The Complete Works of Qiongyao 3 -- The Swallow on the Tip of the Tree

Author: Qiong Yao
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-07-01
Features: Excerpt from the book: After class, Jiang Hao carried his thick stack of British literature and Shakespeare under his arm and walked out of the school gate toward his rented "dormitory." This "College of Arts and Science" was located in the suburbs of Tamshui, nestled against the mountains and facing the sea, with a tranquil environment, making it an excellent place for studying. Unfortunately, it was too far from Taipei, and the school dormitories were limited, so many students rented apartments in the town of Tamshui. There were also landlords who specialized in renting to students, dividing their houses into small pigeonholes for them, creating another kind of "student dormitory." Jiang Hao had such a "dormitory," but his was in a high-end residential area, with relatively expensive rent, located in a red-brick house on the outskirts of the town. The row of red-brick houses was originally intended to be a hotel, but construction stopped halfway through when the owner ran out of money. Since Tamshui couldn’t be considered a tourist area, the houses were eventually rented to students. The room Jiang Hao lived in offered a view of the harbor’s fishing lights in the distance and the lush greenery of the golf course nearby. However, like all the rooms occupied by young men in their twenties, his was always cluttered, crowded, and dirty, with books and records scattered everywhere, making it difficult to find a place to stand whenever he entered. He was completely accustomed to this, believing that as long as he lived freely and comfortably, a little mess didn’t matter at all—he called this small room his "coffin." That afternoon, he carried his books toward his "coffin."
It had just been a few days since the semester started, and the spring sun enveloped him in a warm, mellow embrace. The air was filled with the scent of pine resin and earth, and the wind blowing from the Martyrs’ Temple carried the familiar aroma of smoke, much like the temple’s bell, which always brought a touch of tranquility and peace to his young, restless, and passionate heart. That afternoon, he was content. That afternoon, he was happy. That afternoon, he believed the sunshine and the breeze were his friends. For no reason at all, he wanted to laugh, sing, whistle, and—find a girl to date.
Holding his books, he walked along the muddy path to the Martyrs’ Temple, where there were pine forests, stone benches, a temple, and bells. He whistled carelessly, with no worries or cares. Suddenly, he saw a pure white Beijing dog with a bell around its neck, rolling like a snowball toward his feet. He stopped, curious about the little creature, remembering that he had often seen this dog recently. His neighbor said it belonged to a newly moved-in family. He crouched down to catch the dog, but the little thing was completely fearless. It lifted its bright, playful, and friendly eyes and swiveled them toward him. He laughed, bent down, and hugged it, murmuring unconsciously, "Hey, little guy, where did you come from? Hey, little guy, why is your nose flat? Hey, little guy, are you lost? Haha!" He suddenly burst into laughter because the little thing began to lick his face. "Don’t do that, don’t lick me—I get tickled! Ha-ha, mercy, mercy! Ha-ha, I’m not playing this licking game."
"Hey, hey! Snowball! Hey, little Snowball! Where are you?"