A Letter to Myself

Thirty years ago, I was born in a place called Xiaoshui in Gulin, Sichuan. A plank-walled house, two beds, and a pot. Hailstones smashed the pot and ruined that night's dinner. Back then, all I wished for was enough to eat.

Later, I grew up and left Xiaoshui, making my way through school, work, and every obstacle life put in front of me. But that water channel still flows in my heart, and that pear tree still blossoms in my dreams.

This book is a letter I wrote to myself. Every chapter is a stretch of the road that brought me here. I didn't write it for anyone else to read. I wrote it so that one day, when I look back, I can tell myself: Look how far you've come.