There is a me in the book

 　　A person, a book, a cup of tea; a pair of feet, a road, a distant horizon.

　　In the flowing, soaring words, one finds a sanctuary, a place for emotions to rest. Closing one's eyes, one wanders freely in the vibrant world constructed by Zhu Ziqing, finding resonance, fearless and undaunted.

　　Time flies, days rushing by like flowing water. In "Hurry," it is mentioned that our days are gone forever; the author's days drip into the stream of time, without sound or shadow. He not only asks himself, "The past days are like light smoke, scattered by the breeze; like thin mist, evaporated by the rising sun. What traces have I left?" I am stunned. Yes, as he said, we come into this world naked, and in the blink of an eye, we will return naked.

　　Whenever I see him ask me this question, I always fall into a deep, silent contemplation, unable to extricate myself. His thoughts are also my own. For over a decade, I have walked on sand, light and breezy, leaving no footprints. Spring comes and goes, flowers fall and bloom again; time is the cycle of life.

　　His poem "The Back View" is widely known; the slightly overweight and unsteady back of his father has become a classic image of paternal love across time. That back is neither tall nor upright; it is the back of a father gradually aging under the heavy burden of life. Whenever I "witness" that scene of climbing onto the platform, my head always swells with tears.

　　It's as if that is my father, and I am the child who is leaving.

　　I still remember the scene of parting with my father when I first entered high school. He saw me off on the bus, giving me countless instructions and reminders, and only left reluctantly when the bus drove away. I looked back, and a figure came into my view, getting smaller and smaller until it disappeared into the distance.

　　I had never seen my father so affectionate and lingering. In my mind, my father always wore armor as his outer garment, used a bayonet as his weapon, and concealed himself with the coldest exterior; his depths were unfathomable, and his heart was unfathomable. However, at the moment of parting, his armor and bayonets had melted away…

　　I was deeply attracted by Zhu Ziqing's delicate writing and unique perspective. Following his articles, I could always find a reflection of myself.

　　His words were deeply moving and captivating. In his books, there was a version of myself who openly expressed my innermost thoughts and experienced the joy of life.