Walk Through Mountains and Rivers with One Thought

The obsession engraved in the bones and blood does not need to be publicized, but it is enough to support the feet to measure thousands of rivers and mountains. He was carrying a faded luggage, which contained half a roll of old maps, several squares of dried wild fruits, and a polished copper whistle. The whistle once sounded under the old locust trees in his hometown, and now it accompanied him through the sandy Gobi, the misty and rainy Jiangnan, and the glaciers above the snow line. When the wind blew into his collar, he gathered up his clothes, and his fingertips touched the wooden sign on his chest, with the word "Xun" engraved on it - this was his thought. There is no need to ask where the end point is. The mountains and rivers are silent, but the answer is everywhere. By the Crescent Spring in the Gobi, he saw the half-life wait of the spring keepers; in the awning boats in the south of the Yangtze River, he heard the fisherwomen singing the joy of the years; under the prayer flags in the snow-capped mountains, he encountered the piety of the pilgrims who kowtow three steps at a time. It turns out that every kind of persistence is like a star that refuses to be extinguished, shining in the night sky of the world. The calluses on the soles of the feet are worn away layer after layer, and the stories in the luggage are added one after another. He never wavered, just because that thought was like a lamp, illuminating the ruggedness and magnanimity of the road ahead. Traveling across mountains and rivers is not to arrive, but to make this thought become clearer and hotter while walking. When he finally stood on the top of the mountain with the sea of ​​clouds surging, the wind blew the corners of his clothes, and the sound of a copper whistle penetrated the clouds and cracked the rocks - he knew that this thought had long been integrated with the mountains and rivers, and would never end.