I remember that during this period two years ago, every day I would carry three or five books on my back and sit by the shore of Weiming Lake or the lake in Langrun Garden for an entire afternoon. When I grew tired of reading, I would gaze at the water for a while, staying until evening or even sunset, and only after I had finished several books would I leave—both carefree and at ease, and astonishingly efficient.
For more than a year, although I would occasionally still wander around Weiming Lake, whenever I walked by the lake there was always a heavy shadow pressing on my heart. Several times I wanted to sit down again, but each time I ended up fleeing instead. The mood of those days could no longer be recovered, after all, but sooner or later I would return to Weiming Lake with a completely new state of mind.
Just today, all of a sudden, as if I had heard Weiming Lake calling me—or even commanding me. It was as though some irresistible force was guiding me back there. Sit down. Read.
I sat by the lake in Langrun Garden for two hours and finished one book. Then the wind picked up, and I left. That carefree ease had returned.
April 10, 2007, 6:05 p.m.
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
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