise and sunset over the sea from your own home, how fortunate you are. And since I’ve already watched the sunrise at Half-Moon Bay in Weihai and at Shilaoren in Qingdao, I’m not obsessed with seeing it at Silver Beach; and I think that since I’m here for good, one day I’ll go and watch it — maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after, maybe at the equinox.
After breakfast I went out riding; I didn’t ride along the shore but out on the main roads, where there are fewer people, the surface is flatter, there are bike lanes, and there’s no scenery, so riding takes no thought at all. I rode all the way to the mouth of Chaoxi Lake in one go. It was the farthest point of the ebb tide and a lot of people were foraging the shallows; the water of Chaoxi Lake was flowing out in white sheets. Someone was keeping watch on the bank, saying this was a private aquaculture area and you needed a ticket to forage there — presumably they charge a fee. I stood on the bank and watched a while. The late-morning sun was scorching and there were few people at the shore; I found a quiet spot with no one about and went into the water for a long time — the water clear and gentle. Riding back, the temperature had risen and it was very hot; luckily the roadside trees cast a long band of shade, or I’d have had heatstroke. Passing the supermarket I didn’t buy cola. Passing the watermelon stall I didn’t buy watermelon. Back home I drank several glasses of cold boiled water.
Going out to fetch water, bare-chested. Riding my bike outside, bare-chested. Tanned pitch-black — a very handsome color. No longer like a pale, feeble city man. Thanks to the surroundings, it’s easy to tan by the sea, and out in the countryside no one scolds you for going bare-chested. Not like in the city, where not wearing clothes gets you told off for damaging the city’s image. Here, you are free.
Do you prefer a crowded shore or a quiet one? I prefer a quiet one. I don’t like crowds; I like quiet. So I prefer the shore in winter. There’s no one else there, only you; you have a whole stretch of beach to yourself. No noise, the beach clean, the water clean, the wind gentle. To watch the sea alone, feel the sea wind, walk into the water — the water is cool. At such moments you feel utterly free, with nothing binding you. You are alone between sky and earth, as if the universe held only you and the sea. The sea is yours, and you are the sea’s. You merge with the sea, you merge with sky and earth. I wish winter would come soon, so everyone leaves and there’s no traffic and no din, and the world grows quieter.
2023.8.18 — The Long, Slow Summer
These past few days have still been very hot — summer in earnest; autumn hasn’t come. Last night was very hard to get through, but I have neither air conditioning nor a fan, and can only rely on a calm mind to feel cool of itself. It’s bearable; toward the small hours you still need a blanket. So long as I live simply, I need no air conditioning, no fan, and certainly no ice-cold cola or watermelon every day — plain boiled water and a few pears will do. People often say it’s hard to go from luxury to frugality and easy to go from frugality to luxury. But I’ve never found the frugal life hard, because I’ve always been frugal.
In the evening I went to the shore again, heading west all the way past the Baishatan River to the mouth of Chaoxi Lake. The western beach is cleaner than Damuzhi’s, the water clearer and deeper, the people fewer, and it’s better for swimming. Swimming here isn’t like at Damuzhi or Menghuan Wangguo, where it’s shoulder to shoulder, like dumplings dropping into a pot; out west it’s more open and the people more scattered. I sat on the sand, looking off to the far distance and then to what was near: the water blue, the sand yellow, the tow floats red, the sky vast, the setting sun caught in the clouds; someone was picking up shells at the water’s edge, someone swimming in the sea, someone limbering up on the shore before going in, someone lying on the sand tanned like chocolate, and someone else fishing — scene after scene made up this long, slow summer.
I too am tanned pitch-black — a healthy color. Someone said, “Those white palms — I can’t hold it in.” Ha, I hadn’t even noticed; I shot a video and someone saw it and said my palms were really white while my body was really black. Compared side by side, it really is striking. I like my dark skin; a year ago this was unimaginable — I’d never have known I could get so black, like a chocolate grandpa, like a black whirlwind. I’m no longer a pale, clean city man, and no longer think pale is beautiful. I’ve grown healthier.
2023.8.19 — The Central Beach, the Eastern Beach
Yesterday I went west, where there are few people; today I went to the central stretch — the area around Damuzhi Plaza and in front of Haiyun Yangguang. There the crowds are huge, like dumplings going into a pot, a hubbub of voices, and many tents are pitched on the beach, which makes it look dirty and disorderly. I could only watch from the shore; I didn’t want to go down and squeeze into the crowd. But the water was still very clean, the tide just beginning to go out, and the children were all playing happily in the water. There were a lot of vendors there too: selling swimming rings, selling grilled sausages, selling fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a night market as well — anything you want is easy to buy. At Damuzhi Plaza many elderly people were dancing and singing in several knots, with the onlookers pressed in so tight you couldn’t get through — a sea of people, gongs and drums resounding. I still prefer places with few people. Back at the Kite Square in the west, the sun was setting and golden light spilled across the sea, the waves rippling in one surge after another, the golden light on the water rising and falling with them. I stood in the seawater for a moment, and the water withdrew a good way.
The eastern beach is far from me, so I seldom go over. There’s a university there with lots of young people, and outsiders can eat in the school canteen. There’s a night market there too, very lively. That stretch isn’t sand but shingle, so it’s no good for swimming, but it’s the best for foraging the shallows — you can pick up a lot of crabs and clams. Young people who come to Silver Beach to lie flat like to live there too, because the buildings went up last and are all fairly new; though there aren’t many amenities, and in winter it’s the most deserted of all.
2023.8.20 — The Fifth of the Lunar Month; Market Day; Many Forking Roads in Life
The fridge looked like it still had enough to eat and there was nothing I needed to buy, but I went to the market and in the end bought a few things anyway. As I don’t eat meat I eat a lot of eggs; I bought sixteen eggs for RMB 13, at RMB 7 a jin. One napa cabbage, RMB 2 a jin, RMB 9.5. Six cucumbers, eaten as fruit, RMB 7. An egg pancake cut to RMB 5’s worth, for breakfast and lunch. Figs have come down again: some at RMB 10 a jin, some at 9, the cheapest at 8 — the owner says the uglier the fig, the sweeter.
In the evening I cut through the fields to the shore and watched the sunset a while; like yesterday it was beautiful, and I never tire of it. Someone was shooting wedding photos by the shore. I remember people shooting wedding photos when the weather was cold too, and at the time I wondered why anyone would come here for them — the sea here is really quite ordinary, not a patch on Qingdao’s or Weihai’s; why not shoot there? Later I reproached myself: why look down on the sea here and think the sea elsewhere prettier? That’s a very wrong way to think. Perhaps they simply are locals — people of Rushan, or of Silver Beach — and isn’t it perfectly reasonable to shoot your wedding photos in your own hometown?
On the way back I saw the bright crescent moon in a gap in the cloud-scattered night sky, above a triangular black roof; these graceful geometric shapes made a picture of great beauty and mood, and set a melancholy stirring in me. “Life has many forking roads, north and south; you go toward Xiaoxiang, I toward Qin.” “Men have sorrow and joy; they part or meet again; the moon is bright or dim and she may wax or wane. There has been nothing perfect since the olden days. So let us wish that man will live long as he can; though miles apart, we’ll share the beauty she displays.”
2023.8.21 — Heavy Rain, High Wind, Big Waves
At two thirty in the morning it suddenly began to rain hard, with a strong wind and wonderfully cool; the rain blew in through the windows, and I hurried out of bed to close every window facing the wind, while lightning lit up the sky from time to time. It rained for several hours, and by seven thirty it had cleared. Not long after clearing it clouded over again, and then at noon it rained hard for a while, flooding the ground-floor gardens and vegetable plots. To the east and overhead were thick black clouds, but to the west the sky was clear, showing a patch of blue — if it stayed that way, maybe there would be a sunset and an evening glow. Today’s high was only 29 degrees, though 30s and 31s still lie ahead, and the lows are sliding from 23 and 24 down to 21 and 22. Autumn still hasn’t come; we’ll have to wait about another week. From this week the tourists here should fall off fast, because next week is September, and many children go back to school — once they and their parents leave, half the people will be gone. (Again: the weather at the shore changes enormously within a single day — cloud, clear, rain, wind, all of them — so the forecast is unreliable.)
After the rain the humidity was very high and the bed clammy and uncomfortable. The afternoon was by turns clear and cloudy, and in the end it didn’t rain. I rode to the shore, first to the mouth of the Xiaotan River and then to the mouth of the Baishatan River. Why those two river mouths? Because they are the best-looking spots, and it was exactly high tide (today’s high tide was at 18:12): the surging seawater pours into the river mouths in wave upon wave of white foam. The wind was loud, whooshing, and the sound of the waves was loud too, surging; many people sat on the bank watching the sea, the black clouds churned overhead, the wind set everyone’s clothes flapping and made them screw up their eyes, and my glasses fogged. Many people were swimming in the sea, and swimming in the sea is freer than swimming in any other water, because the sea has no boundaries. “Once you’ve known the vast sea, no other water is water; apart from the clouds of Mount Wu, no other cloud is a cloud.” Having seen the great sea, could anything else still seem better than the seaside?
2023.8.22 — Just Another Ordinary Day (Qixi)
It rained for a long time last night, so sleeping was wonderfully cool — neither close nor damp, very sleep-inducing. By day it stopped raining, and though there were clouds from time to time the sun kept coming out too. Sometimes I really find it hard to describe how changeable the weather at the shore is within a single day. In the evening, as yesterday, I rode the same route: first to the mouth of the Xiaotan River to see the tide — the tide there is small but there are a great many tourists, and plenty of pretty girls to be seen — and finally to the mouth of the Baishatan River. The Baishatan river mouth is the best place of all to watch the tide. There are few young people there; those sitting on the bank are all elderly. The tide surges toward the river mouth, beating on the bank and curling into white foam. I sat there a long time, until the light dimmed and the street lamps came on, and the dim yellow lamplight falling on the sea was like the leaping gold of a setting sun on the water.
Because I’d shot a lot of photos and video at the shore, back at night I went through the phone, flipping through them one by one, and found a photo of a couple. When I took it I hadn’t thought much about it; I just wanted to capture the pretty girl’s back. Now looking closely at what she held, it was a bouquet of flowers. Only then did I realize that today was Qixi, “Chinese Valentine’s Day” — they were celebrating a romantic Valentine’s. When I was small, on Qixi we used to cool off on the roof terrace and my mother told us the story of the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl; in those days you could also see the Milky Way in the sky, and the Cowherd and Weaver Girl on either side of it. As a child I never thought there was anything romantic in it, because I didn’t understand the love between men and women. And now, having been through some romances, I only feel that love is a troublesome business, and that you have to have money as well — without money there’s no love.
2023.8.23 — The End of Heat; Autumn Has Come
The End of Heat — autumn has come to Rushan Silver Beach. Whoever invented the twenty-four solar terms, they are simply too accurate. Today has plainly turned cooler. The sky is washed blue, a blue that refreshes the heart. This is another reason I like the north: dry, not damp, and the sky especially blue. The air seems sweet; one breath of it and you would live long — live a few years more. Though it is still quite hot outside, indoors it is wonderfully cool.
At four in the afternoon I went out on my bike, because I wanted to look at more blue sky and sea. I rode to Damuzhi; there were still a lot of people at Damuzhi. I rode past the sand sculptures and on to the front of Haiyun Yangguang to the east; the water was a blue-green, the waves small, the wind slow, and there were still plenty of people swimming in the sea and sunbathing on the sand. But compared with last week there were plainly far fewer.
I rode back to the Kite Square. The sun was about to set, so it no longer scorched; the setting sun was gold, the horizon orange, above the orange blue, and the beach gray — just blue, orange, gray. As the sun went down the orange grew less and less, the blue dimmed, the sand grew indistinct and everything turned black, until only the dim yellow street lamps along the shore where sky met earth were lit.
I went down to the sea and tested the water with my hand: it actually felt a little cold, and I couldn’t believe those children dared swim in it. I felt the water was no longer fit for swimming; it would only give you a chill and a cold. Nor did I dare take a cold shower — I’d have to use the water heater.
Back home I sat on the rug on the floor; through the window I saw the moon in the sky, and looking down I saw the moon reflected on the not-quite-clean floor — two moons. Sky, sea, sun, moon, the chirr of grass insects, the cool wind… only nature is most beautiful.
2023.8.24 — The Swallows Haven’t Flown South Yet
Just how cool has it become? At night, the moment I get into bed I have to cover myself with a blanket. Before, I’d sleep till I felt cold in the small hours and only then pull the blanket over me. Now I need it all night. And for a nap too. Waking from my nap, I stood at the north-facing window looking out and saw flocks of swallows wheeling and circling between the buildings. When do swallows fly south? I looked it up on Baidu, and it said September and October. I wonder: are these this year’s new swallows, practicing flight?
I went out at four in the afternoon to ride, to exercise, to look at the sea. I rode all the way to the westernmost point, the mouth of Chaoxi Lake. I took off my shirt and stood bare-chested facing the sun; it stung the eyes, but I liked it, because the sunlight would tan my chest and belly. People were taking selfies there, others were fishing, others foraging the shallows. It was still early, so the sunlight on the sea was a glittering silver. There are few people out west and it’s very quiet; when I walked to the water’s edge no one disturbed me, so I took selfies for fun. Where there are lots of people I’d never have the nerve. I set my simple tripod on the bank, angled toward the eastern shoreline, and walked into the water to play. The water was very clear, with shoals of nameless little fish darting through it. I played until the sun turned red, then rode back. With the weather turning cool there were plainly far fewer people, especially children — they’d all gone back to get ready for school. At the Yinlong Bay night market I bought two Wu Dalang baked cakes, RMB 2 each. Riding had tired me and I was hungry. I rode on to Yinlong Bay square and wolfed them down. On the square many old people were doing square dancing — a happy old age. I don’t know when square dancing became popular. When we’re old, what will be popular? Gaming together on phones? Not impossible. Back home I was very dirty but didn’t feel cold, so I took a cold shower. The cold water wasn’t cold. And so another ordinary day flashed by.
2023.8.25 — Market Day
Figs are RMB 10 a jin, or 9, or 15 for two jin. The apples aren’t as varied as in winter; they’re nearly all red Fujis, and don’t look as tasty as winter’s. I bought five big peaches for RMB 14. Of vegetables I bought only potatoes and cauliflower. As everyone knows, I don’t eat meat, and potatoes, napa cabbage and eggs meet all my needs. I want for nothing and desire nothing. At the market I had breakfast: an egg pancake for RMB 5 and jellied tofu for RMB 3. That isn’t cheap for breakfast, compared with the breakfasts I used to eat in the work canteen back when I had a job. But this breakfast isn’t only breakfast; it’s also lunch — both my brunch meals in one. While I was at the market, those office workers in Beijing were squeezing onto the subway to go to work. They earn money by working; I don’t work, and have only the freedom of poverty.
In the evening, going to the shore, I found to my surprise that shared-bike docks had been installed along the curb of the little square at Menghuan Wangguo. Though no bikes are there yet, the docks are in place, and one day, who knows when, there will be shared bikes. There never used to be shared bikes at Silver Beach. Unlike a big city, public transport here is very inconvenient — I think I’ve said this many times: without your own vehicle, getting about is a great nuisance. Only, it’s nearly the off-season now, and people are leaving; with shared bikes arriving, who will ride them? At Silver Beach the roads are very good for cycling, but come winter, with the wind so strong and so constant, you simply don’t dare. Still, it’s a good thing: the infrastructure is being built first, and having it is better than not; next summer it’ll be a convenience to others.
2023.8.26 — Sunrise; Ten Months at Silver Beach
I watched the sunrise again. Yesterday I saw someone online say they were going to watch the sunrise today; I checked the weather and the time and decided to go too. I set the alarm for 4:30, but woke by myself at 4:15, because I’d gone to bed so early. Getting up and looking at the sky, it was very dark, with cloud or fog. I checked the weather app: 20 degrees, fog. The cool wind on my bare chest felt a little cold. But the indoor thermometer read 26. I hesitated over whether to go out. I went back to bed and played on my phone a while, then looked at the sky again: a faint red was rising at the horizon. Delighted, I wheeled the bike out without even washing.
In shorts, a short-sleeved shirt and flip-flops, I rode through the cool of the early morning without feeling cold. Along the way I happened on a few old people up early and a few cars with their headlights on; there was no one on the shore, but a scattering of people on the beach; the sea had drawn far back and was now coming in. There was a smear of pale red at the horizon. I parked my bike on the bank, locked it, and walked down onto the flat sand to give the sunrise my full attention.
At first the red was only a smear along the horizon, and not especially deep; but as time passed it grew deeper and spread upward, wider and wider, until it was a great sheet of crimson, like a woman’s alluring red lips. Flocks of gulls flew over — “A solitary wild duck flies alongside the multicolored sunset clouds, and the autumn water is merged with the boundless sky into one hue”; only it wasn’t sunset clouds but dawn clouds, not a solitary duck but a flock of gulls, the birds settling at the water’s edge to rest. I walked into the water; the red light spilled across the sea and the ripples stirred. In the water were shoals of fish, darting, some even leaping, bounding out of the sea in a flash of silver. The thick red at the horizon gradually turned orange, grew thin, and at last paled to a light pink; then the black clouds covered over, swallowing all the red and the yellow, blotting out the morning sun, and the sky turned a gray-blue. I lingered a while at the shore, folded up the tripod, and rode home. Seeing the dawn glow was well worth it.
Today is also a special day: it’s exactly ten months since I came to Silver Beach. The longer I live here the more I like it, and I don’t want to go anywhere else — nowhere else is as good as Silver Beach. Autumn here will be lovely, because the tourists all leave and the noise stops, and the weather turns cool and no longer scorching. And I love a silence in which every sound is hushed, and I love the clear and crisp breath of autumn. I can’t wait to see what September and October are like here. The sunlight through the window grows longer, and sitting in the living room you can see the moon just by looking up; the tree leaves turn yellow and fall away little by little, the grass begins to wither, until the spring wind blows it back to life; the cicadas stop singing — their lives are over — and the grass insects stop chirring and burrow into holes; the corn in the fields is all picked, the peanuts are ready to dig, the winter wheat is ready to sow; the sea turns clear and cold and deep, and no one dares swim in it, and the sea is no longer crowded — it can rest.
2023.8.27 — The First Rain of Autumn
Getting up in the morning I went out to shoot video material, and before I knew it I’d ridden to Gongjiazhuang. I seemed to remember that today was the big market at Gongjiazhuang, so I decided to go and look. I’ve been at Silver Beach a long while and had never been to any other market, because the Xiaotan market just outside my compound is so close and so convenient that I’ve never needed to shop elsewhere. Since I’d never been this way, I rode a long circuit before finding where the market was. Above the north block of Bihai Huating, on Xiangjiang Road, running east to west, the whole street was market — a very long, very long country market. I was astonished: this market was huge, with too many stalls to count and a great many buyers as well; it must be the biggest market at Silver Beach. Set beside the market outside my compound, this one makes the other look like nothing. The stalls are set along the south side of the road; on the north side are parked delivery vans, with a lane left open for through traffic; the market on the south side is made up of two rows of stalls with a walkway three people wide between them, and the shoppers weave along this walkway, east and west, with a few bicycles and tricycles mixed in. I pushed my bike slowly along the walkway to avoid hitting anyone, and from east to west it took me a full twenty-three minutes to get through. I didn’t buy much; I only went for the bustle and to see what a big market is like. Many vendors work the various markets, so I recognize some of them, and some of them recognize me. Figs have now dropped to RMB 5 a jin, and will drop further.
The Rushan weather bureau issued a yellow warning for heavy rain and an orange warning for high wind, and rain did come in the afternoon, but not heavy — perhaps at night. The weather turned cool all at once; today’s high was only 26, and indoors only 25, and with the wind blowing in through the window you feel cold without clothes on. Looking out of the window, the people on the road (nearly all of them elderly) had put on long trousers and long sleeves, and some had added a jacket — I could hardly believe it. The sky darkened, and the compound grew strangely quiet; there seemed to be far fewer people — had they all left? I felt the chill too and decided not to go to the shore; but I’m sure no one is swimming in the sea — it would freeze them — and there won’t be many on the bank either; the shore must be a bleak, chilly sight. “A spell of autumn rain, a spell of cold”: it will only get colder from here, and autumn perhaps makes a person calmer, and also more melancholy.
2023.8.28 — A Force-Seven North Wind
The wind today is really strong! The phone app says a force-seven north wind, with a high of 24, but the feels-like temperature only 14. The wind in a coastal city is undoubtedly stronger and more frequent than inland, and in winter it’s especially cold. It began to rain at ten last night and rained on and off until this evening. Wind and rain together, as if winter had come; though it’s only early autumn, the cells in my body that feel the cold have stirred to life, telling a person it’s time to put on autumn fat. Because the wind was too strong I didn’t go out all day; I walked to the window from time to time to watch the sky, and saw passers-by on the road in extra clothes, but thinking there’d be nothing to see at the shore I didn’t want to stir. There are no small children to be seen in the compound and none of their shrieking to be heard; only some elderly people are left, and a large part of them will stay until after the National Day holiday, then leave. Cold as it is today, the square dancers should be resting too, and the Yinlong Bay night market will be much quieter.
2023.8.29 — Summer Slips Quietly Away
“Summer, summer slips quietly away, leaving a little secret; press it down, press it down — I can’t tell you.” The summer at Rushan Silver Beach really is over; autumn has formally arrived. My favorite season. I like autumn in the north. Autumn runs from the end of August right through to the end of November — three whole months. The four seasons are distinct. Last year I wasn’t here in September and October, but I came at the end of October, and it was truly comfortable then: the daytime high would reach 21, the leaves had only just turned yellow, the roadsides were especially lovely, and there were very few people — Silver Beach was wonderfully quiet. I liked Silver Beach then. Of course, summer isn’t entirely without its merits; in summer you’re freer, for instance you can go without clothes. I’ve been at Silver Beach ten months and have now seen three of its seasons in full; only September and October, the two autumn months, are left. Autumn should be the loveliest season of all at Silver Beach, and I mean to feel it properly.
Yesterday it rained all day; today is a big clear day again, the sky blue enough to wash your eyes, white clouds in puffs like cotton candy, like a baby’s chubby cheeks — you want to bite one and taste what it’s like. But the wind is still strong. At the shore, the number of people on the beach has fallen by more than half, and hardly anyone is swimming now; it’s very deserted, the water is cold, and the sea wind makes it colder still, so I no longer dare go bare-chested. Though I like quiet, the sudden drop in people leaves me a little at a loss. Toward evening the clouds scattered again, and there was no evening glow to see — only the golden sun vanishing behind the high-rises. Turning east you’d find the full moon had risen as well: the bright moon rising over the sea again, with a few people photographing it at the water’s edge and more photographing it from the bank. The Ghost Festival is coming, and quite a few people are burning paper money at the crossroads; the yellow firelight made me feel warm even in the cold wind.
2023.8.30 — The Ghost Festival; Market Day; Another Spring Tide, Another Supermoon; the Loveliest Autumn
Getting up in the morning I found there were a great many people on the compound’s roads going to market — so there were still plenty who hadn’t left. By common account, two thirds have already gone and one third remain. But to judge by the market, there are still quite a few. There was nothing I needed to buy, because tomorrow I’m going away and may be gone a long while, and anything I bought would sit too long. I just went out to wander, join the bustle, and observe the human scene. The market still had a great many stalls and a great many buyers; only the weather was a bit chilly. The seafood area was especially crowded — a lot of crabs and mantis shrimp had come in. The owner said, it’s autumn now, look how fat these crabs are! And indeed fat enough, full of life. On the first of September comes the reopening, and then there’ll be more seafood and fresher. In the end I ate only one breakfast (which was also lunch) at the breakfast stall — an egg pancake and some jellied tofu — and then bought some garlic, since ours was nearly gone. Coming back I noticed the tree below my building had set a lot of red fruit; looking closely, the green cones had put out clustered red spikes, very brilliant in color, and many had fallen and rotted on the ground. I identified it with the phone app: this is a paper mulberry.
At noon, the late-August sun was already slanting onto the balcony, casting a broad patch of light on the floor; I could bring out a chair, sit on the balcony with my feet up on the railing, and bask idly in the warm sunlight, tanning myself darker and healthier. Only I can’t bask too long, because it’s still a bit hot and the sun stings the skin. Today’s sunrise was at 5:22, sunset at 18:26, and the high tide at 14:31. I rode to the mouth of the Baishatan River to watch the tide; the water had risen high, but the waves weren’t big — only washing slowly and gently at the riverbank. The seawater plainly looks much deeper in tone now — not blue but a blue-green — while the sky is blue; there’s still a difference between the two. The sky is a clean azure, with some thin white cloud. This autumn is truly wonderful!
In the evening I went to the shore as usual, first strolling about at Damuzhi, then back to the Kite Square to watch the sunset and the moonrise. August 1 was the fifteenth of the lunar month, and today, August 30, is the fifteenth again — a lovely echo. And today there’s a blue moon, a supermoon. First I watched the sunset for half an hour; a pity there were no clouds at the horizon, so there was only the afterlight, dimming little by little. The sun set in the west just as the moon rose in the east. It didn’t rise from the sea’s horizon but from the cloud layer a little above the sea, emerging bit by bit from the clouds near the water, slowly growing bigger and rounder and whiter, until at last it revealed itself entire, casting a long path of light across the sea. Many people were photographing from the bank. A pity a phone can’t capture the beauty of a full moon; it can only be kept in the heart. On the way home many people were burning paper money, poking the fire, and some were pressing their palms together and bowing again and again — honoring the dead, and remembering those long gone.