In December, amid the freezing snow, Xia Shidong was taken to a remote village in the far north. All he could see was endless white. It was the first time he'd ever seen snow in person, and from then on, winter was always a world of white.
The sunlight glaring off the snow made his eyes ache, yet its pure color seemed to draw his very soul in.
The mounds of white snow looked like rows of graves, and Xia Shidong liked to bury himself in them.
Again and again, Chen Shu dug him out of the snow and carried him home, laying him on the heated kang bed.
Xia Shidong's soul was buried in the snow. Chen Shu's soul was in him.
When Xia Shidong left the damp city where he was born, nothing in the world belonged to him anymore. Nothing, except Chen Shu.
Chen Shu gave him all kinds of things and told him, "This is yours." That was your calf. All the animals at home are yours. Your bowl and chopsticks are just for you. I am your tree.
On a summer afternoon, Xia Shidong leaned against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. The wind passed gently through him, brushed his face, and sunlight dappled his eyelids.
Back then, he thought: if there could be only one thing in the world that belonged to him, Xia Shidong would want only his tree.
A story set in the old days, in the north. I'll start posting it in a little while.
Theme: Grow with resilience.
