Chapter 122: A Black Crow

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As natural as if it were nothing at all. The pool water remained calm and mirror-like, clearly reflecting the flickering sparks, the shifting flames, and the jade toad in the azure sky. The sun had already set, yet its light still reflected beneath the clouds, casting a crimson glow upon the lake’s surface. The lake seemed ablaze, and everything around lost its original colors, swallowed by the red light. Suddenly, my eyes brightened, and I hurried forward. It was a clear artificial lake, like a giant bright mirror in the countryside, reflecting blue skies and white clouds. The water was so clear that a gentle breeze created ripples shimmering with gold light. With a sharp “twit,” a swallow swooped in, dragging its pointed tail across the water’s surface, stirring a circle of ripples... Li Bai once praised the flowing waters of Jin Temple as “jade-like,” and here, under the shimmering waves, it drifted gently like a dream.

Dongting Lake was calm and vast at this moment, like a scene from poetry. Fish surfaced, some releasing streams of bubbles; others chased and played; some used lotus leaves as small umbrellas, playing hide-and-seek beneath them; others swam leisurely behind their mothers. The withered lotus stems in the front pool stirred suddenly and violently, then lively red carp leapt, breaking the deathly still surface. The lake’s surface was unruffled; boats seemed to glide on glass. The sparkling waves resembled fine silk textures—smooth and tenderly green. Looking into the distance, the color deepened gradually into rich turquoise. Gazing skyward, the clouds drifted gently; looking down at the lake’s heart, another sky appeared, with wandering cloud shadows. The peaks on both shores reflected upside down in the lake, all in verdant hue, their tender affection accompanying visitors. Reaching the end and turning a bend, the mountains and water repeated themselves. How I longed for a change, but after traversing 120 miles from north to south, the scenery remained the same—unchanged in its grace.

Compared to the turbulent waves of Dongting Lake, Jingpo Lake was serene and tranquil; compared to the vast, round expanses of Tai Lake, Jingpo resembled a great river, still and unruffled. Compared to Daming Lake, it was more than just a pool of clear water; compared to West Lake, one was like a beautiful young woman with "spring mountains low and elegant, autumn waters gazing," while the other was like a simple, pure, and modest maiden. Looking far ahead, the water sparkled vividly, dotted with sails. The small islands in the lake were like pieces of jade, embedded in the lake’s scenic beauty, appearing charming and delicate.

The lake water was irresistibly alluring, especially in such heat. Approaching the lakeside, the oppressive heat barrier vanished instantly. The water rippled, glittering as if a layer of gold adorned the surface. My hand could not resist and gently dipped into the water. Ah! That refreshing feeling was beyond description. The gentle ripples caressed the white marble pool walls; the rippling autumn waters flowed beneath the “Fish-Knowing Bridge.” The small green islets resembled pearls set in the lake, at a glance like green waves rolling among the clouds. Colorful sails dotted the Thousand-Island Lake, surrounded by green trees, appearing incredibly enchanting. From above, the lake’s water, stirred by the wind, looked like shifting lace patterns; listening to the pine waves, low and melodious, evoked legendary reveries; the slender, pure white reeds swayed in the breeze, displaying unique grace so delicate one dared not touch. At sunset, the blood-red sun dyed half the sky crimson; the lake blushed like a shy maiden’s face. Nearby hills sheltered a reservoir, its water green like a cat’s eye, both awe-inspiring and mysterious.

From Hongque Tower overlooking Lu Lake, a few exquisite pavilions dotted the shimmering blue waters, bathed in golden sunlight like countless dazzling jewels sparkling brilliantly. Oh, how green the waters of Peach Blossom Pool were, like flawless jade, the autumn ripples bringing a cool breath. Look! On the Peach Blossom Pool floated a few withered lotus leaves, their edges yellowed, but glistening droplets playfully clung to them; beneath, red goldfish wandered among the lotus. On both sides, maple trees cast dappled shadows—yellow, green, red, white, and black!

The spring pond’s beauty lay in its stillness, so profound it seemed not a pool of water but a lush green meadow, sparkling and verdant. Blue sky, green trees, and white clouds embraced its reflection, while quiet waves hinted at deep contemplation. This eternal stillness lent it extraordinary clarity: the fish and stones at the bottom were plainly visible—no disguise—natural and vivid. These were not the eyes of a recluse, but eyes burning with hopeful fire.

Spring ponds also delighted in motion, like a mutable green silk, so pure and beautiful. Under sunlight, ripples danced like flying flowers or scattered gold, each spot of light flickering with tiny spirits, stretching and trembling. When a breeze stirred, water ripples gently advanced from one side to the other. Then one, two more waves... The once-clear boundaries on the water blurred, like a faint ink line on rice paper, gradually diffusing beneath the misty veil, becoming indistinct.

The desert was monotonous and lonely, yet vast and open—letting one’s thoughts gallop wildly across the wide space. At dusk, Sailimu Lake gradually darkened to deep blue, the sky and lake blending indistinguishably, neither clearer whether the sky dyed the lake or the lake the sky. At noon, under radiant sunlight, Sailimu Lake gleamed like shining silk, green grass, red flowers, white sheep, yellow cattle, gray camels, and golden horses, resembling colorful clouds drifting by the shore.

Thousand-Island Lake was not a natural lake but an 860,000-acre artificial reservoir formed after the construction of the Xin’an River Hydropower Station upstream—over a hundred times the size of West Lake. The spring waters rivaled the famed Nanlao Spring: spring water flows, making it hard to crystallize into jade, yet this pond was still, gentle, and beautiful, like a piece of emerald. The water was green, as if draped in a thin, cicada-wing veil, making one hesitant to breathe deeply, fearing to break it. The ancient lake’s gentle waves shimmered under sunlight, willow branches swayed like a maiden’s freshly washed hair. Nearly 100 meters high, some peaks had submerged, others became islands in the emerald waters. These islands were the very mountains I had seen rising from the water. With 1,078 islands of varying sizes, it earned the name “Thousand-Island Lake.” The vast lake surface stretched beyond the jade-colored Seventeen-Arch Bridge, reaching out to embrace the sky, eventually merging into faint clouds and mist.

In crisp autumn air, from afar, the sparkling water traces shimmered gently. Layer upon layer of waves pushed toward the shore, lapping stones. The water carried a chill, as if purified; dark depths sank to the lake bottom. Wisps of mist floated above, stirred by autumn winds, drifting freely and unrestrained. White reeds swayed in the breeze, displaying unique beauty, delicate enough to evoke tenderness.

As the sun set, the blood-red glow dyed half the sky crimson; the lake blushed like a shy maiden’s face. The lake surface, shaded by green trees, distinctly divided into blue and green hues—the blue reminding one of the clear sky, the green evoking memories of the grasslands. The surroundings were unusually quiet. The green shifted from light to deep and back, veiled by pale gray mist, making Thousand-Island Lake seem profound and mysterious, yet the clear water remained open and honest. Here I saw the charm of green—so majestic that before you react, it floods your vision like a dam breaking, compelling you to be moved and enamored by its vigor and vitality.

Sailimu Lake, called “Sailimu Kule” in Kazakh, meaning “Lake of Blessing,” lies between the mountains bordering Ili Kazakh Autonomous Prefecture and Bortala Mongol Autonomous Prefecture, at an elevation above 2,000 meters. It is one of China’s famous high-altitude lakes. Covering 120 square kilometers, it is larger than Ili City. The lake’s deepest point exceeds ninety meters, with undulating hills beneath the surface. The water is sweet and clear; containing 0.2% mineral salts, drinking a little refreshes the mind and relieves heat and constipation. Did you know? Sailimu Lake is ever-changing. According to physicist and meteorologist Zhu Kezhen’s research, seven hundred years ago, it was surrounded by glaciers. Today, its surroundings are endless grasslands. Yet, given the recent increase in water volume, in another seven hundred years, it may once again become a vast ocean.

Warm sunshine gently poured down. Brewing a pot of fragrant tea amid the delicate freshness, I let the pages unfold softly, running my fingers over the text, letting each vibrant rhythm guide me to blessed lands. An indescribable comfort spread quietly within my heart.

2. “Reading is like invisibly visiting others’ homes,” said Yang Jiang. Indeed, reading has led me to many hearths. I grasped hands with Yue Fei, shouting the heroic words: “With lofty ambition, I feast on the flesh of the Hu invaders when hungry; laughing, I drink the blood of the Xiongnu when thirsty.” I gently patted the heartbroken Liu Yong, walking with him through “willow banks, morning breeze, and lingering moon.” I tasted grape wine in the western borderlands and laughed under the green banner while selling pear blossom wine. I shared heartfelt conversations and raised cups with friends from all corners of the land. Gradually, I became intoxicated in the mountains of poetry and rivers of prose, slowly merging with the books, losing track of the way home.

3. Since there is no need to return, one can embark on adventures through reading, savoring unique pleasures. Sinbad guided me to Solomon’s temple, past valleys where giant serpents loomed, through worlds where whales roamed. Verne took me on a twenty-thousand-league submarine voyage to a mysterious island. On Cambridge’s gentle waves, I saw the melancholic Little Prince desperately questioning. I walked beneath countless giants’ legs, while countless tiny people passed under mine. Oh, what a wondrous journey! Reading brings magic and surprises, making them companions along the way.

4. As we walked, an elder named Knowledge joined our ranks. Wisdom radiated from him, shining through my eyes, lighting the lamp within my heart. I learned that magnificent towers can lean, indomitable steel can sink; some shielded blades with their bodies for a circle, others hung on crosses for a bag of copper coins. Swimming in the ocean of knowledge is like birds soaring freely through the sky. Once unleashed, the speed of thought outpaces even light; yet reading and books are the perfect black holes, always drawing thoughts in, storing them for a magnificent explosion. The clouds and moon of eight thousand miles traveled into my soul through reading.

5. Suddenly, looking up, sunlight still smiled upon me. I gently caressed the tiny tadpoles on the page, those marvelous little sprites, savoring the experience of reading amid the rising tea fragrance, merging enjoyment into myself.

6. During leisure, I brew a pot of tea, raise a book amid wisps of mist, savor the tea’s aroma, inhale the book’s fragrance, repeatedly chewing over every word and sentence—this is my greatest pleasure in idle moments. Some say reading is an art. Indeed, reading is such.

7. Reading is the art of enjoying life. The scholar Mr. Five Willows “loved reading without seeking deep understanding; whenever he grasped the meaning, he happily forgot to eat.” When you are dull or troubled, reading lifts your spirits; when lost or melancholy, reading calms your heart, helping you see the path ahead; when joyful, reading reveals more beauty around you, letting you appreciate life more deeply. Reading is the most beautiful enjoyment. “Within books lie golden houses, within books lie beauties.”

8. Reading is the art of self-improvement. “Jade must be carved to become a gem; a man must learn to know.” Reading is a process of learning. Every book tells a story; every story recounts a life; every life reflects a world. “Reading thousands of books and traveling thousands of miles” captures this truth. Reading poetry elevates one’s elegance; reading history makes one wise. Every book offers different rewards. From “hanging beams and stabbing thighs” to “fireflies shining on snowy windows,” diligent reading and self-improvement have been lifelong pursuits. Reading is the most graceful quality, shaping the spirit and refining thought.

9. Reading is the art of enriching life. A life without books is like a hollow bamboo—empty and void. Books are life’s greatest treasure. Jewish children are taught to kiss honey-coated books to remember that books are sweet; to fill life with sweetness, one must read. Reading is life’s rarest savings book; accumulating bit by bit, you realize you are the richest person in the world.

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10. Reading is the art of understanding life. Reading Du Fu’s poetry reveals life’s hardships; reading Li Bai’s, the corruption of officialdom; reading Lu Xun’s essays reveals social darkness; reading Ba Jin’s writings inspires hope for the future. Every book is a friend, teaching us how to view life. Reading is an indispensable lesson, helping us navigate every step in life.

11. Books are lamps; reading illuminates the road ahead. Books are bridges; reading connects distant shores. Books are sails; reading propels life’s ship. Reading is an art of life, making life more splendid!

12. It was a charming afternoon. You sat by the window, reading a thick, old book. Afternoon tea emitted a rich, sweet aroma. Your old dog lay lazily by your feet. The sunlight cast your silhouette golden, mingling with the lazy time, forming a memory.

13. This memory was yours alone, like a dewdrop resting on your fingertip at dawn—you smelled its fragrance, but could neither grasp nor express it. See, reading is just like that. It is merely a feeling.

14. Sometimes, as you read, it feels like embracing the entire world. You are no longer just yourself; you become an observer, like a weathered troubadour witnessing all that unfolds. The story begins, rises and falls, twists and turns, then ends. You collect these tales, shaping them into songs, joyful or sorrowful, softly singing them. Reading leads you into life, into a taste, into a realm. At such times, you seem like a broad-minded elder calmly watching life’s joys and sorrows. Perhaps life is but a waning crescent in a tranquil night—seemingly cold and incomplete, yet always full, like a distant, quietly turning star. Of course, sometimes you dive wholeheartedly inside, inevitably swayed by fate and consumed by passions, for we all need love and hate, none exempt. You read fervently, breath almost forgotten. Isn’t that the thrill of life, dragging you into a mad run? You are carried by an emotion, blindly racing forward, the wind howling past your ears. In that moment, reason vanishes; you shed life’s masks, shouting and crashing like a child, reckless and genuine. You even boldly blame fate’s unfairness, condemn society’s darkness, obscurity, bitterness, and weakness.

15. At that moment, you cried passionately, tears wetting the pages. You realized you were only reading someone else’s story. Yet why did you see your own reflection there? You felt so vivid, so real. At that instant, you entrusted all your feelings to it, with no regrets.

16. Long after, when you pick up that book again and recall those feelings, you shake your head in puzzlement. Perhaps you have forgotten why you were so moved.

17. Such is reading. You never seek to gain anything from it, no plan, no pressure; you just vaguely taste life there. You cry, laugh, hate, love. You have read, then forget, turning back to the chaotic reality. Reading springs from your emotions: when joyful, you read joy; when sad, you read sorrow.

18. Such is reading, such is life. Seizing a blooming moment, life shines as brilliantly as summer flowers.

19. Since humans parted from the ignorant animal world, first came language, then writing, then literature, and finally books. Sometimes, thinking of this long process stirs awe, for without it, there would be no “reading”—a loss today almost unbearable.

20. Yet, although everyone relies on reading, its realms differ greatly according to personal insight.

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21. One realm is reading for exams and fame. I consider this “inferior,” as it ceases to be true seeking of knowledge, and thus lacks real joy. When readers’ eyes always sparkle with ambition and gain, all knowledge becomes mere stepping stones, cast aside once the gate of fame is opened—surely this is a desecration of knowledge? Historical imperial exam candidates and today’s countless test-takers—college entrance, graduate school, certifications, civil service—are examples. Haven’t you seen candidates before exams, clutching “sacred texts,” frowning in deep study? Such reading is a nightmare in one’s life: pain without joy. Yet few escape this “painful reading,” a sad alienation.

22. Another realm is reading to exhaust knowledge and truth. This is “superior,” as it transcends personal fame and stems from humanity’s great curiosity. Countless scientific giants from ancient to modern times have tirelessly explored mysteries, pouring over books. Some rare polymaths studied multiple disciplines, seeking world and life’s secrets through reading. This is autonomous, conscious “reading.” They are brave travelers and explorers on the path to knowledge and truth. We should deeply respect them. I would even say, attaining this realm is a life’s blessing.

23. Yet Zhuangzi once said, “Life is finite, knowledge infinite. Pursuing the infinite with the finite is perilous.” This is a “partial truth.” Thus, the second realm, though “superior,” cannot reach the “ultimate” realm. The “ultimate” reading is desireless, a spiritual stroll, a soul’s wander. Such readers seek neither wealth from books, nor treasure troves of knowledge, nor moral prescriptions to save the world. They see kindness and beauty in books; are moved by brilliance; cry over happiness. They always need reading but seek nothing from it, filled and peaceful simply by reading. Reading gives them spiritual nourishment and air, transcending material and mundane life.

24. The three reading realms may appear similar outwardly but differ fundamentally in spirit. In the end, I must admit: which is higher or lower depends on the person. “Inferior,” “superior,” and “ultimate” may be reversed in different minds.

25. Listen to nature—the pine waves’ rhythm, the autumn insects’ plaintive cries, the cuckoo’s mournful lament.

26. Listen to the heart—warm and tender, like a soft affection; blazing like a torch, a passionate flame; kind and greeting, a pure heart.

27. Listen to the voice of books—with the gentle artistry of Qu Yuan, Tao Yuanming, Li Bai, Du Fu; the fresh brilliance of Xu Zhimo and Eileen Chang; the distinctive personalities and human insights of Han Han and Annie Baobei.