Come to think of it, after fighting my way into this world bawling and screaming, my life was already enough of a miracle. What right did I have to meet with sickness or injury? Like a scrappy little puppy, I went through my childhood without encountering a single setback. My parents summed it up best with these words of gratitude:
"This child of ours may not have come at the best time, but compared to her siblings, she was a breeze to raise."
A Childhood Steeped in Mountains and Water
There is a belle in the empty valley, unique and unmatched.
I grew up in the province of Guizhou, in a small, picturesque city nestled deep within the mountains. Geographically speaking, the place was independent in every sense of the word. Located far away from Guiyang, Chongqing, southwest province and municipality of China respectively, or any other major city, it was a lustrous pearl buried within the mountains. There is a famous passage in The Analects of Confucius: "The wise man adores the water, and the benevolent man adores the mountains." Both men would have felt at home in my little city.
That small city, full of warmth and beauty, rested in the embrace of lush mountains. The cerulean Xiangjiang River passed through it, winding like a swaying belt of jade. Sunlight was a rare luxury. Drizzles as fine as oxen hair drifted down from the sky all year round, and a poetic sentiment always lingered in the air.
At its core, the city was warm and damp. Like a rich mist, there was far more to it than meets the eye. A nameless sense of melancholy also wafted through it.
I never owned a pair of red leather shoes or a blinking doll as a child. I had none of the things that a girl typically cherishes. It was as if I were simply invisible to my parents. They never encouraged me to be beautiful. Instead they dressed me up in genderless clothing, saving them both time and money. I never even attended kindergarten. Both of my siblings had received a standard kindergarten education, and a sense of discipline and organization had been instilled in them at a young age. Yet for some reason, the thought of sending their "Third Wheel" to kindergarten had completely slipped my parents' minds! As a result, I spent my entire childhood in the care of the mountains.
I wonder how many of today's youths have experienced childhoods as satisfyingly carefree as my own. My daily homework consisted of consorting with a group of wild and foolish children. We whizzed and galloped through the wooded mountains like a group of wild, unsaddled horses.
I must have been a mountain nymph in a past life, for I was utterly enthralled with the mountains around my home. As far as I was concerned, the flowers, grass and trees were all living things. They were my loyal friends and playmates. I could understand the words they spoke and feel each breath they exhaled. Together we grew strong and healthy, steeped in dew and sunlight.
We wove garlands of wild flowers and wore them atop our heads; we placed "rings" of woven grass upon our fingers. We picked mushrooms, dug up wild herbs and picked crabapples. The mountains were never short of marvelous treasures, and in their abundance they never begrudged the joy and contentment that these children found frolicking amidst their woods.
Spring came. The mountains and meadows were abloom with flowers. It was a sight beautiful enough to make one swoon. We would pick the snow-white flowers from the scholar trees and place them in our mouths; they tasted sweet upon our lips, and their scent was like delicate perfume. We would wrap holly leaves around our clothes, and the rich fragrance would remain for days on end.
People who left Guizhou would rarely visit any other mountains. No other range could quite match the natural rustic charm of ancient mountains that this province called its own.
Sometimes, when I was walking by the kindergarten, I would peer through the fence and see the children inside holding hands and playing all kinds of games under the watchful eyes of their teachers. The sight filled me with envy as well as sympathy. I envied that they could play on the swings, zip down the slide and eat snacks, as these Western novelties were nowhere to be found in the mountains. On the other hand, I felt sympathy for them because they were confined within a fenced-in yard, forced to live like a herd of obedient animals inside a zoo, unable to freely run about or even breathe. How suffocating that must have been!
But as a person who roamed freely along the edges of the collective, I was able to live as leisurely and carefree as I pleased! I would wander the vast mountains at my own pace, as independent and unrestrained as a queen!
Sometimes I think that the more wild, rebellious, restless and intractable elements of my personality, and my disposition—having no desire to follow rules and conventions, and abhorring the very thought of following the mainstream or obediently admitting defeat—can all be traced back to this kindergarten-free childhood. It all began with those days steeped in dew and mountain air.
My parents both graduated from well-known universities in the 1960s. In those days, high school students were already considered "intellectuals" , and university students were even scarcer than today's doctorate students. Therefore, in my small city, one could truly call my household a family of scholars. This was something that earned us a great deal of respect and veneration.
