“I’ve caught a sickness — the sickness of being happy whenever I can’t see tall buildings and cars.” — Xiaomei, a net friend
2023.9.13 — Back at Silver Beach, the Twenty-Ninth of the Lunar Month, the Sea at Night
Getting from Beijing back to Silver Beach really is inconvenient. If you take the long-distance bus, you have to be at the pickup point by five or six in the morning to wait, and I live far out in the suburbs, so I’d certainly never make it. If you take the slow train straight to Rushan, you have to spend the night on board, and once in Rushan you still have to get from Rushan Station to Silver Beach. Only the high-speed rail saves time and has plenty of trains: first to Qingdao, then call a car straight to the gate of my compound at Silver Beach. I took that last way — it cost a lot of money, but it took the least time and was the most comfortable. Even so, the high-speed rail takes three and a half hours, and the private car two and a half. Home at last, I let out a long breath, like a fish back in water, like a tiger back in its mountain. The seaside is best after all. In a big city something always seems to press down on you and make you miserable. Now that I’m back, I don’t want to go out ever again; I mean to savor this life by the sea — its peace, calm, happiness, freedom, joy, and especially good air.
First I took a hot shower to wash off the dust of travel. Unlike in Beijing, where the water heater runs on gas and hot water comes the moment you turn on the tap, at Rushan Silver Beach the heater is electric and needs half an hour to heat up (longer in winter — an hour); but what I have least lack of is time, because I don’t work and have nothing to be anxious about, so I just wait for the water to heat slowly. There wasn’t much food left in the fridge; luckily tomorrow is the thirtieth of the lunar month, so I can go to the market again and buy things — vegetables and eggs. So tonight I could only eat something simple: cook some rice, break an egg and make steamed egg, and have it with a can of dace in black beans, as my dinner. Now that I’m back I can go back to eating only vegetarian, no more meat, no red meat at all, and no drink but plain water. I love this simple, frugal, plain life; it makes me purer — no idle thoughts in my mind, no grease in my body.
After the shower and the meal I couldn’t resist wanting to go to the shore, so in shorts, short sleeves, and flip-flops I wheeled my bike downstairs and rode toward the sea. The air was a little cool but not cold, and smelled wonderful; a few people were scattered along the road, all in long sleeves and long pants. There were still some people at Silver Beach, and plenty of windows in the buildings were lit — not so desolate as in winter; only after the National Day holiday would people grow fewer. There were many stars; whenever I look up at the stars I think, when I’m old and my eyes are dim, will I still be able to see them? Even now, since I’ve been badly nearsighted since childhood, I often can’t see them clearly — so we must treasure the present. Today is the twenty-ninth of the lunar month; tonight the tide is going out, and low tide comes just after nine, when plenty of people were out foraging the shallows, their flashlight beams flickering against the stars. Sea and sky were one color, all pitch black, unfathomably deep. Only along the shoreline shone a row of lights — the fishermen’s homes. I sat on the shore a long while, looking down below, gradually feeling cold, and the bike seat grew damp.
2023.9.14 — The Thirtieth of the Lunar Month: Market Day, Watching the Sea
Quite a few people were at the market; not so crowded as in July and August, but still lively enough. In July and August you’d see lots of children, up for the summer holidays with their parents; now they’re gone, and it’s only the elderly, and young people now and then. There were still plenty of stalls, set up all the way to the gate of the compound, not so bleak as in winter. The autumn sun no longer burns you so. Though the fishing season reopened on September 1, there didn’t seem to be much more seafood — because much of the fish, shrimp, crab, and oysters is available year-round. Eggs had risen to RMB 7.5 a jin; pistachios had dropped to as low as RMB 5 for two jin; napa cabbage was still RMB 2 a jin, and cauliflower RMB 3 a jin. The Fuji apples were new in, but the skin was a little whitish and not yet very red — probably just ripened. Winter apples taste best. Two weeks away and I’d missed the market twice; for today’s market I came back only yesterday. How happy market day is, how good the countryside is!
The sun moves south day by day, and the sunlight pours in broad swaths through the room, making both the living room and the bedroom very bright. Summer’s scorching heat has gone, and autumn’s mildness has arrived. I wiped a chair clean, carried it onto the balcony, put on a thick cushion, and when I feel cold I’ll go and sit a while, soak up the warm sunlight, and let my body warm up too. I also washed and wiped clean the washbasins I don’t use in summer, getting them ready: when I feel cold I’ll boil some water, wash my face in hot water, soak my feet. I brought out my long pants and long sleeves too, in case I go out at night and feel cold. Autumn is so lovely, autumn is so lovely!
I went out at four in the afternoon to watch the sea. In autumn the sun sets early — today at 18:05, and in winter even earlier, dark by five, by half past four. Because I’d bent and broken the bike pump, and most of the air had leaked out of the back tire, I couldn’t ride, and had to walk. I hadn’t walked any distance in ages and wasn’t quite used to it. Walking to the shore takes twenty minutes; by bike only seven. But whatever the conditions, I accept them quickly and cheer up. Walking has its advantages too: I can go down onto the beach and walk into the water without worrying that my bike left on the bank will be stolen, or having to stay close to it. Walking, I can go as I please, and swing my arms. The water wasn’t cold, very cool and pleasant, and several people were swimming in the sea — they’re all heroes. There weren’t many people on the beach; it was very quiet, the sea breeze blowing, very comfortable. With few people, the beach was clean too, unlike before when there were always many who littered and made it filthy — the ill-mannered have finally gone. I had a whole stretch of beach to myself, no clamor to be heard, no fear of passersby disturbing me. The setting sun was hidden by thick clouds, so there was no pretty sunset or glow, but the row of clouds directly overhead was lovely, tinted pink. I truly feel it would be worth it to die at the seaside.
2023.9.15 — The Self-Tormenting Kind of Lying Flat
An online friend said I’m the self-tormenting kind of lying flat, because I eat neither meat nor seafood, only vegetarian. Yes, I eat only vegetarian — but I’m happy, and I think vegetarian is the healthiest. At the market yesterday I bought an egg pancake (not an egg-filled pancake) for RMB 5, and that was my brunch; in the afternoon I cooked another meal, one dish only, hot-and-sour shredded potato, and that was my dinner. I eat only two meals a day, never three, and no breakfast — I’ve never thought breakfast was a must; to hell with having to eat breakfast. At noon today I cooked two dishes: two fried eggs (an egg isn’t vegetarian, but I count it as such — I still need protein) and stir-fried cauliflower (because the soy sauce was gone I had to use dark soy, and it came out pitch black; it was my first time using dark soy). I cooked a bit more rice and left some of the vegetables, to reheat in the evening for my dinner. I know most people couldn’t stand a life like this. But I take my own pleasure in it. “With a single bamboo dish of rice, a single gourd dish of drink, and living in my mean narrow lane, while others could not have endured the distress, I do not allow my joy to be affected by it. How worthy am I!”
Recently, some journalists seem to have seen the videos I make — one from the magazine Sanlian Life Weekly, another from the Beijing bureau of a German television station. They all wanted to interview me, and I turned them all down. At first I hesitated: these were chances to put myself forward, and I might even have become an internet celebrity. But I’m tired; I don’t want to tell my story to anyone again. An online friend said, “leave me alone — stand out of my sunlight.” I’m not that aloof, but I know there’s little point anymore in expressing myself to others.
I went out at 3:20 in the afternoon, because high tide was at 3:40 and I wanted to watch it come in; it takes twenty minutes to walk to the shore. I cut through the fields — “the wind blowing across the open fields” — though in fact today was overcast and cloudy, with no wind at all. I saw that the farmers had pulled up all their peanuts and picked all their corn. The peanut vines and leaves thrown on the ground were still green, but the peanuts were nowhere to be seen — they’d been shaken off and carted away. The corn leaves had withered and gone gray, the stalks still standing in the field, with a layer of husks scattered on the ground. They’d carried the peanuts and corn to the concrete by the road to spread and dry: the damp peanuts still clung with black earth, giving off the freshness of soil and the sweet fragrance of peanuts; the corncobs were russet, and the shelled kernels golden yellow — very striking, and they lifted your spirits too. The wild grass in the fields had begun turning brown, without summer’s lush vigor; the tree leaves were partly yellowed, drooping and shriveled, some fallen to the ground to turn to dust. You couldn’t hear the frogs’ booming, couldn’t hear the cicadas’ rasp, couldn’t see more than a few birds — the whole countryside showed a scene of decline.
I walked all along the water to Damuzhi Plaza; the seawater was a little icy. Passing the fishermen’s storage area, boats and vehicles came and went: a tractor pulled a boat down into the water to send it out fishing, and when a boat came back the tractor drove into the water again to drag it ashore. There were still plenty of people on the beach near Damuzhi Plaza — they must have come to look at property; by their accent, from Sichuan or Chongqing. Someone said that nobody comes from Beijing or Shanghai to buy houses anymore (they were the earliest wave, and no new ones can be talked into it); now those who come to buy are from deep inland (only they can still be talked into it). Where the crowds are, it’s noisy, and the beach gets trampled dirty. In the park east of the plaza they’ve put up many prefab houses and quite a few mini food trucks — they say a food plaza is going to be built. The houses and trucks are painted in bright yet harmonious colors, very pretty, a lovely sight; you can tell a lot of thought went into it. This year at Silver Beach they’ve been building roads, building parks, even building a free pool for showering, washing hands, and rinsing feet; they’ve put out shared bikes; in summer there were several night markets and many barbecue stalls; and Damuzhi Plaza has put on many entertainment evenings — it looks as if Silver Beach will keep getting better.
Now that it’s turned cool I dare not take cold showers at all anymore, and the water takes longer to heat; I don’t wash once a day either, but every two or three days — so long as I’m not especially dirty and haven’t sweated much, there’s no need to wash daily. I don’t work and don’t meet people, so I needn’t mind appearances or spare anyone’s feelings; I go my own way — how free that is. I can also skip the water heater: just heat water in an electric kettle, pour it in a basin, and wipe my body with a towel till it’s clean — less bother, less electricity, less water. At the shore I heard a few older women chatting; one said, I’ve already put on my long johns. Truly startling, to put on long johns this early. And back home, since I eat no meat, drink no cola, and eat none of that junk, I don’t even have to brush my teeth once a day.
2023.9.16 — The Jumping Fish, and the Afterglow
What to eat today? At noon I had two fried eggs and hot-and-sour shredded potato; I’d left some shredded potato and rice, but by the afternoon I was thoroughly sick of it and didn’t want more. So for dinner I had instant noodles — the bagged kind, kimchi flavor — and I tore up a lot of cabbage leaves myself and added two more eggs, and it was delicious. I think I’d grown a bit tired of the stir-fried dishes at noon because they lacked white sugar as a seasoning: when the last bag of sugar ran out I didn’t buy more, and after that I never added sugar to my cooking again. Once in a while you do need to top up the sugar, or life has no savor, isn’t sweet enough. So I’ll buy another bag of sugar — and some soy sauce.
I went out to the shore at three; I was feeling stifled indoors and wanted both to see the spring tide and to watch the sunset and its glow. High tide was at 16:11 and sunset at 18:01, so I could wander outside for four hours. Reaching the shore I took off my shoes and walked into the water; at first it was a little icy, but I soon got used to it. The tide was coming in, the beach was clean, the sand fine and soft, lovely to walk on. There were clouds in the sky, and only low at the horizon was there a gap; the sun stayed behind the clouds and only showed itself just before setting. A pity there was no sunset glow, only afterlight. The afterlight was lovely too, orange-yellow and pink, the colors shifting. The clouds overhead, and to the east, were tinted pink as well — very warm and cozy. There was little wind, so the sound of the waves was very clear, crashing and booming. People strolled by the shore in twos and threes, young couples hand in hand, older women posing for photos — a quiet, beautiful scene.
Today I found something especially interesting: at high tide, a kind of small sardine (I don’t know what kind of fish it is — maybe a bottom-clinging fish) gets washed up by the waves onto the beach; it lies there on the sand waiting for the next wave to carry it back down, but if there’s anyone nearby it’s very alert, and before the next wave comes it will jump back into the sea itself. Yes — it jumps into the sea. Seeing this, I found it strange and amusing. What kind of fish is this, that can actually jump — a mudskipper? I wanted to catch one and look closely, but they jump so fast it’s very hard; they use the two fins at the front, like little feet. I walked a long way on, and saw many of these little fish washed to the shore, tried to catch them and failed, and was almost ready to give up. But at last, on my way back, I met another one; I ran at it and batted it shoreward, together with sand; it made for the water, and I batted several times before I got it onto the shore, where it couldn’t reach the water, and then I caught it and looked at it carefully. A small sardine the color of sand, like a tadpole grown two feet — those were its fins; two bulging eyes set very close, its mouth wide open, looking very cute and dazed, rough like an old man, with the look of age about it, yet tiny — still a juvenile. I put it in my palm to play with, and it could actually crawl across my hand, from the palm to the back of my hand — truly amazing. It kept trying to escape, jumping onto the sand; I wanted to look at it a while longer, so I picked it up again — but in the end I let it go.
2023.9.17 — Silver Beach in Autumn, the Third of the Lunar Month
I went to the shore again for over four hours, out at three and back after seven. The pump I’d ordered had arrived — bought on the discount app for RMB 9.8 — so I could pump up my bike tires. But the brake pads had a problem: as you rode there was a clang-clang-clang, very annoying. With a bike I could go farther again, so I rode west, all the way to the mouth of Chaoxi Lake, the westernmost edge of Silver Beach. The barbecue stalls at the Seafood City night market had all been withdrawn — no tables, no chairs, the storefronts shut; it seems people really have grown fewer. Fewer people, and the sea looks better. The autumn sea is especially clean, clear, deep, and good-smelling; the water is especially cool, neither cold nor hot, and standing at the water’s edge you can see the sand beneath; the sea breeze is gentle too, not damp as in summer, not biting as in winter. Autumn is the loveliest season at the shore; September, October, November are the most to be looked forward to, the most intoxicating.
At noon today I ate yesterday’s leftover rice and vegetables — the hot-and-sour shredded potato, mixed into the rice and reheated. I also cracked a salted duck egg, for salt and protein. The salted duck eggs I’d bought at the market, RMB 10 for six. Because I’d been out and about three or four hours in the afternoon, I was really rather tired and didn’t want to cook at home; and on the way back a Lanzhou noodle place had just opened, so I ate at the restaurant — an exception, forgive me, I really was a bit tired. From the menu I ordered “sliced beef noodles,” RMB 16. So expensive! Refueled, I rode back, passing the Yinlong Bay night market, which was quite busy — lively in the evening. At the pastry stall I bought five jujube cakes — I often buy from this family — RMB 7. I watched the Xinjiang dancing at Yinlong Bay square for a while, then went home.
2023.9.18 — Forgetfulness
Getting up in the morning to wash my face, I was shocked to find that after my shower last night I’d forgotten to turn off the water heater — meaning it had heated all night (though it does have an automatic shut-off). Luckily it wasn’t damaged. It was the first time I’d forgotten to turn it off; it had never happened before. I said yesterday that I was a bit tired, and that had made me forgetful. Since I came here to live alone, one small mishap after another has happened: forgetting to press the switch when cooking rice, forgetting to turn off the gas stove, going out without my keys. I don’t know what else I’ll forget in the future. That’s the downside of living alone and hiding from the world — live with other people and they’ll promptly notice your mistakes and remind you. But I certainly can’t live with other people, because my nature is too independent, I love going my own way too much, and I feel I can control my own fate.
The ground-floor house with the garden has new owners, and from early morning they were renovating, laying out the garden, clearing all the weeds, turning over the soil, hauling in sand and stones and some boards, hammering and banging and making a racket that kept me from sleeping well. All day it was clanging and banging, loud enough to make my head ache; my afternoon nap was ruined too, and I felt terribly out of sorts. On top of being exhausted yesterday, by evening today I didn’t even want to go out for a wander. But in the end I talked myself into it — I must go out! Dragging my tired body, I rode to the shore (the bike brakes still had the problem and the ride made a jarring scraping sound). The sea was beautiful, the color lovely, a fresh green-blue; the waves rolled shoreward in tiny swells, and the wind was light, gently brushing my face. After watching the sea a while my mood gradually eased a great deal. But my body was still very tired, and I half suspected I’d caught Covid again.
Out on the plaza many corn and peanuts were still spread to dry — someone lays them out in the morning and someone gathers them in at night; the corn and peanuts were nearly dry. Seeing a harvest is moving and cheering, but I also know that shelling corn and pulling peanuts is no easy, simple work: you bake in the sun, the corn leaves cut your hands, the peanuts are all dirt, and the endless picking is repetitive — a person becomes like a machine, like a beast of burden; it’s terribly hard. I’m only a bystander, putting in no effort and shedding no sweat, and even I think it’s too much. And for all that sweat, farmers don’t make much money, and they don’t want their own children to be farmers either. The countryside’s natural surroundings are beautiful, but only city people have the leisure to admire them; country people all want to become city people, and city people don’t want to be farmers.
2023.9.19 — The Fifth of the Lunar Month, Market Day
What do you want to do? I want to do nothing. Joey says: “My favorite thing in the world to do, like my absolute favorite thing in the world to do is nothing. I’m great at it. I should be a professional nothing. That’s what I could be, I could be really good at that. Because it’s so easy, there’s no rules. What are you going to do today? I’ll tell you, nothing. Pretty simple.”
Napa cabbage had come down in price: RMB 5 for three jin, RMB 1.7 a jin. The apples were all in — Red General, Golden Marshal, Red Fuji — anywhere from RMB 3 to RMB 5. There must be a great deal more seafood now; a pity I neither buy nor eat it — I just stroll for fun. Peanuts and corn must be in season too. Peaches, pears, persimmons, watermelon, bananas, grapes, dragon fruit — all still in abundance. There were quite a few people at the market: not as many as in July and August, but many old people stay on here and won’t leave until after the National Day holiday.
Today was overcast, and toward evening it began to rain a little — very little; the air was a bit damp, so it felt muggy. But it’s certainly more bearable than the south. My lease is nearly up; I mean to renew it, so I talked with the agent and the rent went up RMB 200 — acceptable, so I’ll stay on. In the blink of an eye it’s nearly a year at Silver Beach; stay another year and that’s two. I consider only what’s within a year; let what’s after a year alone. Let things take their course — no one knows what will happen in a year; don’t fret about the future, live each present day well, and wait for fate to come.
2023.9.20 — A Windy Day, a Clear Day, the Moon and Sixpence
Today there was a force-six north wind. I opened the screen window and the wind poured into the room, blowing away the stale air, and it made me a little cold too; I hesitated over putting on long pants, but in the end I held off — I can’t be like an old person, I must learn to take the cold. When winter comes there’s no heating, and there’ll be plenty to chill you; it’s only autumn now, early autumn, not especially cold, and a bit of wind clears the head. Riding toward the shore, from north to south, I felt no resistance, but riding east was a struggle — it was a northeast wind — and likewise riding back, which was good exercise. Because of the wind there weren’t many people at the shore; though the sky was a washed blue, the waves were turbid, blown high and creaming white, and the surf was loud; the clouds at the horizon were very white and fine, though. By three in the afternoon you could see the crescent moon due south — today is the sixth of the lunar month, so the moon was still very curved, and by its position it would set three hours after the sun. By half past six in the evening the moon had moved to the southwest; sitting on the carpet at home I could look up and see the jade hook outside the window. Once it was dark, the whole sky of stars came out like diamonds; the morning star had moved to the west, and the Dipper had gone northwest. It’s so good by the sea — you can see the sun, the moon, the stars; the world is so vast, with nothing in the way.
2023.9.21 — A Big Clear Day; How Lovely Autumn Is
Morning was still hazy; by noon it gradually cleared; in the afternoon the western half of the sky was clear, and slowly the clouds to the east dispersed; by evening the whole sky was clean. Today the wind was light and the waves small, so the sand on the seabed wasn’t stirred up; the sea was deep blue-green, a shade darker than the sky, like a great block of jade set into the earth, the coastline winding. Standing at a distance, looking at the sea, the beach, the sky, the green grass on the beach — it lifts the heart and clears away every care. People — we ought to live out in the wild open.
“If I can’t live out in the open wild, then I’d rather die. If there’s no freedom, what meaning does life have? The city is a prison to me. Human relationships are shackles to me. I don’t want to be involved with anyone; I only want to dissolve into nature.” Those are a few lines I thought of when going to sleep at night — they didn’t fit in a video, so I recorded them in my diary.
2023.9.22 — Renewing the Lease for a Year; Grilled Oysters, RMB 1 Apiece
Today I paid the agent a year’s rent, to stay on at Silver Beach another year. In the end the rent did go up a bit — not much, RMB 300 more than last year — and that I could accept, so I agreed. Last year: rent RMB 4,000, agency fee RMB 200, deposit RMB 1,000, and I paid the RMB 500 property fee myself. This year: rent plus agency fee RMB 4,500, the deposit still sitting there, and I still have to pay the property fee myself. Actually, at Silver Beach there are a great many places at three or four thousand; if I wanted a three-thousand place I could have one. But I don’t want to move — moving is too much trouble, and this compound is quiet and convenient. Staying another year means from October 26, 2023, to October 25, 2024. (Someone told me you don’t need to pay an agency fee to renew, and his rent hadn’t gone up either — it seems the agent did me in.)
In the evening I rode to the shore, wandering idly, and drifted to Damuzhi Plaza, where the crowds had thinned a lot; the night market’s barbecue stalls weren’t so lively as in July and August; from a loudspeaker came the cry, “Grilled oysters, RMB 1 apiece — big ones and small ones, all RMB 1.” I could hardly believe my ears; that’s so cheap. I remember when they were dearest: RMB 10 for three; later down to RMB 10 for five, RMB 10 for eight; and now RMB 1 apiece — that is, RMB 10 buys ten, which had me almost drooling. A pity I held off; I rode home and reheated the leftover rice and vegetables (the hot-and-sour shredded potato) from noon — and that was my dinner.
2023.9.23 — The Autumn Equinox, the Ninth of the Lunar Month, a Woman Friend from Online
In no time at all it was the autumn equinox; time passes so fast. If you divide the year into four parts by the spring equinox, the summer solstice, the autumn equinox, and the winter solstice, then three quarters of it are gone. Half of autumn has passed. In the Greater Khingan, of course, you could say winter has begun. In Shandong the four seasons are distinct, each roughly three months, very even. I like places with four distinct seasons. Today’s sunrise was at 5:42 and sunset at 17:51. Morning was overcast, with no pretty sunrise. The tide was a neap tide: on the ninth of the lunar month, high tide at 8:55, 315 centimeters, and low tide at 16:15, 120 centimeters.
A woman friend from online, at Silver Beach — we’d followed each other online for a long time but never met. Today she suddenly told me she wanted to give me a box of mooncakes. I hadn’t meant to meet; I didn’t think it necessary, and I didn’t want her to spend money. But she said she was about to leave Silver Beach. I asked her, was she never coming back? She said, probably not. Then I couldn’t very well refuse her — I’d see it as seeing her off. We arranged to meet at three in the afternoon at Damuzhi Plaza. We met, and I didn’t ask her name or her age; she must have been only twenty-five or twenty-six, from Lanzhou. She’d been at Silver Beach a year too, felt there was nothing to do, and so was leaving to go out and seek a little meaning. The chat was easy enough; we watched the sea a long while, standing on the roof of a just-built trendy food truck looking down at the water; some young people were taking photos on the beach; now and then a cloud would cast a patch of shade on the sea — “like an ink-wash painting,” she said. We talked two and a half hours, then parted. I told her, if she ever came back, she must let me know. She said, okay.
2023.9.24 — The Tenth of the Lunar Month: Market Day, Rain, Autumn Chill
I got up and forgot all about the market; looking out the window and seeing crowds heading out of the compound, I remembered that today was the tenth of the lunar month. I needed to buy some vegetables, so I wandered about and joined the crowd, and in the end bought only one cauliflower at RMB 3.5 a jin, and seven green peppers, also RMB 3.5 a jin. I also bought RMB 8 of sunflower seeds at RMB 15 a jin. The price of figs had gone up again — some at RMB 4, some at 5, some at 6. I ate breakfast (and lunch) at a breakfast stall: jellied tofu RMB 3, egg pancake RMB 5. The sky was rather gloomy.
At noon it began to rain and the temperature dropped steadily; by evening it was only 18 degrees. But I’d been cooped up at home all day and felt a bit lost — I simply had to go out. I wanted to go to the shore and down onto the beach to wade in the sea, so I wore only short sleeves, shorts, and flip-flops. It wasn’t raining when I set out, but the wind made it cold; there was hardly anyone on the beach, it stretched on endlessly, the tide was going out and the water had receded far; the seawater was very cold; now and then I saw little clams washed up, and some gulls hovering at the water’s edge that flew out to sea the moment you came near. The longer I was in the wind the colder I felt, and I thought winter must be colder still. I always say I love winter, that winter is best: in winter there are especially few people, the beach is especially quiet and especially clean — but the cold is real too. I walked a good long way, grew truly cold, and the sky was darkening, so I turned back. Passing the Yinlong Bay night market, very few vendors were out, but a few old farmers were still there in the cold wind and dreary rain, holding umbrellas, sitting on little stools with their own scattered vegetables laid out before them. Farming earns so little and is so hard — it really wrings your heart; young people must all want to escape the farmer’s life and identity.
On the way back a light rain began; I’d meant to photograph the night scene, but found water droplets on the phone lens, forming a weird, gaudy ring of halo around the streetlights, very strange, like a cell wall wrapped around a nucleus. Because I couldn’t see the road, I stepped into several puddles; dirty water and mud stuck to my feet, making walking uncomfortable, gritting underfoot. So I walked slowly, and once home hurried to wash my feet and rinse the sand off my feet and shoes. Then I turned on the water heater to heat water — I wanted a proper hot bath. Once it rains, autumn turns especially cold, and it easily makes you melancholy. I don’t know why I came running to this place — few people here, no heating in winter; I lived so many years in heated places, in the Northeast and Beijing — how did I stand it? It seems that when I came at the end of last October it wasn’t as cold as now; maybe it’s the rain. Clear weather, and the gloom lifts.
2023.9.25 — Socializing Again, on a Rainy Overcast Day
An online friend had asked me again and again to meet (once he ran into me at the shore and asked whether I was that so-and-so from online, and so we got acquainted; he lives very close to me), and I really couldn’t bring myself to refuse, so I went to see him, chatted with him, and ate at his home. The chat was pleasant enough; we had some views in common, and I picked up some new perspectives, and I understood where my own predicament lay. The reason I so often feel a sense of emptiness is that I think too much and do too little. Before I’ve even done a thing I conclude that it’s meaningless. At the very least I should first go and do it, instead of rejecting every activity on the strength of feeling and thought. Even if, having done it, I find it truly meaningless, that would be a conclusion from experience, not a guess in midair or a plan on paper. For instance, I think socializing is meaningless — but that’s a conclusion I could only draw once I’d had enough experience of socializing; and since I came here I’ve refused all socializing, I have no experience of it, I’ve shut myself off completely. Of course, there are other things I do have experience of: I think eating meat is meaningless, but I’ve eaten enough meat, and I don’t like meat. I really should think less and do more, and not care so much what others think, not quibble, not compare, and try bravely.
It rained all day today, a fine drizzle, like Jiangnan; the high was only 22 degrees, and there really was a chill, so I put on long pants. At the online friend’s home I drank some baijiu and felt tipsy, and when I got back I slept another two hours. He’d asked whether I’d drink beer or baijiu, and without a moment’s thought I said baijiu! I wanted to get a little drunk, and it was a way of thanking him for his warm hospitality. After a sleep I was fine; waking, the sky was still overcast, the rain pattering, white mist shrouding the fields in the distance, the compound very quiet — everyone had hidden indoors and turned on the lights early; only a car passing made a shushing sound of tires, and the sound soon receded into the distance, and silence returned.
2023.9.26 — Eleven Months of Lying Flat
From last October 26, when I came to Silver Beach, to today, September 26, I’ve been here a full eleven months. I’ve written in my diary every day, so I won’t look back over the daily round; I’ll just talk about how making videos has felt lately. Everyone says that putting your money in the bank and living off the interest is only passive income, while money made from your own online content counts as active income. But once making videos — or anything — is done to make money, life seems to lose all its interest; the purpose is no longer pure. Every day, to post a video, I have to rack my brains for a topic, shoot footage, record the voice, add music, make a cover, proofread the subtitles, think up a title; and once it’s up I can’t help refreshing again and again to watch the view count, and I have to answer all kinds of comments and private messages, especially the unfriendly ones — spending great swaths of every day at the computer, facing the screen, which does no good to the eyes, the body, or the mind. But at the thought of earning money I can’t bring myself to delete or clear out the earlier videos; it seems there’s no stopping at all, and I hesitate over whether to stop posting, whether to choose to stay away from the internet, whether to ignore the comments and messages and focus on something more meaningful — like studying English properly, reading books, learning video-editing skills; even taking photos or shooting video should be done without so much calculation, not always thinking this clip could go in a video, what title would draw traffic, draw attention, earn more money. Once a person falls into this strange cycle of traffic, he grows restless and anxious, his mind won’t settle, he can’t slow down, and he can’t enjoy life well anymore — completely unlike when I first came to Silver Beach. When I first came I just calmly watched the sea, idly sunned myself, easily breathed the fresh air, let myself be still, let myself slow down, slept well and ate well, and shot videos only to record my life, never dreaming of earning money, of traffic, of persuading anyone in a video. Now, for the sake of those few coppers, I’ve become vastly unhappy and anxious instead. I think it’s time for a change; I mustn’t be influenced by all that garbage online. I should be as free and easy as when I first came, so happy, so utterly carefree — not caring what others think, not caring whether I earn money (feeling I don’t earn, and still worrying about the future), not afraid of the past, not afraid of the present, and even less afraid of the future; to be a truly free person, with a free body and a free mind. “Nothing can hold you back, your longing for freedom; a life roaming the sky, your heart without a care.” Freedom and calm.
Still overcast; overcast days always leave you out of sorts — no blue sky to be seen, no white clouds, and so the sea is neither blue nor green but turbid, like the overcast sky above. Naturally you can’t see a red horizon morning or evening either, and there’s no need to go out chasing the sun; the whole day feels identical from morning to night. On the twelfth of the lunar month the tide isn’t high either, nothing much to see. Then it began to rain again — not hard, just enough to blur my glasses and spread a film of rain over my arms; back home, a hot shower, then an afternoon nap.
Today’s sunrise was at 5:45 and sunset at 17:46 — daylight exactly twelve hours. And because of the rain, by seven in the evening it was pitch dark outside with nothing to do; even going out for a walk wouldn’t work, with water and mud everywhere and the weather rather cold — so I could only climb into bed, pull up the blanket, and play on the computer and phone. That’s why I say that at Rushan Silver Beach you can go to bed at seven in the evening. When I used to say Rushan Silver Beach is just the countryside, a lot of older people came and criticized me in the comments, saying I painted Silver Beach too poorly, that it’s far better than the countryside. But Silver Beach isn’t the town center either; the town center is fifteen kilometers away, and that’s where there’s any lively nightlife — there’s no nightlife at Silver Beach. Young people, if you can’t stand loneliness and quiet, you’d best not come.
2023.9.27 — Airing the Blanket, a Big Clean, a Bit of Clamor
Rarely, the morning brought sun — a clear day; though there was sunlight, the sky wasn’t blue but white, with some thin cloud and haze. The sunlight on your body was still warm. Since it had been overcast several days and the next few would be overcast too, I hurried to wash the sheets and the blanket: the sheets clipped up on the drying rack, the blanket draped over two chairs pulled apart on the balcony; after only a few hours in the sun they were dry and clean, with a smell of dryness. Sunshine is so good; I’m glad I live in the north. A pity that by three in the afternoon it clouded over again, a layer of fish-scale clouds hiding the sun, and my happy mood turned gloomy again.
Because I’d renewed for a year and would live in this place another year, and because I hadn’t given it a big cleaning for a long time — half a year, probably — I decided to clean the house. But I’m lazy, so I did only a little each day. For instance, today I wiped only the table and chairs; tomorrow I’d clean the bathroom; the day after, mop the living-room floor; the day after that, degrease the kitchen. Doing this several days running, most of the place was clean; in the end only the grease on the stove looked so unappealing that I couldn’t bring myself to touch it, so I left it for the time being. Sometimes I think, if this were my own house I’d surely be diligent about cleaning and tidying — but it isn’t my house, so why bother?
As I said before, the ground-floor house with the garden has new owners and is being renovated — either hammering or cutting; today too there was a racket, very noisy, badly disrupting my nap and annoying me no end. Without question, a great many people came to Silver Beach this year, whether tourists or homebuyers. I’m sure that this winter there will be far more people staying at Silver Beach than last year. In that case Silver Beach will no longer be a ghost town; it’ll be a bit lively, and a bit noisy. And I like a ghost town. At National Day another wave of visitors will come here and the foot traffic will rise; I’ve decided to go away for a trip over National Day, to leave here for a while and escape it a little. Maybe I should go lie flat somewhere with even fewer people — like the countryside back in my hometown, where there aren’t even a few people left in a whole village.
2023.9.28 — Sunrise After the Autumn Equinox, a Big Clear Day, a Bright Moon
The weather had turned cold, so at night I climbed into bed early and put the phone down and slept early; before ten I was asleep. I woke at 5:19, thinking today’s sunrise would be about 5:45 — if I got up and dressed, certainly in long pants and long sleeves, and rode out on the bike, there’d be time to see the scene before sunrise. But I felt cold and didn’t want to go out. Getting up to survey the sky: no clouds, but a hazy mist at the horizon; the sunrise would be visible, but there’d be no dawn glow. That only firmed up my resolve not to go out. In autumn and winter the sun rises late, but the mornings are so cool and cold that my resolve to watch the sunrise weakens. I always think, if I had money and bought a high-floor place with a sea view, then couldn’t I watch the sunrise and sunset from home? But I have no money. I really envy the rich. Waiting for sunrise in my current rented place, I saw the sun had moved to a more southerly position; standing at the south window and looking east, it fell exactly in the gap between the two buildings ahead, but I couldn’t see the sea, only the fields in the distance — the morning mist shrouding sparse trees and weeds, the orange-yellow morning sun rising all alone, tinting the sky above it pale yellow, like an ink-wash painting below and an oil painting above. To be able to observe a sight like this, to know the position of the sunrise, is enough to satisfy me.
I hadn’t gone out at all yesterday, so in the morning I was eager to go out; the weather was fine, the sun bright, and you could see blue sky rather than a gray one — I simply had to go for a wander. I rode my bike to the front of Menghuan Wangguo. Menghuan Wangguo, as I’ve surely said many times, is an abandoned amusement park at Silver Beach; it’s said it ran only a year before being forced to close, and it’s never reopened since; the rides inside are going mottled and rotten, and the Ferris wheel has been taken over by magpies for their nests; to go in and explore you have to climb over the railing. Abandoned as it is, it still counts as a sight, a photo spot — quite good for pictures, especially by the sea, when the sun sets: there’s the Ferris wheel, the giant yellow duck, and the Oyster Mountain; the backdrop is very beautiful. I rode a circle around Menghuan Wangguo; inside the belly of the giant yellow duck four or five old men were practicing instruments — one playing the erhu, one the saxophone; I couldn’t tell good from bad, but they all seemed quite at leisure, their old age richly spent. On the other side a large crowd of old people were practicing chorus.
The weather was really too good; at noon I came back, cooked and ate, slept an hour — and it was only two, so I had to go out again. Such fine weather absolutely must not be wasted. I rode west and west, past the Baishatan River, to the warship 103, to Chaoxi Lake. The sky was so blue, the sea so blue-green; looking out, the world was vast, the spirit clear. Some old fellows were swimming in the sea — far more capable than the young, strong of body and hale of spirit, tanned black as chocolate. One old fellow was catching fish at the water’s edge — surely a mudskipper, very hard to catch, so he hadn’t caught it, but his movements were hilarious, irresistible. By Chaoxi Lake some people were fishing; there were few on the lakeside fitness path, so I could ride however I liked; when tired I sat a while on the grass under the trees, and if the grass tips hadn’t been so prickly I’d have lain down, closed my eyes, and had a nap.
At 5:44 in the evening I stood at the balcony window looking east, and was delighted to find the moon had risen — only a hair short of full, almost full. It wasn’t dark yet, the sun had just gone down, there was only a dim yellow in the west, the east was still bright, and the moon hung at the horizon, risen only about ten degrees; it was like a jade plate, yet the shadows on it were perfectly clear; it carried a hint of soft yellow, not cold-looking; it was so big, as if very close to the earth; it rose bit by bit — use the buildings ahead as a reference and you can tell it’s moving; the sky grew darker and darker, and the moon brighter and brighter. “So let us wish that man will live long as he can; though miles apart, we’ll share the beauty she displays.” Last year at Mid-Autumn I wasn’t yet at Silver Beach; now I’ve been here alone nearly a year.
2023.9.29 — Mid-Autumn, Market Day
Time off has nothing to do with me, because every day is a holiday for me. Last night I went to bed at eight and put the phone down at nine and slept. So I woke at 5:11. Since I was up so early and had rested enough, with no sleepiness at all, I might as well get up and go watch the sunrise. There were some clouds, but it was hard to judge their thickness. I thought, clouds are better — maybe there’ll be a dawn glow. I rode out; today happened to be the fifteenth, and in this area the market, the Xiaotan market, opens on days that are multiples of five and ten; at only 5:30 the farmers and vendors setting up stalls were already arranging them. It was my first time up this early, and it happened to be a market day, so I saw them starting work. Earning money is truly hard — up in the dark; young people can’t get up this early, and even those who work in the city, the wage earners, don’t have to be up this early. Of course, everyone has their own hardship — only I have none.
I wore a jacket when I went out, thinking it would be cold, but it wasn’t cold at all; on the road and at the shore I saw several people in just short sleeves, and after riding a while I felt a bit warm myself — really not cold. A few people were at the shore waiting for the sunrise too, standing on the ebb-tide beach; some seawater still lingered on the beach, but you could walk down in shoes without trouble. The clouds were really a bit thick; when the sun rose above the horizon you could see a smear of yellow-red on the eastern skyline (I never know how to describe that color), and that spot happened to be right where water meets land, so that smear of color made you wonder whether it was the light of some lamps on land. The color lasted only a minute or two and was gone. I waited another ten minutes, and in the end saw no sky full of red glow. Passing the market again on the way back, the vendors and the market-goers had grown more numerous; the vendors greeted one another, looking full of cheer.
I rode the bike back, rested a little, and at 8:30 went out to the market again. By now the market crowd must have peaked — not like the early morning with only a few; because it was a holiday to celebrate, the market was plainly much more crowded than last time, extremely crowded. You could see quite a few young people too, and some parents with children. One old woman said she’d thought everyone had left, and hadn’t expected so many people. I thought, it’s probably only because of the holiday; once the holiday is over the crowds will drop sharply. Eggs were still RMB 7.5 a jin; I bought fifteen. Figs had gone up again — some at RMB 8, some at 10, and they looked very nice, not split; many people were buying them; the “sugar bun” figs really are delicious. There’s still a difference between Golden Marshal and Cream Fuji: Golden Marshal is much smaller, Cream Fuji especially big. I picked four very large Cream Fujis, RMB 6 a jin — those four came to RMB 20. So expensive!
At noon the sun came out a while and I was rather pleased, hoping the afternoon and evening would be clear too — but it quickly clouded over again, the cloud layer thick, and the Mid-Autumn moon was fated to be invisible. The moon is full only twelve times a year; with overcast days and rain and snow, if you can see six full moons in a year I’d count that very lucky. In the north it’s all right — clear days are the norm. In the south it’s often overcast and rainy, so you see the full moon even fewer times. Today I couldn’t see the full moon either, couldn’t “share the beauty she displays” across the miles. Luckily I saw it yesterday, and I hope to see it tomorrow.
2023.9.30 — September Ends; Sunset, Moonrise, Autumn Growing Colder
Waking in the morning I heard firecrackers going off in many places — the people of Shandong really do love their firecrackers. Last night many people set them off too; the fireworks were quite pretty, but the bangs were a bit noisy. Noisy as it is, I don’t oppose it. In a big city you’d like to set them off and can’t. I remember last New Year’s Eve, in this ghost town of Rushan Silver Beach, the crackle of firecrackers rose and fell too, and it made you realize that even the most out-of-the-way place is lived in. Firecrackers mean a festival — people have to rest, people have to have something to be happy about.
Without question, the National Day–Mid-Autumn holiday brought many more people to the shore, a big jump over before the holiday. At the shore you could see plenty of parents bringing their children to play; the little ones were all adorable, innocent and lively, the family playing together — a very warm scene. One I can’t experience. There were young couples too, the girls in dresses, very pretty, the boyfriends photographing them — a very sweet scene. Also one I can’t experience. This should be the last peak of the year; from now on the people here will grow fewer and fewer.
At the shore I watched the sunset and its glow: the setting sun golden, the sunlight spread on the sea shimmering; a wave came in and it was the leaping gold again, very gentle; there wasn’t much sunset glow, only a few clouds, so no sky full of red — only some soft afterlight. When the sun went down I waited at the shore for the moon to rise. I’d thought the moon would rise from the sea, but to my surprise I waited a long time and didn’t see it come up. By then it was dark, and I’d stood in the water nearly an hour with the wind on me, very cold. I found it very strange: why doesn’t the moon rise from the sea? Cold, I had to come ashore and put my shoes on. Looking up to the east, I found the moon had already risen from the land. The moon was due east and a little north, above the pine grove by the shore. Only then did I realize the moon had moved much farther north than last month. I’d thought the moon, like the sun, must have moved south. I’d miscalculated. I know the sun’s path very well, but I don’t know the moon’s. The just-risen moon was pale yellow, very big, casting a soft light. But I felt cold, I was only in short sleeves. The night was growing colder. I had to go back; I couldn’t take it. On the way home I rode north; there were few people on the road; to my east lay fields, wilderness, and the moon was right above the wilderness — I had only to look east and I’d see the huge moon. The moon is lonely, and silent.
Let me close with Hai Zi’s “September” — “riding alone across the grassland”; I live alone by the sea, watching the sun set and the moon rise.
Wildflowers spread across the grassland where we witnessed the death of the gods;
The wind far in the distance is farther than the distance;
My lute sobs, and there are no tears left;
I return this distance’s distance to the grassland;
One is called Wood, one is called Horsehair;
My lute sobs, and there are no tears left;
Only in death does the distance gather into a field of wildflowers;
The bright moon like a mirror hangs high over the grassland, reflecting a thousand years;
My lute sobs, and there are no tears left;
Riding alone across the grassland.