“In the seventh month the Fire Star sinks low; in the ninth month, hand out the clothes. In the days of the first month the wind blows biting cold; in the days of the second month it is shivering cold. With no clothes, no coarse cloth, how shall we last the year? In the days of the third month we take up the plough; in the days of the fourth month we lift our feet to the field. With my wife and children, I carry food to the southern acres, and the field overseer is glad.” — the Book of Songs, “The Seventh Month”
2023.10.11 — Fewer and Fewer People, Very Quiet
I hear there were quite a lot of people over the National Day holiday. But when I rode my bike to the shore at noon today, there were no people and no cars on the road, and at the shore there wasn’t a soul on the beach — only many gulls resting at the water’s edge; very quiet, very comfortable, just the state I like. I like few people. The leaves along the road have begun turning yellow, and many have fallen. Today’s weather is 12 to 24 degrees, a very pleasant range — short sleeves are fine at noon, but by evening it turns a bit cool, and the old people on the road are all bundled up thick.
After ten days away, I opened the fridge and found three carrots inside had sprouted. I didn’t know what dish to make with carrots, so I took them all out, put them in a plastic bottle with a little water, and watched them sprout. Back home, I have to check Silver Beach’s weather forecast again — though the weather at Silver Beach is always good, and it’s the loveliest season of the year besides, mostly clear days. I also check the sunrise and sunset times: today’s sunrise was at 5:57 and sunset at 17:24. The sunrise comes later each day, the sunset earlier each day. I check the lunar date too, not the day of the week; today is the twenty-seventh of the eighth lunar month, three days to the market. As for the tide: high tide at 12:17, 313 centimeters — not a spring tide. By five or six in the evening it’s dark, and the compound is very quiet; all you can hear is the faint chirring of insects — and in a while, the insects will stop too.
2023.10.12 — Rest
I hadn’t gone out all day, and had slept a long time in the afternoon. By six in the evening it was already dark, but I decided to go out for a walk anyway — staying in all day is never good. Only I was genuinely rather tired, maybe from ten days of running about, maybe from catching Covid. I rode first to the Yinlong Bay night market: though there were far fewer people, it was still lively enough, and you could buy a lot. Then I rode to Damuzhi Plaza: the barbecue night market on the west side of the plaza had shut down entirely, all the equipment cleared away, leaving an emptiness. There were very few people on the beach — a clear view with nothing in the way, and no clamor. Only below Damuzhi plenty of old people were still doing square dancing, one cluster here, one there; I hope they leave soon too — I hear it’ll be especially quiet by the end of October. The night wasn’t very cold either; in my jacket, after riding a while I felt a bit warm. On the dark beach there were twinkling lights — people foraging the shallows. There weren’t many vehicles on the road either; come winter you could careen about on the road and not even look at the traffic lights.
Because it wasn’t market day yet, all the vegetables in my fridge were gone, leaving only a few potatoes and a few eggs. At noon I ate steamed egg with plain rice. At night I ate noodles with an egg in them. Finding it bland, I tore open a packet of Fuling pickled mustard. I don’t think my life is at all bleak — I like this plain, simple life. People don’t need too many desires; they’re a sin. Oh, yes — I’ve put on the thick quilt, the one for winter. Sleeping at night is still a bit chilly; it’s only 12 degrees.
2023.10.13 — The Autumn Sea Is So Beautiful
The neighbors on my floor moved out while I was in Xinjiang; their balcony was left very tidy, just as when I came last year — they only come for the summer holidays. Now that they’ve gone, I can sprawl on my balcony and sun myself without a care; before I’d worried about being seen and felt embarrassed. The sun has moved farther off-axis, so more sunlight comes onto the balcony, and the sunlight entering the bedroom can reach the quilt too. That’s the advantage of the north — you get sun often, unlike the south, where it’s always cloudy and rainy. I went to the north bedroom and looked outside — the swallows must all have flown away. Downstairs in the pavilion two old people were chatting; one asked the other, are you staying here for the winter? Not here. Then when are you leaving? Tomorrow. What? Leaving tomorrow.
After lunch I went out on my bike to see the sea, as a digestive stroll too. The seaside in autumn is simply wonderful: the seawater is green, like turquoise — just like the green of Baisha Lake and Karakul Lake I saw in Xinjiang — so beautiful, so clean, so clear, and very calm; the sky is blue, a shade different from the water; the beach is yellow, flat and clean because no tourists trample it or drop litter, and covered with the little sand balls the sand bubbler crabs roll up; near the embankment there’s some grass, turning yellow and growing sparse; the trees on shore are all pines, green the year round, pinecones fallen everywhere. The sea breeze blows gently, cool and pleasant, so the waves are small too, only rising and falling slightly, giving a murmuring sound like a flowing spring.
2023.10.14 — The Thirtieth of the Lunar Month, Market Day
The weather grows colder and colder, and I wake later and later — I used to wake at five or six, now not until seven or eight, and in winter I might sleep till ten. That’s another advantage of not working: not working, you can sleep as late as you like. Today is October 14, the thirtieth of the eighth lunar month; tomorrow it’s the ninth month. The Book of Songs says, in the ninth month, hand out the clothes. The Xiaotan market opens on every multiple of five, so I’ll go to market. After ten days of wandering in Xinjiang I’d missed several market days, and the food in the fridge was finished, so I had to stock up well. Napa cabbage had come down — RMB 1 a jin, a big cabbage RMB 4.4. Some cabbages are white, some green. Cauliflower RMB 2 a jin, a small one RMB 3. Eggs had come down too, RMB 7 a jin — before I set out it was 7.5 — I bought twenty for RMB 16. Salted duck eggs were marked RMB 10 for five, and the owner always said, take six. The owner is missing an arm; he knows me now and greets me, and I chat with him; he said the factory cut its price, so of course he had to cut his too. Potatoes were RMB 5 for three jin; I bought RMB 5.8 of potatoes. I also bought my brunch: an egg pancake for RMB 5, and a sesame ball for RMB 2. A jin of butter sunflower seeds, RMB 14. In Xinjiang, market day is the bazaar, and things are bought by the kilogram, unlike the mainland. Mantis shrimp, for instance, are quoted at RMB 25 for two jin. A new green apple called Wanglin has come in, RMB 3 to 5 a jin. Abalone goes by size, RMB 1 to 6 apiece. There are figs still, RMB 6 a jin, RMB 10 for two jin. Kiwifruit, RMB 5 a jin.
I went out for a stroll at noon, not on the bike but on foot, cutting through the fields beside the compound. As soon as I reached the field edge I saw little purple flowers with yellow centers — clearly a kind of small chrysanthemum, but I didn’t know its proper name, so I looked it up in an app and it showed as cosmos, of the aster family, genus Cosmos, also called garden cosmos. What a lovely name. Farther on was a patch of white reeds; the reeds had bloomed too. And what is the reed’s bloom called, then? Rush flowers. An even lovelier name. The rush flowers of “in maple leaves and rushes autumn seemed to sigh.” By the field edge, climbing onto a broken wall, with deep-purple flowers and deep-purple seed pods, was hyacinth bean — it didn’t look planted, more like wild. It has a lovelier byname too: huolian hyacinth bean. Farther ahead was a patch of sorghum — hard to believe it really was sorghum, that anyone still grows sorghum. Some of the sorghum seeds were green, some already brown, and they’d soon ripen. The other crops in the fields had all been harvested, baring the yellow earth; soybean stalks were drying by the roadside, golden corncobs spread on the concrete platform, and a farmer was watering the field. Next would come the sowing of winter wheat. Both sides of the riverside highway are lined with plane trees, their leaves green fading into yellow, showing an autumn scene.
2023.10.15 — Such a Beautiful Starry Sky
I can’t describe such a beautiful starry sky; every word feels inadequate — brilliant won’t do, bright won’t do, resplendent won’t do either. At eight in the evening the sky was clear, without a wisp of cloud, and many stars were studded across the night sky, some brighter, some dimmer, some alone, some in threes and fives, some to the east, some west, some south, some north; I could never look my fill. The distant starry sky makes you feel very calm, makes you forget every care. I thought again that in a big city such a sight is impossible; thank goodness I left the big city, left the place that blinds the eyes and the heart. The neon and the dazzle, the moneyed indulgence, the sensual pleasures are not what I want; what I want is just this quiet starry sky — let me die beneath this sky and I’d have no complaint.
Today I went out only at noon, riding my bike to Menghuan Wangguo, to Damuzhi Plaza, and to the Rainbow Food Street east of Damuzhi. The leaves along the road turn yellower by the day; there are few cars on the road; Menghuan Wangguo is still locked up, its rides slowly weathering; at Damuzhi some old people were still dancing ballroom dances — their happy old age; the Rainbow Food Street didn’t open over the National Day holiday, so now it’s even less likely to, and will have to wait till next summer; on the ebb-tide beach there were hardly any people — broad and serene.
2023.10.16 — Such a Blue Clear Sky
Last night’s clear starry sky foretold today’s super-blue daytime sky. Getting up I saw a sky so blue you couldn’t help exclaiming — it could wash your eyes, and there wasn’t a wisp of white cloud, because of the strong wind, a force-five north wind. This blue can only be seen with the eyes, not photographed; any photo loses its true essence. The sky is three-dimensional too, layered, extending outward, and it’s like a pot-lid, like a yurt-dome, a half-circle, curved — yet its blue is uniform, like a flat surface painted very evenly, not darker here and lighter there. This blue is the work of the strong wind; without wind it wouldn’t be like this. By the sea there’s plenty of wind. Autumn wind is still pleasant and mild; come winter it turns rather biting. Either way, so long as there’s wind the sky is especially clean, and the warm sunlight can shine straight down. I can sit on the balcony and sun myself. I drew open the bedroom curtains and let the sunlight fall on the blanket to sterilize it — good for the skin. I also took the pillow out to the living-room balcony to air it in the sun, again to sterilize; at night it’ll be very soft to sleep on. Right now the sunlight only reaches half the bed; the other half gets none. I’ll have to wait till the winter solstice, when the sun’s slant is lowest, and then it’ll cover the whole bed.
I went out at four, because today’s high tide was at 4:23, 379 centimeters. I walked to the shore, which takes twenty minutes. I’d thought it would be a bit cool, so I wore a jacket; but after walking outside a while I felt rather warm, and walking into the sunlight it was a bit scorching, so I had to leave the jacket open. Maybe from the cold I caught in Urumqi that never quite cleared up, the sea breeze set my nose running and a little stuffed again. The sea breeze wasn’t strong; there were no waves out on the water, only breakers at the shoreline, making the sound of surf striking the shore. Sunset was at 5:17, an hour before the sun would drop, and the slanting sunlight on the sea was a glare of white that kept you from looking straight at it. Only by waiting another hour could you see the leaping gold. But I meant to head back and wasn’t planning to watch the sunset; there were no clouds at the horizon, and the sunset was much the poorer for it. Passing the Yinlong Bay night market, it too was emptier by the day, though a few vendors and customers remained, all in long sleeves and long pants, not so thin and cool and exuberant as in summer. It was turning cold again; without a jacket you’d surely be shivering. Eggs had actually dropped again, only RMB 6.8. Napa cabbage too, only RMB 0.8 a jin. Two days ago at the market they’d been RMB 7 and RMB 1 respectively. The night market’s prices are cheaper. At Yinlong Bay square no one gathered anymore, and no one did square dancing; they’d all gone, like the afterglow at the horizon — forlorn too.
2023.10.17 — Autumn Chill, Year After Year, Silence
Standing at the window I can see, at the foot of the wall of the building ahead, five or six old people gathered playing cards; they’ve all put on thick clothes and sit on little stools around a folding round table — their daily afternoon pastime. In summer they seldom played, it was too hot outside; now that it’s finally cool they’ll play on until the winter cold, when they can’t stay outside. Last year when I came it was autumn too, and they were playing outside then as well, exactly the same scene — like a cycle, a round. In a few more days it’ll be a full year since I came to Rushan Silver Beach; time passes so fast, like wind and light you can’t grasp.
At night, outside is perfectly silent, as if in a vacuum. This is unimaginable in a big city, and something I’d never experienced. Of course it was as still last year when I came as this year, but I don’t seem to remember feeling it so deeply; this year feels quieter — I know that’s a trick of the mind. First, last year’s memories have grown a little blurred. Second, having been here a year, my feeling for nature has grown keener. That’s surely a good thing; I love quiet too much. Especially when I close my eyes and truly feel it, I feel my whole body and mind relax, as if merging into the universe, drifting in the void.
2023.10.18 — Overcast
After countless clear days and countless blue skies, an overcast day arrived at last. An overcast day has its own sights to offer: having grown tired of blue sky, you need a change of flavor, a different feeling. So long as your mood is good, an overcast day is likewise beautiful, rain is beautiful too, and snow is even better. Still, dampness really is uncomfortable — luckily it isn’t damp here. Only for one month in summer does it rain a lot, with many overcast days, always damp and clammy, and the bed clammy to sleep in. The rest of the time it’s very dry, and comfortable to sleep. So the occasional overcast day is fine. Take in nature’s changes well — the rising wind and gathering clouds, the flow of light and shadow, bright and dark.
Two small things to note. Earlier the carrots had sprouted in the fridge, so I took them out and soaked them in water — and the sprouts died. Only then did I realize that when carrots sprout you can’t put them in water, unlike some other plants. They looked quite dead; I felt a little regretful, so ignorant about plants. I could only pour out the water and see whether they might revive and sprout again. The gear shifter on my bike broke, so it can’t change gears anymore; and it slips by itself into the highest gear, jamming the shifter with a clacking noise. Earlier my front brake pad had already failed, and the back one still works, so I make do. Now it’s less and less usable — only a year old and nearly ready for the scrap heap. Luckily winter is nearly here; when it’s cold I won’t dare ride anyway, so I’ll just go out on foot every day.
2023.10.19 — The Fifth of the Lunar Month: Market Day, the Ebb Tide
Morning was overcast, and market day was uneventful — fewer people every time, almost all of them old, and everywhere you look it’s age and slowness. This is utterly unlike the city, where everyone is young and full of vigor. But browsing the market is still a very meaningful thing to do — far more meaningful than working in a big city. The seafood and the meat, though I don’t eat them, are good to look at. There are lots of crabs, and cheap too. And the vegetables and fruit, the farmer-vendors, the market-goers — they all deserve attention. In the end I bought five apples for RMB 13, the RMB 5 a jin kind — there are many kinds of apples at different prices; eight green peppers for RMB 3, RMB 2 a jin; a jin of five-spice peanuts for RMB 13, as a snack; and my brunch: an egg pancake RMB 5, a sesame ball RMB 2.
Back from the market around ten, the sky cleared again and showed blue — truly fine weather. The morning tide was out; low tide at 11:53, 80 centimeters. I decided to go and see the beach after the ebb. I reached the shore about 11:30. I’d thought it would be cool outside so I’d put on a jacket, but at the shore it was rather hot and sunny, so I took the jacket off and carried it. The seawater had receded far, exposing a great stretch of wet beach; this beach is all flat sand. Very few people were foraging the shallows — in this season there are no razor clams to dig, and there’s little else to find; only in winter, at the spring tides, is there a great crowd of foragers. There were many gulls at the water’s edge; with no tourists now they’ve grown bolder, resting at the water or pecking at crabs. On the ground lay many dead crabs, or the empty shells of crabs’ broken legs. An empty, silent beach is so relaxing.
2023.10.20 — Big Wind, Watching the Sunset
Today there was a force-six north wind again. In the morning there were still some white clouds, like cotton candy, driven scurrying by the wind. By afternoon the sky was like a bright mirror, clear and limpid, blue enough to wash your eyes again. The wind was still strong; some of the old people on the road had even put on down jackets. Sunset was at 17:12, high tide at 19:05. I went out at four, crossed the open fields, and came to the shore; the tide was just coming in then, a great stretch of beach lay bare, and the water was advancing bit by bit. I remember when I first came to Silver Beach I went out to watch the sunset almost every day, and described how the sunset and its afterglow changed. A year has passed and I still love the sun. Today’s Friday and tomorrow’s the weekend, and a few tourists seemed to have come again; several young people were taking photos at the shore — pretty girls, bare-legged, truly unafraid of the cold. Standing at the shore a while I felt cold. But watching the sun go down, the horizon showing beautiful colors, the sea gently heaving, the sea breeze blowing both gentle and cold, I felt very calm. What is happier than watching a sunset?
The sixth of the lunar month, still a new moon; by four in the afternoon you could see it in the southern sky. Walking to the shore, it hung above the sea, alone. At night the sky was full of stars again, but it was cold outside, only 7 degrees. Indoors it was comfortable though, 18 degrees. The forecast shows eight or nine straight days of big clear days, the daily high over 20 degrees, even 24 or 25. That’s why I love the north — mostly clear days. Think of the south and it’s only rain and damp; I’ve got a phobia about the south now. And autumn in the north is especially lovely. You could say October at Rushan Silver Beach is the loveliest month of the year.
2023.10.21 — Still a Big Clear Day
As yesterday, I went out at four, crossed the open fields to the shore, and watched the sunset again. But today there were some thin clouds at the horizon, blurring the sun’s outline into a haze. Still it was beautiful. Today’s wind was less than yesterday’s, and the temperature a bit higher. Being the weekend, there were more people on the beach than usual; people look very small on the beach. I watched the sunset a while, watched the gentle orange, watched the leaping gold on the sea, felt the wind a while, and when the sun had fully set I turned back. Today I didn’t want to cook, so I went to a Lanzhou noodle place and ate a dry-mixed beef noodle, utterly unlike Xinjiang’s, RMB 15. And at night I don’t need to shower every day now; I boil water, wash my face, and soak my feet — soaking my feet is such a pleasure. Once washed, I can lie in bed. Though I’ve put on the thick winter quilt, sleeping naked is still a bit warm; especially before falling asleep I toss and turn for a while, sometimes throwing off the quilt to cool down — but once asleep I won’t be woken by the heat. The night sky is still full of stars.
2023.10.22 — Cosmos, Bees, the Ebb-Tide Beach, Autumn Bathing
My breakfast was an apple. Shandong apples are so good. After the apple I went out for a stroll. I fixed my bike myself — it rides again — and riding is much quicker, letting me go farther. In the little plaza beside Menghuan Wangguo there’s a big flowerbed filled with cosmos — red, pink, white, purple, dense and lovely. Many old people stopped to take photos, and some walked into the flowerbed to shoot. I watched by the flowerbed too, and saw several especially big bees collecting nectar — so big they were like hummingbirds; astonishing, making you open your eyes wide to tell — for a moment you couldn’t say whether it was a bee or a little bird.
Today the tide was out from 7:30 in the morning to three in the afternoon; a great stretch of wetland lay exposed on the beach, and some people were strolling by the shore. Being the weekend, there were more people than usual — many parents with children, and some walking little dogs. In the morning the sea was a shimmer of silver, like a sheet of silver, with small boats drifting in the silver light. Standing on the bank looking at the people on the beach, because they were backlit they looked like a series of silhouettes, very vivid and interesting. I rode along the coastline from Menghuan Wangguo to Damuzhi Plaza, then to the park east of Damuzhi. The park is beautifully built, with the Rainbow Food Street and a children’s playground; the playground keeps little rabbits and peacocks, and there are slides, and many children were playing happily. Not far off is an RV camp, with water and power — I hear it costs only RMB 5 a day. The weather today was truly fine: bright sunshine, a blue sky with no white clouds, fresh air, the waves gently lapping.
Let me say something about bathing in autumn. When it turns cold you don’t need to bathe daily — once every two or three days. In summer I’d dare take cold showers, no need to heat water; now I certainly can’t. In winter it’ll be once a week. Heating water in the water heater is too slow, so I use the electric kettle: boil water, pour some cold water into the washbasin first, then add hot to mix it warm, wet the face towel, and wipe down my body. Yes — just like bathing back in high school. It’s quicker and more economical than the water heater, saving both water and electricity — a little paragon of thrift. I can also wash my hair with the hot water in the basin, without using the showerhead. Shaving my head would be even simpler — only a shaved head gets very cold in winter. Better keep my hair. My hairline hasn’t receded any further, though it had already receded a long way back in Beijing. And there’s a lot of gray hair.
2023.10.23 — The Old People Say Goodbye; One Year Since Escaping Beijing
After eating an apple in the morning I went out on the bike again, riding west all the way to Chaoxi Lake, where I made a circuit, then on to the Baishatan River, and from the riverbank onto Yinjin Avenue and back — a big loop around the west. There was some mist; the sky wasn’t very blue, the sun was dim, the sunlight not fierce, and there was little wind; but the seawater was still very clear. The autumn sea really is the loveliest. A few scattered old people were fishing at the shore, sitting or standing, motionless for ages — anglers are so patient. At the place with the big red ball (a sculpture) a group of old people had gathered, saying goodbye to one another. Goodbye, goodbye. What time’s your flight? Three in the afternoon. Come earlier next year — see you next year. People were fishing by Chaoxi Lake too, and by the Baishatan River; the river is thick with reeds, and these reeds will soon wither, welcoming many coots.
On the morning of October 23 last year, I checked out of my place, shouldered a backpack, wheeled a suitcase, and went to Beijing South Station to take the high-speed rail. Back then pandemic controls were still very strict — masks, nucleic acid tests, a great deal of bother — and there weren’t many people at the station; passenger numbers were poor. I rode the high-speed rail four or five hours and reached Weihai around six or seven, where the station required the travel-code and health-code checks and another nucleic acid test. Once cleared, I took a taxi to a guesthouse, put down my luggage, took a hot shower — and downstairs was the sea. I walked to the shore. It was already dark; there were few people on the beach; the sea wind was strong and the waves were big, booming, the seawater breaking on the shore in sheets of white foam — quite spectacular. At last I’d come to the seaside and seen the sea. I was liberated. I was free.
2023.10.24 — The Tenth of the Lunar Month: Frost’s Descent, Market Day, Gulls and Sunset
I always feel time passing faster and faster, and I don’t know why. I’d only just done the last market day, and hardly eaten any of what I bought, and here’s another one. The market is clearly once every five days, yet those five days go by too fast. I suppose it’s because I eat too little and don’t like to cook, so I stir-fry less often — I’ve barely cooked a few times before it’s time to buy vegetables again. These days I usually just cook rice, steam an egg in the rice pot, and eat it with a can of dace in black beans — lunch done. And dinner is simpler still: noodles — instant or dried. I eat too simply, too little. Time flows on like water, bland yet full, and passes in the blink of an eye. That’s the only way I can account for it. Anyway, the two market days feel closer and closer together. I bought only napa cabbage, eggs, and cauliflower. In fact the last cabbage wasn’t finished; I found the fridge temperature seemed to be room temperature, so I turned the setting up, and the cabbage froze and spoiled, so I had to throw it out and buy a new big cabbage — RMB 0.8 a jin, RMB 4.6. Free-range eggs were RMB 7 a jin at several stalls, and only one had them at RMB 6.5; I bought the cheaper ones, though they seemed a bit smaller. Cauliflower was RMB 1.5 a jin, a small one RMB 3.4. I most enjoy wandering the seafood area, but every time I only look, never buy. And it occurs to me again: maybe because the autumn equinox has passed and the daylight grows shorter, I feel time passing too fast.
I went out at four to watch the sunset, not on the bike but on foot again, crossing the barren fields; there were fewer and fewer people and vehicles on the street, quieter and quieter. There were only a few people at the shore, but today was exceptionally comfortable — the daytime high reached 24 degrees, and the wind was light, gentle and warm. Though there was no sunset glow and some hazy mist at the horizon, I saw many gulls wheeling above the sea: “A solitary wild duck flies alongside the multicolored sunset clouds, and the autumn water is merged with the boundless sky into one hue.” The sky was yellow, was orange, shifting as the sun sank — serene and graceful. I strolled on the wetland by the shore; on the broad beach there were only two or three people, and five or six gulls. I felt especially free. “Nothing can hold you back, your longing for freedom; a life roaming the sky, your heart without a care.”
2023.10.25 — Mist, Magpies
Today’s sunrise was at 6:10 and sunset at 17:06. I woke at 5:40, before the sun was up. I glanced out the window: mist. The fields in the distance lay in a thin white, trees in uneven ranks, utility poles in a forest, and farthest off a row of buildings, all in a blur — quiet, stalled — while the sky was a faint yellow that would grow brighter. Not long after getting up I went out, cutting along the country path, meaning to see the white mist over the fields; but as the sun rose the mist turned a hazy gray. Today would be autumn’s last spell of heat, reaching 26 degrees. I went out in a jacket, and before I’d gone far I felt rather warm, so I took it off and carried it. In the pool at the mouth of the Xiaotan River there were many fish, swimming about in shoals, now and then flashing a white belly. An old man had set three fishing rods on the riverbank. Sunlight fell on the river’s surface, shimmering silver under the stirring breeze. In the flowerbed beside Menghuan Wangguo an old man had set up a reflector and sat among the flowers photographing cosmos, bees, and butterflies.
Because it was misty and gray, the sunset wasn’t especially pretty either. I’d gone out for a stroll in the morning, so in the evening I didn’t want to go out again. Standing at the window watching the old people below playing cards against the foot of the wall — these are surely the ones staying here for the winter. Some never leave all year, and their windows are lit all year too. People grow fewer by the day; in the morning I even saw some old people on the road with suitcases, standing by the roadside waiting for a car — they must be leaving for home. Young people who are socially anxious or fond of quiet would be beside themselves with joy; to them, a ghost town in winter is paradise. And the magpies don’t leave either — they’re not migratory birds — chattering outside my window.
2023.10.26 — A Year at Silver Beach; Watching the Sunset Again
I came to Rushan Silver Beach last October 26. I still remember many things from that day: early in the morning I went for a nucleic acid test, then to the Weihai bus station, took the bus to Silver Beach, contacted the agent, went into the apartment, signed the contract — and I’d put down roots here. It all feels like yesterday. A year has flown by like an arrow; when I was working, days dragged like years, and now years pass like days. I’ll write a separate piece, “One Year in Rushan,” to sum up the past half year of life and feeling (I wrote “Half a Year in Rushan” before).
Morning and noon were all hazy mist; the sky wasn’t so blue, the sunlight not so bright. But at three in the afternoon the wind got up, the mist dispersed, and the sky turned clear. I walked to the shore; at first I didn’t feel cold, but livestreaming on the beach and watching the sunset, after half an hour I gradually felt cold. The setting sun happened to go down right behind Mount Darushan, and I filmed the whole process. The sky after the sun went down was actually lovelier, because that orange was so gentle; the beach was black, and in the self-portrait I took, I too was black, with the wonderful afterglow overhead and the distant sea a mirror.
I stayed at the shore an hour or two, and the wind made me colder still — my hands went a bit numb, and my nose ran. I hadn’t expected it to be so cold. On this day last year I came to Silver Beach, and I don’t remember it being so cold; it’s all the wind — without wind it’s comfortable. When I first came I had no quilt or bedding, only a blanket, so I couldn’t sleep in the bed and had to sleep on the sofa, wrapped in the blanket, for six or seven nights until the delivery arrived. On a day this cold I need to go home, wash my face in hot water, soak my feet in hot water, eat a hot meal, and then burrow into the warm quilt and dream sweet dreams.
2023.10.27 — Autumn Sunlight
Just as when I first came to Rushan Silver Beach last year, sunlight came into the room, fell on the balcony, fell on the bed in the bedroom, making the whole place bright and luminous. This is a scene I could never see in Beijing. Because in Beijing I couldn’t afford a good, big apartment, and never saw the sun all year — sunlight couldn’t get in. The place I rented for the first four years was only a few square meters, and it faced north. The place I rented for the next three years was only in the thirties of square meters, and its balcony faced east, not south (everyone knows south-facing is best); though it faced east and was bright in the morning, opposite was a row of towers blocking the sun. Those are the conditions of survival in Beijing: you can’t see the sun, can’t see the light, can’t see the future, can’t see the meaning of being alive. Living, a person must see plenty of sun, bask in it often, live in a broad place where the eye can see far; a person should be open and uncoiled, not compressed and oppressed, never seeing the sun, living in a dark, cramped little apartment.
Today’s sunrise was at 6:12 and sunset at 17:03. Lately I’ve been waking especially early, almost always around 5:48, before the sun is up; if I went out to watch the sunrise there’d still be time. But I feel the mornings have turned a bit cool, the temperature below 10 degrees, and I truly lack the courage to get up and go to the shore for the sunrise. As for the sunset, I didn’t go out this evening either. I saw it yesterday, and today’s weather is much like yesterday’s, so the sunset should be much the same. Standing at the balcony window, looking west there’s a dim yellow afterglow; looking east the moon has risen, very big — it’s only the thirteenth of the lunar month and already so round. I stood at the window, looking a while west and a while east, my mind calm as water.
2023.10.28 — Rushan’s High-Speed Rail Not Yet Open; Few Desires
There was much talk that Rushan South Station would open on October 26, but it didn’t come to pass as everyone hoped. For the people of Silver Beach, opening the high-speed rail would make travel vastly more convenient. More people would probably come to Silver Beach, and property prices there might rise somewhat in the short term. But judging by the situation, it’ll be at least another month before it opens — that is, December. I hope December brings it. With the high-speed rail, getting to Qingdao, Jinan, Beijing, Shanghai, and Xi’an would all be much easier; it’s just that the fares are too expensive, and I don’t know whether I could afford to ride. I once saw a video about how uncomfortable long-distance hard seats are — who on earth rides them, why they choose such long rides on hard seats. It comes down to having no money, or wanting to save money, just like our parents, thrifty in every way.
Lately my cooking has grown simpler and simpler. Not wanting to stir-fry, I just cook rice, steam an egg in it, and eat it with a can of dace in black beans — lunch solved. Dinner is usually noodles; I now have three kinds — dried noodles, bagged instant noodles, and cup noodles — and rotate among them. Cup noodles need no vegetables; the dried and instant ones get an egg or two and some cabbage leaves. If I do stir-fry, I’ll also cook extra rice and fry extra dishes — one meal at noon, and plenty left over for dinner. I remember the first days after coming to Silver Beach, when I had no vegetables to eat, I just ate plain white rice with a few drops of soy sauce in it. How plain. Sometimes I think, a person doesn’t need to eat much anyway, especially when you’re not working and burning little energy. Eating well, drinking well, dressing well, living well — nowadays that’s not to satisfy hunger but a craving on the spiritual plane, a bigger desire. I think, eating as simply as I do, with so few desires, when I’m old, seventy or eighty, I’ll still be able to feed myself without anyone’s help.
2023.10.29 — Sunrise, Market Day, Spring Tide, Sunset
Sunrise was at 6:14 and sunset at 17:01; the morning temperature was 8 degrees. I set the alarm for 5:30, couldn’t get up, slept ten minutes more, and only then rose. Last night I went to bed at seven, lay down at eight, still awake at nine, and fell asleep around ten. To get up for the sunrise you have to prepare in advance — sleep early at night, wake early in the morning. And after waking you need a toilet trip, or going out into the cold will chill your belly and give you diarrhea, and diarrhea outdoors is no fun at all. Once, watching the sunrise, I got diarrhea and had to hurry into a little grove — with no toilet paper, I picked up a few dry leaves and wiped. You also have to charge the phone, charge the bike camera, and bring the tripod. Now that it’s cold you dress warmer and put on a hat; you wheel the bike out, carry it down four flights of stairs, switch on the camera, and ride to the shore.
Today is the fifteenth of the lunar month, and the Xiaotan market opens on every multiple of five; before six there were already many farmers setting up stalls, spreading out their vegetables. Farming is truly hard — harder than working in a big city. Otherwise why would everyone give up farming and go out to work? I deliberately walked right through the middle of the market, because my camera was on and I could record these farmers setting up their stalls. In the morning there was some mist, the horizon hazy; the lower parts of many tall buildings were hidden, with only the tops visible, like castles in the air. There was mist on the road too, so you couldn’t see far. But who knows how long mist will last — the moment the sun comes out it disperses. On the road I passed through a patch of mist; looking back, it was already invisible. Many things in the world are like this, like morning mist and morning dew.
There were a few scattered people at the shore, all old people up early to exercise — impressive, unlike me, who takes such effort to rise early. But a few had also come out to watch the sunrise, with cameras over their shoulders or phones in hand. Today’s sunrise was quite ordinary, though. Here it’s hard to see a beautiful dawn glow, because clouds can’t gather; the wind scatters them. To see a sky full of red glow is a very rare chance. The same goes for the evening glow — hard to see. There’s only the bare sun rising, or setting. But for me, being able to get up and watch the sunrise is a great victory in itself. The sun doesn’t rise from the sea horizon; there’s always a thin mist at the horizon settled on the sea, so the sun emerges a bit above the sea line. When its upper half first shows, it’s red, then grows bigger and redder; when its lower half shows, the upper half starts turning yellow, pressing down on the red below, red growing less and yellow more, until it looks like an egg yolk. A streak of red falls across the sea. The sky grows brighter and brighter. The higher the sun climbs the more ordinary it becomes, and the watchers lose interest.
Riding back I saw many more stalls at the market; the vendors were setting out their goods, but there were still few buyers. I rode home, carried the bike upstairs, rested a long while at home, and went out again. There was plenty of food in the fridge; I had very little to buy — I really do eat too little and burn it too slowly. But going to market you must bring back something; in the end I bought green peppers at RMB 2.5 a jin, eggs at RMB 6.5 a jin, five-spice peanuts at RMB 13 a jin, and tomatoes at RMB 10 for four jin. Many apples were in — I finally saw cream Fuji, at RMB 5 or 6 a jin, and Golden Venus, at RMB 8 a jin; Red Fuji and other kinds were cheaper. Out-of-towners know only Red Fuji and have no idea Shandong has so many kinds of apples — just as out-of-towners don’t know Turpan has many kinds of grapes. And anything tastes different once it leaves home; the local kind is best. In the seafood area there were far fewer big crabs — past their season, I suppose — but there were still small crabs, RMB 10 or 15 a basin. One fisherman was selling tuna, enormous, two or three meters long, its tail cut off to show red flesh, at RMB 25 a jin. The owner said, wherever you want it cut, I’ll cut there. Many people were photographing, few buying. An old woman said, we wouldn’t even know how to eat it.
The fifteenth of the lunar month, still a spring tide; high tide at 15:35, 398 centimeters. I went out just after three to watch the tide. The weather was clear, the wind light, the waves small; the temperature lately has been rather high, over 20 degrees, and some old people were already out strolling by the sea. I rode to a spot with few people and stood at the water’s edge looking at the sea — so clear you could see the bottom, the water quality excellent; unlike in summer, when there are many people and the water isn’t clean, whereas in autumn and winter with few people the water is especially clean. You see, so long as there are few people, everywhere is clean. I waited until nearly five, when I could watch the sunset. Sunset and sunrise are reverse processes — I saw both a sunrise and a sunset in a single day. The sun began as an egg yolk; as it sank its lower half turned red, then the whole of it turned red, and it slowly sank into the flat land and vanished bit by bit. I filmed the whole process. The sunset was nothing remarkable, but whoever can see a sunset is fortunate.
Of course there was a full moon today too, but having stayed at the shore so long I was a bit cold and a bit hungry, so I went home early. The moon rose later, and not from the sea horizon but from the land, so I couldn’t see “over the sea grows the moon bright.” I could only watch, from the balcony at home, the white-jade moon, with a bright star beside it — Venus, surely. “Men today do not see the moon of old; but this moon once shone on men of old.” The moon lit up the outdoors bright, and shed a clear radiance over the balcony too.
2023.10.30 — High Heat
This week the temperature has been especially high, breaking historical records — they say autumn has never been this hot before. Sleeping at night under the thick quilt is uncomfortably warm, sweating and stifling; I keep having to throw the quilt off to let in some air, let the cool air in. The experts say it’s the El Niño phenomenon acting up. But it’ll soon turn cool after this, turn cold. I hope it won’t be too hot; autumn ought to look like autumn. Going out in a jacket, after walking a while outside you have to take it off. Some people are still in short sleeves, and some still go barefoot into the sea to wade. Today’s wind isn’t strong, but the waves are big, because the south wind pushes them shoreward, with a booming sound. I like big winds and big waves — very spectacular. Of course, for fishermen it may not be a good thing. The sunset isn’t very clear either; there’s some thin mist at the horizon, no clouds, no sunset glow; the sun drops bare, and the sky darkens.
2023.10.31 — What Happiness Really Is
“Riches and honors are what men desire” — there’s no one who doesn’t want a better life, a grander house, tastier food, prettier clothes, a newer car, a smarter phone, a broader freedom. But “if they cannot be obtained in the proper way, they should not be held.” If I want to go farther, to travel the world and tour the cosmos, I’d need to be able to ride more advanced transport; but flying certainly costs more than a hard-seat train — the plane is comfortable, the hard seat miserable; the plane is fast, the hard seat slow. I could also cycle to Lhasa, but I’d have to buy a durable bicycle and a tent to shelter from wind and rain, and eat and drink on the way. I could even walk to Lhasa, or prostrate myself the whole way, but it would take far more time, and the cost would certainly exceed a plane ticket. So which is happier? Each has its own happiness; happiness knows no ranks, no high or low. Whatever capacity you have, enjoy the happiness that goes with it; there’s no need to compare — the competitive spirit makes one unhappy, and happiness is not comparing. It’s not that we can only stay at one kind of happiness; when we have the means, we can go and experience other kinds. Foreigners say, the best things in life are free. Su Shi said too, “Now, between heaven and earth, each thing has its owner; if a thing is not mine, then though it be no more than a hair, I must not take it. Only the clear breeze on the river and the bright moon among the hills — what the ear takes in becomes sound, what the eye meets becomes color — may be taken without prohibition and used without ever being exhausted. These are the Creator’s inexhaustible store, and what you and I may share together.” Here I stay in little Silver Beach, digging and digging on a little beach, looking at a little sea and a little sky, feeling the wind in a little wild open, listening to little birds and little insects singing — and I, little me between heaven and earth, am very happy too.
The seventeenth of the lunar month, still a spring tide; low tide at 10:54, 37 centimeters — the water had gone out very far. I went out at 8:30; my breakfast was a tomato. The weather was fine, a force-four south wind, 14 to 24 degrees — very high for late autumn. But I still wore a jacket; at the shore the wind makes you feel cold. Some people were already foraging the shallows, and the water had receded far and was still receding; quite a few gulls rested at the water’s edge feeding. The foragers all brought tools — shovels and spikes and buckets — while I came empty-handed, only watching. There are still fewer foragers in autumn than in winter; the winter scene is livelier and you can dig up more seafood. Even without digging, just walking at the water’s edge, in winter you can see many crabs and clams, but in autumn fewer; I saw only one crab, and found a few little clams on the surface of the sand. The foragers didn’t seem to have much of a haul either. The beach after the ebb is very flat and open, with a very gentle slope — you can walk a long way into the water without it getting much deeper. Besides local villagers, some out-of-town tourists were also pottering about picking up whatever; but the clams they found were all empty, only shells. In sneakers I wandered about on the wet sand, and the seawater kept washing over my feet and soaking my shoes. Having looked my fill at the sea and felt enough of the sea wind, I headed back. I glanced at my step count: over ten thousand — and this year I’ve averaged over ten thousand steps a day.
I didn’t go out in the evening. October is about to end, and my lying-flat diary is about to end too; having written more than a year, even God needs a rest.