Selected Works of Ba Jin (Volume 1, 2, and 3)

Author: Ba Jin
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2005-01-01
Features: Ba Jin (1904–), originally named Li Yaotang, styled Fugan, was a native of Chengdu, Sichuan. He was a renowned Chinese writer, hailed as a "literary giant of his generation" and a "master of language." Influenced by the new ideas and culture of the May Fourth Movement, he embarked on the path of literature, demonstrating extraordinary courage, conscience, and sense of responsibility. His literary achievements were closely tied to the fate of the nation and the times, making him a companion and witness to 20th-century Chinese literature. He authored the "Love Trilogy" (Fog, Rain, Lightning), the "Rising Current Trilogy" (Family, Spring, Autumn), The Restless Garden, A Cold Night, and Random Thoughts, among other works. His writings have been translated into nearly 20 languages and have spread worldwide. This collection (Volume 1, Volume 2, Volume 3) includes major works of various genres and styles from different periods of the author's life, aiming to comprehensively reflect his creative achievements, artistic style, and intellectual journey. The entire work is divided into three volumes: Volume 1 consists of medium and long novels, Volume 2 includes short stories, poems, creative discussions, and autobiographical writings, while Volume 3 features essays, Random Thoughts, prefaces and postfaces, and letters.
The Paradise of Birds We had our dinner at Chen’s primary school. The heat had subsided. The sun had set behind the slope, leaving only a brilliant streak of red on the horizon, on the mountain peaks, and at the tips of the trees. "Let’s go boating!" Chen suggested. We were standing by the pond in front of the school, admiring the mountain view. "Good," the other friends happily agreed. We walked along a stone path and quickly reached the river. There was a thatched pavilion by the water. Crossing it, we found several small boats under two large trees by the riverbank. We boarded one boat one after another. A friend untied the rope, picked up a bamboo pole, and gently pushed the boat, which slowly drifted into the middle of the river. Three friends rowed, while I and Ye sat in the boat, admiring the scenery around us. In the distance, a tower stood tall on the hillside, embraced by many green trees. Nearby, there were few such towers; that was Ye’s hometown. The river was wide, the water surface shimmering white without waves. The boat moved smoothly across the water. The three oars moved in a rhythmic motion in the water. At one point, the river narrowed. Clusters of green leaves extended into the water. The leaves were lovely. These were many lush banyan trees, but I couldn’t see where the trunks were. When I said "many banyan trees," my mistake was quickly corrected by my friends. One friend said there was only one banyan tree there, while another said there were two. I had seen many large banyan trees before, but I had never seen one as big as this before.
Our boat gradually approached the banyan tree. I had the chance to see its true form: it was a huge tree with countless branches, and roots grew from the branches, many of which hung down to the ground, sinking into the soil. Some branches reached the water’s surface, and from a distance, the tree looked like a giant lying on the water. It was the peak of its foliage season (small fruits had already formed on the tree, and many had fallen). This banyan tree seemed to be displaying all its vitality to us. So many green leaves piled on top of each other, leaving no gaps. The emerald green color shone brightly before our eyes, as if every leaf had a new life trembling within it. How beautiful this tree of the south is!
The boat docked under the tree for a moment. The shore was wet, and we did not go ashore. A friend said this was "the paradise of birds," where many birds nested in the tree, and the farmers did not allow people to catch them. I seemed to hear the fluttering of a few birds, but when I focused my eyes on that spot, I couldn’t see a single bird. Only countless tree roots stood on the ground, like many wooden stakes. The ground was wet, probably because the river often flooded and washed ashore during high tide. "There are no birds in the paradise of birds," I thought.
The boat set sail. A friend rowed it slowly into the middle of the river. Along the path by the riverbank and the fields, there were a few lychee trees. Red fruits hung heavily among the green leaves. Our boat drifted toward them. A friend picked up an oar and steered the boat into a small channel. The boat stopped beside the path, and we all jumped ashore. Two friends quickly climbed the tree and dropped several branches of lychee leaves. Chen, Ye, and I stood beneath the tree to catch them. After they came down, we all ate the lychee while walking back to the boat.
The next day, we rowed our boat to Ye’s hometown, the place with mountains and a tower. From Chen’s primary school, we passed by the "paradise of birds" again. This time it was morning, and the sunlight shone on the water surface and the tree tops. Everything seemed very bright. The boat docked under the tree for a moment. At first, it was very quiet. Then suddenly, a bird chirped. Chen clapped his hands, and we saw a large bird take flight. Then we saw another, and another. We continued clapping. Soon, the forest became lively. Everywhere were bird songs and bird shadows. Large, small, colorful, black—some perched on branches, some flew, and some fluttered their wings. I watched intently. My eyes were overwhelmed, focusing on one bird, then missing another, spotting one, only to see the third fly away. A warbler flew out, startled by our clapping, and quickly returned to the tree, singing excitedly on a small branch. Its song was beautiful.
"Let’s go," Ye urged me. As the small boat drifted toward the village below the tower, I turned back to look at the lush banyan tree left behind. I felt a bit reluctant. Yesterday, my eyes had deceived me. "The paradise of birds truly is a paradise for birds!" I thought.