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Author: Qiqiang Qian
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-01
Features: "The Remnant" is a pure and tranquil word, with solitary shadows, gray-white emotions, youthful taboos, fate, and endless sorrow all melting within. Reading these words imposes no constraints, like a bullet suddenly fired, propelling the reader along the author's ever-changing trajectory at high speed, piercing through various timelines. Such writing is filled with magic, as it makes readers unable to resist the feeling of their thoughts soaring. When young literature or youth literature itself hits a bottleneck in technical innovation, Qiqiang Qian begins to seek experience from the edge of imagination to supplement this awkwardness. Technique, language, form, and subject matter are all issues that youth literature must re-examine after the cooling of its popularity. Starting with experiential narration is a delicate entry point. Although experience is limited, this attempt is still commendable.
At midnight, standing on the 11th floor of a hotel overlooking the city, I couldn’t understand where autumn was. Here, I could never distinguish between autumn and winter, so winter’s fury had been lurking ever since summer ended. Despite constant waiting, autumn would cautiously appear and then swiftly be devoured by winter, yet it still existed, not completely gone. That’s why I could still see a maple forest in a certain direction of the city at midnight, and even in the darkness, I could recognize the crimson maple forest, though it seemed not to be. Because it was very dark, I could only see a small fragment of the city with its dimly lit streets. A sudden sense of disappointment filled my heart, but I also hoped to see a patch of fiery hope when dawn arrived. I began to feel the cold wind piercing in, so I put on a suit jacket and stood it up. I returned to N City, the city where I had lived for 21 years. It was still growing quietly, without subways, large supermarkets, or noisy nightlife. At around midnight, many corners were pitch black, and it was rare to see any light. So, the maple forest was my fantasy—I wasn’t entirely sure, but I was afraid of disappointment, so I stayed on the balcony.
I lit a cigarette, took a drag, and swallowed half before exhaling some. The stinging sensation in my nose had already faded. I remember the last time I smoked was because I saw her smoking. I snatched the cigarette away and started scolding her for her downfall, for why she had to do such a thing. I even remember my voice cracking a little—I was still a teenager then, trying to prevent the girl I liked from falling, yet I ended up smoking it myself. And that was the first time I cried for her, because the smoke stung my nose so much it made me tear up. Her name was carved little by little in my heart, in a place blooming with pink fireworks, growing proud and stubborn.
The next day, I didn’t sleep at all and directly put on my hiking gear, heading back alone by memory. The journey wasn’t far—I took two bus transfers along the highway and still rode the longest bus in the city. I saw boys and girls in stylish school uniforms standing either ambiguously or seriously. Some faced each other, some I recognized, and some I didn’t. Watching them, I sighed, feeling that youth was truly wonderful. I could even smell the vitality in their lives, as if it was enveloping the entire early morning bus, and my mood suddenly lifted. I curiously watched the girl with her school skirt shortened and the boy frantically fixing his hair. I used to be like them too, but we weren’t as preoccupied with appearances back then. Our hearts were always complete and full, so we were filled with so much love.
Recently, I’ve loved sweet and high-calorie foods, so even though I’m not yet middle-aged, I’ve already started gaining weight. My waist has widened, and my heart has become more open, so I encouraged myself to return. Because I saw something waving at me, hoping to step back home step by step. For a long time, I didn’t like this city. I thought it was cold and covered only in concrete and steel, appearing ordinary and poor. I also impulsively believed that if I had material wealth, things might be different. But now I clearly understand that many things are destined—love or not love, insistence or compromise, all deeply embedded in our bones like roots. Missing isn’t wrong; it’s just a lack of confidence in reaching the destination.
I like the bus—it’s the most basic mode of transportation in the city, cheap and crowded, like a can of sardines packed with people. For a while, I was always squeezed in, avoiding it, enduring it, and waiting. This route was so familiar to me that I could recite every stop by heart. But now I realized it had changed. I hadn’t noticed the new stop signs and had directly taken Route 11, only then realizing the journey had become unfamiliar. I hurriedly got off, looked for the platform, asked passersby, and even played a string game with a waiting girl. She looked so much like the girl I liked when she was young. Back then, we used to sit on windowsills together, playing with strings, though elders said it would bring rain, but we didn’t care. Childhood was so good—no worries, no concerns, even impulsiveness became adorable.
Finally, I boarded a new bus—Route 205, a green, two-story bus. I chose the front seat on the upper level. In front was a large piece of glass. I spread my legs, rested my hands on the railings, and felt as if I were suspended in the air. I suddenly felt like a child again, full of joy. I watched the vast white poplar trees flying past me, and not far ahead, I thought I saw my home. My heart raced with excitement. Maybe it was because I was close to home! My sister and I never returned to the place where we used to live. Every time we came back, we only visited our parents. They were buried together on Zangqing Mountain. They were brave people, so deeply in love that they even wanted to rest together in death. I can imagine how they defied others’ objections to be together. I understand, and I’m even moved, but I didn’t do it myself. I even think that if I had been stronger, more tolerant, more open-minded, and loved harder, I wouldn’t have lost so much.
I got off the bus, and fog began to swirl. It wasn’t much fog on my body, but it was still chilly. Wet spots were clearly visible on my sweater. P3-4