Thirteen years later, I returned to Beijing again. When I stood at the intersection where we went most often, I thought of everything that happened after we separated. I thought of all the sadness and ideals in the sleepless nights, of the beer foam and the glass that fell on the ground, of the air-conditioned streets with large swaths of snow falling, and raised my head to look at the sky, like a cracked mirror. We walked through the streets remembering our rich and poor years.
I stood at the intersection where we go most often. When I walked, everyone stood behind me, just like they did many years ago. I knew they were smiling, silent, and immediately walked away, just like me. Thirteen years later, the streets are still lively, there are still young bands roaring with emotion, and people are still the same. We came as quietly as we went, and we went as quietly as we came. When we leave her, it seems like we have never been there, and when we come to her, it seems like we have always been here. There is a big difference between Beijing 13 years ago and now. Beijing 13 years ago and now are like two different cities.