《通往彼岸桃花源的密碼：數字6與不銹鋼飛鳥》

2007年12月01日靈魂不死夢：

夢見許多過世了的人，其中也有我母親。他們大多在中、老年紀，但仍然生活得很自在。有成雙成對的夫妻、也有還在交朋友、談戀愛。我母親就在談朋友，有十一個對象，我還為她辯道：只要是單身就可以談朋友，多少都沒關係。【母親在世時是傳統的舊時代的思維，好馬不配雙鞍，好女不嫁二郎。】

我問他們：「為什麼我們活著的人看不到他們，」他們卻說：「他們可以看到我們。」我想證實一下他們確實存在，我試圖抓住一個人的手，等到白天可以告訴活著的人他們確實存在。

我告訴活著的人，靈魂不死，人們不信。我就叫人們在屋子外邊等著，聽動靜。屋子沒有門，門洞與窗口都敞開著，我在昏暗的屋子裡，隔開一塊薄薄的上面用黑色炭筆塗寫著許多字樣和圖案的木板，跟那些過世了的人交談，我還特地大聲說話。等我說完話，出去問外面的人們是否聽到我們屋裡的交談，人們都搖頭說什麼也沒聽見。我氣得不行，明明我看見了他們怎麼就看不見？明明我為了他們能聽到而大聲與靈界人交談可他們就是聽不到。

可能是靈界的人要幫助我，在黃昏時分出現過一、兩個過世了的曾經是有名的人物幻影。一個是阻擊手西方人，穿著迷彩綠軍服。在他們出現的短短時間裡，只有幾個孩子看到了。幻影消失後卻留下了他使用過的槍，槍管還熱著。

後來在街上看到舊報紙，我馬上趴在地上查看報紙的日期。很難看到日期，等終於看到日期了又看不懂。在月的前面是「寺」字，還有幾個字母出現在日的前面，包括「竹」字頭的一半。

2009年9月10日夢：

我走在沿河邊的一條小街上，好像是丘陵地帶，因此確切地說這河應該是山澗，澗底和岸邊遍布大小石塊兒，街道也就跟著自然山坡上上下下，路也由石板鋪成。路邊參差錯落著由水泥或石頭壘的房屋，灰白色調、貧瘠、樸素但都很幹淨；高的也只有兩層。

上了個坡，就到家了，好像第一次來這裡，母親不在家。我收拾屋子，整理完畢，做在門口的石階上可以看到不深的河水、碎石河灘，及小街風光。

母親在下坡的一塊小空地跟人聊天兒，招呼我過去。

不知怎麼我沒到母親那裡，就跟一個老太太背對背地睡在一個硬板床上；沒門沒窗但不冷。睡了一會兒我溜下床，想著去母親的家去拿我放在那裡的相機和錢包等。

天還不算黑，我使勁看了看附近的樣子好記住回來的路；看見一個高高的桿子上面有個圓牌子，灰白底色的牌子上畫了一個圓圈，圓圈裡面是一個阿拉伯字母6。

走著走著就迷了路，找不著母親的住處了，照理說沿河走不會走丟的。

再走一會兒，看見沿河這邊的山路堵塞、房屋倒塌、或正在朝河的方向滑坡墜毀；好像剛剛經歷過地震；但是沒見人受傷，有參加救護的村民。

我找到人問路，說我要去那個有6字牌子的地方。那人說回去的路已經不通，你只好沿著這條河繼續往前走，直到碰到大橋或是什麼能過了河，在河對面轉回來，繞到山腳下，才有可能回家。有多遠的路程，一個小時能行嗎？我問；那人搖頭。

天漸漸黑下來，我身無分文，下身只穿了一條短褲。

我決定不論多麼困難也要自己往回走，沒走多遠，突然看到一條一尺來寬的石塊小路橫在河床上，而且這裡的水淺得沒有沒過這條石路。我就急忙一腳深一腳淺地奔跑了過去，上了岸。

這裡的景色跟河對岸不一樣，房子更正氣一點。在路邊小灌木叢的枯枝上看到一個巨大的已經曬幹了的紫紅色的章魚。

再走幾步，看見沿河有排一人高的竹樓，低下空架子，上層沒牆但有簾子，還露出幾雙小腳。撩開一看，原來是幼稚園的睡床，幾個孩子熟睡著。這床是斜的，低處向河，好傢伙，一不小心就會滑下去的，是為了培養孩子們游泳的？

盤算著待會兒，天黑了就在那裡睡覺。

再走幾步，發覺這裡的房舍都很古色古香，從門窗看進去，裡面的擺設都是紅木、梨木、桃花木等雕刻鏤花古典美觀的硬木家具，還有考究的厚重木料大門。

家中休閒的老人們，健康的皮膚古銅色，穿著古樸得體，表情溫厚善良。好啊~我感嘆，多虧了有那地震和塌方，我迷了路才來到這裡。這裡跟河對岸如此不同，安逸、逍遙、古樸、典雅如入桃花源。

走著走著，河流分出幾叉了，且寬了許多，我徹底迷了路。我問一個老人，說我要找那個有6字招牌的去處。

回答我的確是個妙齡女郎，她給我看一本小冊子，我沒帶眼鏡，我說，你能不能給我一張地圖？「我正要進屋子給你去複印呢。」她說著就進了那大門，我沒跟進去，便醒來了。

2017年2月8日夢：

半夜3點多，醒來跟Pip說了剛剛做的夢，他每天這時候都在電腦前。睡不著了，乾脆起來記錄夢境（現在三點半左右）：

剛剛夢中看到百公尺開外大山的崖壁一側，有三條不同高度上山的路。像半開放式隧道，可看到，車輛往上開，一輛輛排隊，道路比較擁擠，多數是大卡車。突然我看見有崩塌現象，先是小石子兒落下，很快，大塊山石，裂開，塌方，斷層岩石落在了那些車上，人車無處可逃。接著就是山崖表面的大面積塌方。

有兩個山體斷崖，幾乎同時發生這樣的事件。

我趕緊到二樓的家窗口，叫母親拿手機給我，好去照相。一想，我們住的樓房也是建在這樣的山體之上的，底下我們看不到的路上一定也在塌陷。我對母親和大哥說，趕緊出來到後方路對面的大商場處避難，那裡的商店只有兩層樓高，而且地勢平坦。下了樓，來到外面，已經有很多人了。有個十幾歲的女孩說，在這裡，離開樓房一點距離就可以了。我還擔心，對面的山體離開我們不遠，我們樓房所處的山體就在腳下，這裡的感覺是盆地，一旦大面積塌方發生，呆在這裡還是不安全的。商場那裡空地面積大多了。

醒來。 （四點四分記錄完畢，睡覺去了）

2017年2月17日夢：

我和母親被小W接到家裡，進大門時，看到有許多年輕人在油漆樓房的門框，粉刷外牆，那裡有好幾棟樓。小W家在三樓。進了屋子我見有兩個床，很高興，母親坐靠在一個床上休息，我摩挲這邊的床鋪說，那我們有地方睡覺了，明天再走了。小W說，不行的，你們一定要在11點17分前離開的。他的意思是說這段時間家裡不會有其他人。

還沒到點兒，我們準備離開時，聽到有開門聲，我和小W都到了門口，門開了，是小W的父母回來了。他們看到屋裡的人愣在門口。我趁他們還沒緩過來，側身出走。母親被他們截住了。印像中小W的母親是不喜歡小我與我交朋友的，擔心他們對我母親不好。我在樓下轉悠，不知道來時自行車停在了哪裡。

已經是黃昏時分，我在樓下轉悠，忽然三樓窗子打開，小W探出身子，將一串鑰匙，扔下來給我，說自行車停在了銀行邊上。那鑰匙串兒上有幾個扁平的不銹鋼車料小動物。掉下來時還看到有一隻棕色的小鳥銜住，到了地上一看那鳥也是不銹鋼車料。我抬頭對他說好好照顧我媽。

2025年6月14日夢：

跟一對老夫婦去住旅館，好像我是他們的助理。住在一套大屋子裡。兩天後他們回去了，留下我處理他們不要了的東西。那些東西屬於我了。我以為就幾套老先生的西裝呢，結果是西裝就有好幾套還有十幾條圍巾，那面料細膩柔滑似乎是羊絨的。我還想老夫婦只住兩天旅館，至於帶那麼多東西嗎？這還沒完，我不斷拿，東西不斷地出來，有十幾隻高級包包，還有高級精緻的小物件兒。

我媽也在場，我找到大塑膠袋來裝，我媽幫忙拿。不一會兒有五、六個旅館清潔工進來，她們要打掃屋子了。我趕緊讓母親先拿了五、六大袋子的東西走。我繼續收拾，似乎沒完沒了。腦子裡有Prada印象，Prada是世界頂級的奢侈品，我也先拿了五六袋子的東西先回自己的住處，就在同一樓的10層。

放下東西，接著來取，清潔工已經將剩下的東西放在門外樓道裡了。我又取了一些，就算了，留下一些。這回我沒坐電梯上樓，只是走上去的。橫穿樓道時，發覺樓道是一間有門聯通的教室，大學裡的教室，有電腦等就醒來了。

奇怪我以前的夢裡，基本上都窮得身無分文。

前兩天也做過一個夢，我很富有，有許多錢當時我還跟Pip說了，但沒記下來，問他記不記得，他說好像是我的夢裡有許多金銀財寶。 

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The Code to the Other Peach Blossom Spring: Numeral 6 and the Stainless Steel Bird

December 1, 2007: The Immortality of the Soul (靈魂不死夢)

I dreamed of many people who had passed away, including my mother. Most of them appeared to be in their middle-to-elderly years, yet they were living very freely and comfortably. There were couples together, and others were mingling and falling in love. My mother was actually dating and had eleven suitors! In the dream, I even defended her actions, arguing that as long as someone is single, it doesn't matter how many people they date. (In real life, my mother possessed very traditional, old-fashioned values, firmly believing that 'a good horse doesn't wear two saddles, and a virtuous woman doesn't marry twice.')

I asked them, 'Why can’t we, the living, see you?' They replied, 'But we can see you.' Wanting to prove their existence, I tried to grab someone’s hand so that I could tell the living during the day that they truly exist.

When I told the living that the soul is immortal, no one believed me. So, I asked them to wait outside the house and listen closely. The house had no doors—the doorways and windows were completely wide open. Inside the dimly lit room, separated only by a thin wooden board covered in various words and charcoal drawings, I conversed with those who had passed away, deliberately raising my voice. Afterward, I went outside to ask the crowd if they had heard our conversation. Everyone shook their heads, saying they heard absolutely nothing. I was incredibly frustrated. I could clearly see them, so why couldn't anyone else? I had shouted just so the living could hear my conversation with the spirit world, yet they remained completely deaf to it.

Perhaps the spirits wanted to help me; at dusk, the phantoms of one or two famous deceased figures appeared. One was a Western sniper dressed in green camouflage military uniform. During the brief moments they appeared, only a few children managed to see them. When the phantom vanished, he left behind the rifle he had used—and its barrel was still warm to the touch.

Later, seeing old newspapers on the street, I immediately got down on the ground to check the dates. It was difficult to read, but when I finally caught a glimpse, I couldn't understand it. Before the month, there was the Chinese character for 'Temple' (寺), and several letters appeared before the day, including one that looked like the top half of the 'Bamboo' radical (竹).

September 10, 2009: The Mountain Torrent and the Peach Blossom Spring (山澗桃花源)

I was walking along a narrow street by a river in what seemed to be a hilly region. To be precise, the river was more like a mountain torrent, its bed and shores scattered with boulders large and small. The street naturally followed the undulating hillside, paved entirely with stone slabs. Flanking the road were houses built of cement or stone—grayish-white, barren, and humble, yet impeccably clean. The tallest were only two stories high.

After climbing a slope, I arrived home. It felt as though it was my first time there, and my mother wasn't home. I tidied up the house, and once finished, I sat on the stone steps by the door, gazing out at the shallow river, the pebbled beach, and the quaint street scenery.

Down the slope, my mother was chatting with some people in a small open clearing, and she gestured for me to come over.

For some reason, instead of heading down to her, I ended up sleeping back-to-back with an old woman on a hard wooden bed. The room had no doors or windows, yet it wasn't cold at all. After sleeping for a while, I slipped out of bed, intending to go to my mother’s house to retrieve my camera and wallet that I had left there.

It wasn't dark yet, so I stared hard at the surroundings to memorize the way back. I noticed a tall pole topped with a circular sign. On the grayish-white background of the sign, a circle was drawn, and inside it was the Arabic numeral '6'.

As I walked, I lost my way and couldn't find my mother’s residence. Logically, one shouldn't get lost walking along a river, but I did.

A moment later, I saw that the mountain path on this side of the river was blocked—houses had collapsed or were sliding into the river due to what looked like a recent earthquake. However, no one seemed injured, and local villagers were actively participating in rescue efforts.

I found someone to ask for directions, stating that I needed to get back to the place with the '6' sign. The person told me that the path back was completely blocked. 'Your only choice is to keep walking along this river until you hit a large bridge or a crossing. Cross over to the other side, loop back around the foot of the mountain, and only then might you find your way home.' I asked how far it was and if it would take an hour. The person simply shook their head.

The sky gradually darkened. I was completely penniless, and from the waist down, I was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts.

Deciding to head back no matter how difficult, I hadn't walked far when I suddenly spotted a narrow path of stone slabs, about a foot wide, stretching across the riverbed. The water here was so shallow that it didn't even submerge the stones. In deep and shallow strides, I frantically scrambled across the river and made it to the opposite bank.

The scenery here was entirely different from the other side. The houses were far more elegant and stately. On the withered branches of a roadside shrub, I spotted a massive, completely dried, purple-red octopus.

A few steps further, I noticed a row of bamboo stilt houses about a man's height lining the river. The lower frames were empty, and the upper levels had no walls, only curtains, beneath which several pairs of tiny feet protruded. Lifting the curtain, I realized these were the sleeping beds of a kindergarten, with several children fast asleep. The beds were slanted, tilting downward toward the river. Good grief, one wrong move and they would slide right in! Was this designed to train the children to swim?

I quietly planned to sleep there once darkness fell completely.

Walking a bit further, I realized the buildings here were incredibly antique. Peeking through the doors and windows, the interiors were adorned with exquisite, classical carved hardwoods—rosewood, pearwood, and mahogany. The grand entrances were made of heavy, sophisticated timber.

The elderly residents relaxing at home possessed healthy, bronzed skin, dressed in simple yet elegant traditional attire, their expressions profoundly gentle and kind. Ah! I marveled to myself, Thank goodness for that earthquake and landslide. If I hadn't gotten lost, I never would have stumbled upon this place. It was completely different from the opposite bank—peaceful, carefree, ancient, and elegant, as if I had stepped right into the legendary Peach Blossom Spring.

As I kept walking, the river branched into several wider streams, and I became completely lost. I asked an old man, repeating that I was looking for the place with the '6' billboard.

Instead, a beautiful young lady answered me. She showed me a small booklet. Since I wasn't wearing my glasses, I asked, 'Could you just give me a map?'

'I was just heading inside to make a photocopy for you,' she said, stepping through the grand entrance. I didn't follow her inside, and right then, I woke up.

February 8, 2017: The Mountain Cliff Collapse (山體塌方)

Around 3:00 AM, I woke up and told Pip about the dream I just had; he is always at his computer at this hour. Unable to fall back asleep, I decided to get up and record it (it is now around 3:30 AM):

In the dream, I saw the sheer cliff face of a massive mountain about a hundred meters away. On one side of the cliff, there were three mountain roads running at different heights, resembling semi-open tunnels. I could see vehicles queuing up to drive upward; traffic was heavily congested, mostly consisting of large trucks. Suddenly, a landslide began. At first, it was just small pebbles raining down, but very quickly, massive boulders cracked open and fractured. The collapsing sheets of rock crashed directly onto the vehicles below; the people and cars had absolutely nowhere to escape. This was instantly followed by a massive, sweeping collapse of the cliff's surface.

Two different mountain cliffs suffered this catastrophic collapse almost simultaneously.

I rushed to the window of our second-floor home, shouting for my mother to fetch my phone so I could take a photo. Then, a terrifying thought struck me: the building we live in is also built upon this very same mountain structure. The hidden foundations beneath our roads must be collapsing too. I yelled to my mother and eldest brother to hurry outside and take refuge at the large shopping mall across the back road—the shops there were only two stories high, and the terrain was flat. Reaching the ground floor and stepping outside, a crowd had already gathered. A teenage girl remarked that as long as we stayed a short distance away from the high-rises, we would be fine. But I remained deeply worried; the opposite mountain wasn't far from us, and the very mountain our building sat on was right beneath our feet. This area felt like a basin; if a massive landslide occurred, staying here would still be dangerous. The open space by the mall was vastly safer.

I woke up. (Recording finished at 4:04 AM, heading back to sleep.)

February 17, 2017: The Departure and the Stainless Steel Charms (小W家的留難)

"My mother and I were picked up by Little W and taken to his home. Entering the main gate, I saw many young people painting the door frames of the apartment buildings and whitewashing the exterior walls; there were several residential buildings there. Little W's family lived on the third floor. Stepping inside the apartment, I was delighted to find two beds. My mother sat back against one bed to rest, while I stroked the sheets of the other, happily saying, 'Wonderful, we have a place to sleep now. We can leave tomorrow.'

But Little W interjected, 'No, that won't work. You absolutely must leave before 11:17.' He implied that no one else would be home during this specific window.

Before that exact time arrived, just as we were preparing to leave, we heard the sound of the front door opening. Little W and I hurried to the entrance. The door swung open, and it was Little W's parents returning. They froze at the doorway, stunned to see people inside the apartment. Taking advantage of their momentary shock, I slipped past them and made my escape. My mother, however, was intercepted by them. I had a lingering impression that Little W's mother never liked him being friends with me, and I worried they might mistreat my mother. I wandered around downstairs, completely unable to remember where I had parked my bicycle when we arrived.

It was already dusk as I paced below the building. Suddenly, a window on the third floor flew open. Little W leaned out and tossed a ring of keys down to me, shouting that my bicycle was parked right next to the bank. Looking closely at the key ring, it held several flat, stainless steel charms shaped like little animals. As it fell, I saw a small brown bird swoop down and catch it in its beak. When it hit the ground, I realized the bird itself was actually one of the stainless steel charms. I looked up at him and yelled, 'Take good care of my mom!' "

June 14, 2025: The Infinite Cashmere and Prada (無盡的奢侈品)

I was staying at a hotel with an elderly couple, acting as their assistant. We occupied a massive suite. Two days later, they checked out and left, leaving me behind to sort through the belongings they no longer wanted. All those items now belonged to me. I initially assumed it was just a few of the old gentleman's suits, but to my surprise, there were several suits and over a dozen scarves—the fabric felt incredibly fine, smooth, and luxurious, seemingly pure cashmere. I wondered to myself: the elderly couple only stayed for two days, why on earth did they bring so many things?

But it didn't stop there. As I kept pulling items out, more and more things kept appearing—dozens of high-end luxury bags and exquisite, sophisticated accessories.

My mother was also present. I found large plastic bags to pack everything, and my mother helped me carry them. Shortly after, five or six hotel housekeepers walked in; they needed to clean the room. I hurriedly had my mother take five or six large bags of items and leave first. I continued packing, and the stream of treasures seemed absolutely endless. The brand 'Prada' flashed vividly in my mind—knowing it is one of the world's top luxury brands. I personally hauled five or six massive bags back to my own place first, which happened to be on the 10th floor of the exact same building.

After dropping off the first haul, I returned for the rest. The housekeepers had already neatly placed the remaining items out in the hallway. I gathered a few more pieces and decided to call it a day, leaving the rest behind. This time, I didn't take the elevator up; I decided to walk. Crossing through the corridor, I discovered that the hallway connected directly into a classroom—a university lecture hall equipped with computers and technology—and right then, I woke up.

It is so strange; in my past dreams, I was almost always completely penniless.

Just a couple of days prior, I had another dream where I was incredibly wealthy with a massive amount of money. I told Pip about it at the time, but didn't write it down. When I asked him today if he remembered, he said, "I think you dreamt you had a mountain of gold, silver, and treasure."

特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。

Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.

第三百九十五篇

《天崩地裂時的獨行者》

地動山搖，洪水氾濫夢： 記得那是一九八八年的第一天。夢見了大地震，海水把一艘大船衝到了家門口。從此以後地動山搖，洪水氾濫的驚天動地場面便進入了我的夢。順便提一句我八八年七月搭船東渡扶桑。元旦之夢是否預示著我的東「渡」？去一個多地震有海嘯的島國？

一次地震時好像是在西方的古代(西方建築)。我在地震震開的地面大裂縫的內壁，艱難坎坷地跌跌撞撞地攀爬出來，又在搖動著的落石紛紛的建築物旁大街上奔走。

有一次火山爆發前夕我見一個小男孩在山坡上，便告訴他快逃。接著就出現了驚天地泣鬼魂的壯觀景色。沖天的火光恍眼，焦灼的氣浪襲身，熾熱的岩漿是鋪天搶地。

一次我在一條河邊洗濁，見上游漂來幾隻雞鴨，順手拈來才知道是死了的。漸漸從上游漂下來的東西多了起來，不只是死雞鴨了，死豬，死牛甚至死人。我將此夢告訴了一個朋友，她說幾個月前她去長江三峽旅遊時正逢洪水爆發見過漂流的死屍。我還真不知道那年長江三峽有洪水爆發的事。

有過在樓房林立的街道中行走時遇到了地震，我左右穿插躲避著從正在搖晃倒塌樓房上掉下來的石頭、磚塊兒、碎玻璃。有時，我甚至被迫在地面上被震裂的一條開口很寬的地縫中那凹凸不平的側壁上艱難地前行。

The Solitary Traveler Through Shattered Earth

I remember clearly that it was the very first day of 1988. I dreamed of a massive earthquake, where the roaring ocean swept a grand ship right to my doorstep. Unbeknownst to me at the time, this was just the beginning; from that moment on, apocalyptic spectacles of earth-shattering quakes and raging floods became a recurring tapestry in my dreams. In July of that exact year, I boarded a ship to travel east to Japan. Looking back, did that New Year's Day dream prophesy my eastern 'crossing' to an island nation defined by frequent earthquakes and tsunamis?

During one earthquake dream, I seemed to be in an ancient Western city surrounded by historic architecture. I found myself trapped inside a massive fissure ripped open in the ground, stumbling and scrambling awkwardly up its steep inner walls to escape. Once on the surface, I ran through the streets as buildings swayed violently around me, dodging a cascade of falling stones.

On another occasion, on the eve of a volcanic eruption, I spotted a young boy on the hillside and screamed at him to run for his life. Instantly, an earth-shattering, soul-stirring spectacle erupted: blinding pillars of fire shot into the sky, scorching shockwaves blasted against my body, and glowing, white-hot magma surged over the earth, swallowing everything in its path.

In a different dream, I was washing things by a riverbank when I noticed a few chickens and ducks drifting down from upstream. I reached out to scoop them up, only to realize they were already dead. Gradually, the river became choked with debris drifting from upstream; it was no longer just dead poultry, but drowned pigs, cows, and eventually, human corpses. When I shared this dream with a friend, she gasped and told me that during her trip to the Yangtze River Three Gorges a few months prior, a massive flood had erupted, and she had witnessed floating corpses exactly like that. I genuinely had no idea that a catastrophic flood had struck the Three Gorges that year.

I have also dreamed of walking through streets lined with towering buildings when a violent earthquake struck. I had to weave left and right, frantically dodging falling stones, bricks, and shattered glass raining down from the swaying, collapsing high-rises. At times, I was even forced to make a treacherous trek along the jagged, uneven sidewalls inside a wide-open fissure torn into the earth.

特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。

Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.

第三百九十三篇

《青春斷代史：1988年，紫羅蘭美髮廳的捲髮、黑絲絨婚紗，與東渡扶桑的紅高粱》

從廣州回到上海後，我報名上了英語課，並開始每天早上去長風公園跟人學習吳氏太極拳，每個月交兩塊錢的學費。老師姓吳，不知是否與吳氏太極拳的正式傳人有所淵源。一起練功的有二十來個人，年紀最大的一位已經八十二歲了，依舊很有精神，他曾說自己的手骨折過，是他自己動手接好的。另一位是一退休的老公安，他對我說，看一個人如果想要快速記住長相，必須立刻抓住其面部特徵，比如臉上某個部位長有痦子或雀斑等。

公園裡還有其他鍛煉的人群。我經常看到一個跟我年紀相仿的姑娘，獨自一人來公園練習太極劍。她的動作非常漂亮，長相、身材和氣質都很好，十分吸引人。漸漸地，我和她認識了，她姓L，是一個非常努力上進的姑娘。後來，我們還一起各花了四十二塊錢的報名費，參加了當時在上海比較有名氣的時裝設計裁剪班。那時聽說美國的人工成本貴，一件手工編織的毛衣能值六十美元。準備出國的人除了上外語課，大都在抓緊學習烹飪、裁剪、按摩等各種生存技能。

其間，我還學了幾回美聲唱法。Z老師是一位從部隊文工團轉業到我們學校的老師，她的聲音嘹亮圓潤。第一次是在學校裡幫我練聲，她教我必須用腹部呼吸，唱歌時要把嘴巴豎著張開，像打哈欠那樣，讓氣流往上，把鼻腔打開，這樣頭部都會產生震動與共鳴。後來，她便請我去她家裡練。當時年少不懂事，跟著她學唱歌，我也沒有送過禮或付過學費。後來，我也將小L介紹到這位Z老師家去學習唱歌。

【幾年後，我給小L介紹了一個美國丈夫。對方是西方人，畢業於美國西點軍校，當時也是在東海大學任教的外教，他過去也曾去過中國，交往過一個中國姑娘，但後來沒能成功。

樓梯在照片的右邊

我們住的那棟二層的日式公寓樓並不在校園內，去學校需要坐電鐵坐兩站路。公寓樓上下各有三套房間，他住在公寓樓東側露天樓梯上來的第一間套房，我們則住在西側頂端的那套。每套公寓一進門是廚房與餐廳在一起的一大間，鋪著洋式的木地板，一側有浴室廁所；走過這間屋子有一扇拉門，後面有兩間各鋪有六個榻榻米的和式屋子，可以分別作為書房和臥室。樓裡幾乎全都住著東海大學的外教。

當小L抵達日本時，我已經離開了日本。還記得那個我在黃山認識、在留學生食堂裡工作、後來幫我領進留學生舞會從而結識了J的小Z嗎？她後來也去了日本。我在信裡介紹初到日本、無親無友的小L與小Z認識，她們因此成了朋友。小Z後來又通過小L，結識了另一位來自加拿大的西方人外教，而那位外教恰好就住在我也曾居住過的那棟公寓樓的底層。他們最終組建了家庭。這一環扣一環的因果，繞不繞？奇不奇怪？後來由於我自身的生活也陷入不穩定，便與她們都失去了聯繫。那都是後話了。】

回頭接著說1988年。記得那一九八八年的第一天，我做了一個夢。夢見了大地震，海水把一艘大船沖到了家門口。我在惶恐中剛想定睛一看，卻醒了。奇怪的是，從此以後，地動山搖、洪水氾濫的驚天動地場面，便頻繁進入了我的夢境。【順便提一句，我是在1988年7月搭船東渡扶桑的。元旦的那場大船與地震之夢，是否正預示著我接下來的東「渡」？去往一個多地震的島國？】

我讓自己隨時保持忙碌，但我仍然感到孤獨，我非常想念J。J之前的兩次婚姻試探——“Maybe we should get married.”——我當時都沒有回答。我不知道該怎麼去回答這個“Maybe”。J後來也沒有再追問，只是在來信中讓我去打聽辦理涉外婚姻的手續和步驟。

我前往相關部門了解到，辦理結婚他需要出具：三張個人照片、帶有照片和編號那一頁的護照複印件、中國簽證，還必須持有一份由他們美國州政府出具、並經中國領事館或大使館認證的公證書，內容需包括姓名、性別、出生日期、出生地點和婚姻狀況（單身證明）。該公證書的有效期僅為六個月。而我則需要提供由派出所出具的戶籍證明，以及由單位出具的單身證明。1988年的1月30日至2月25日是學校放寒假的時間。我必須抓緊時間辦理，否則在寒假期間是找不到負責人開證明的。記得我找單位領導開具單身證明時，周圍的閒言碎語就傳開了，大都在議論男方的年齡大。J比我大十三歲。結婚證書開具出來大約需要等待十天。

1988年3月，J來到了上海。我們前往民政局辦理了結婚登記手續，並做了婚前體檢。

1988年3月11日，是我正式出嫁的日子。那天大清早，我先去了上海著名的紫羅蘭美髮廳燙了頭髮。幫我做頭髮的年輕師傅是朋友介紹認識的。當他把一個個捲髮筒從我頭上取下來、拿起吹風機準備幫我梳理造型時，我從鏡子裡看到那一縷縷、一捲捲富有彈性的頭髮卷兒掛在前額、鬢邊和耳後兩側的脖子上，已經非常好看了。我便對他說：「師傅，不用吹風了，就讓它這樣一捲卷自然垂蕩下來的樣子，蠻好。」我擔心吹了風難免顯得刻板，反而少了些許自然與飄逸。

那種一圈一圈垂下來的捲髮，是我曾經在西方老電影裡看到過的古典髮式。在那些電影的宮廷舞會場景中，女子們身穿上身緊繃、束腰的奢華禮服和大蓬蓬裙，在舞池裡跳著集體舞，耳鬢兩側垂掛著的縷縷髮卷正是這個樣子。我頭髮的樣式雖然沒有那麼精緻，我當時也不是追求精緻，只是打心底裡喜歡那種蓬鬆、飄逸與富有彈性的自然狀態。

當我出門上「轎」（接親的小汽車）時，四哥和五哥開始在門前燃放雙響爆竹和鞭炮。梧桐樹的疏影裡頓時飛揚起爆竹的碎屑，空氣中彌漫著硝煙的味道。J興奮地舉著照相機「咔咔咔」地拍，拍得街坊鄰居與家人都顯得有些不好意思。六哥和他的朋友則開了兩輛單位裡的小汽車來接送我們。

我們在梅隴鎮酒家舉辦了婚宴。我坐的那輛小車後到，J坐的車先到。他用相機抓拍到了兩個小姪女下車時的情景。小姪女當時有些暈車，下車時整個人還暈暈乎乎的；小侄子坐在副駕駛座上，而我當時還坐在後座上。

那天，我穿了一襲黑絲絨的長裙。裙子的領口邊、袖口邊與腰帶邊，點綴著一圈手工縫製的金片和小珠子。右邊胸口、左前方腰圍下方與裙擺處，有手工縫製的彩色金片與亮珠組合而成的精美花卉圖案。長裙外面，我罩了一件大紅色的全羊毛呢大衣。當我一走進梅隴鎮酒家時，就聽到旁邊有兩個年輕的女服務生用上海話小聲嘀咕：「搿個新娘子哪能穿黑顏色？！」（這個新娘子怎麼穿黑顏色？！）在那個年代，以前好友出嫁時從裡到外穿的都是紅色的，據說什麼紅都行，但必須是紅的。不吉利嗎？頭腦簡單的我當時完全沒有在意，覺得不以為然。

餐廳裡，我們那一桌的旁邊坐著三四個西方人，正等著用餐。看到我們在這裡舉辦婚宴，他們顯得很高興。其中一位女士特意給我們端來了一盤服務生剛剛給他們端上桌的松鼠大黃魚，以此作為賀禮。我們也隨即送給他們喜糖，回了禮。

喜宴結束、送走所有的客人後，我也跟著住進了專家樓。第二天，J就必須趕回日本工作了。我送他去碼頭坐船。我獨自站在碼頭上，等待客輪啟航離開。等了很久很久，新買的高跟鞋把我的腳夾得非常疼。

四哥在2022年拍的匯山碼頭佈局似乎還是老樣子

1988年7月16日，我乘坐「鑑真號」客輪去往日本。在上海匯山碼頭登船時，我意外遇到了一位我當年上中專班時的女同學，她恰好也坐這趟船。

她上學時曾是班幹部，比較清高，長得很漂亮，溫文爾雅，也有一米七十頎長的個子，或許比我還要高出一點兒。雖然中專畢業後她也留校在電教所工作，但我們平時並不常往來。我們班裡一共只有八個女生。在我出國前夕，我們其餘七個女生在一同學家聚了聚，她們當時還合送了我一幅孔雀圖案的羊毛掛毯。

客輪上的小賣部入口處，挂著一件標價一萬多日元的毛巾浴衣。我當時看著，暗自慶幸自己隨身帶著的那件全棉毛巾浴衣只花了十四元人民幣。為了防止暈船，多數時間我都在船體中線部位的鋪位上躺著。比起大唐高僧鑑真和尚六次東渡、五次失敗的艱難，我的這趟遠航簡直是一帆風順，一路上連狂風怒濤都沒有遇到，更別說海盜、觸礁或官府追截了。我們是星期六中午十二點出發的，抵達大阪港時，已經是星期一的中午十二點了。

J租了一輛小車，開到大阪港來接我。當晚，我們入住了一家日本典型的民宿。沿途我們還去了一些地方遊玩。記得在開車途中，J轉過頭對我說：「唱首歌吧。」在黃山時他曾聽我哼過一段費加洛的詠嘆調，這時，我居然開口唱的是1987年電影《紅高粱》裡的插曲：

「嘿～～妹妹你大膽地往前走哇，往前走，莫回呀頭！通天的大路九千九百，九千九百九哇！」

估計我那粗獷的歌聲，聽得他心裡直犯嘀咕。我當時也沒跟他解釋這句歌詞的大意。興許，這首歌曲正完完全全表明了我當時的心聲：三十多歲了，獨自一人出國闖蕩，我需要這首歌來鼓勵自己——大膽地往前走。

許多年後的2011年7月，我們闊別了三十年的中專班同學重新取得了聯繫。當年和我一起坐船去日本的那位女同學，特意給我發來了一封電子郵件。她在信中寫道：

「我有個謝意，二十幾年來一直沒有機會表達，今天總算得到了妳的聯繫方法……記得在1988年7月16日，我們倆是一起坐『鑑真號』船離開上海去日本的。抵達大阪港後，妳先生已經在那裡等妳了，我當時羨慕極了……可是接我的人沒有來，我急壞了。我用了五百塊日圓，在港口一個不找錢的電話機上打電話給學校（後來才知道其實只要十塊日圓就可以了）。我當時不知道日本電話的撥打方法，弄來弄去，大約花了三十分鐘才把電話打通。而妳當時沒有馬上和妳先生離開。妳擔心我萬一聯繫不上學校會遇到困難，有妳和妳先生在，也許還可以幫上點忙。妳就一直那樣耐心地等著我跟學校聯絡……時間的流逝沒有帶走我當年的感激心情，那情景牢牢地印在我的記憶裡。在此，請接受我這封遲到了二十三年的謝意！」

收到她的郵件後，我隨後寫了回信。我在信中對她說：「妳的第一封Email使我流淚，這封卻又讓我在夜深人靜中笑出了聲。給我的感覺如今的妳相當謙虛，在我的印象中妳以前真有些公主般的高傲呢；背著相機在校園裡當女記者的矜持、酷酷的形象令人羨慕。

說來奇怪，昨天，也就是妳的第一封Email之前的那個晚上，我做了一個在日本的夢，要去三個地方（夢裡反覆出現過三個地名），記得一個是六本木、一個是我原來住過的地方神奈川的伊勢原，另外一個好像是相模原。我要上一個很陡的高坡去見一個過去的朋友，女的，高挑靚麗，但是錯過了車，沒見著，電話接通了，但又沒聯繫上。

奇怪嗎？我經常做夢的第二天，世間發生的事兒總帶有夢中的信息。前兩天我做了一個有關航天飛機的夢，第二天就從新聞節目中眼看著中國的神八飛船發射。雖然夢裡的是飛船事故，兩個宇航員跳傘，一個掉在了我家的陽台上，我還參與了救護打911（報警電話）。呵呵～有好多問題要問，但得忍著點兒，細水長流，以後再聊。」

後來我了解到，這位同船共濟的班幹部同學，她的奶奶竟然也同樣是旗人。在2015年的郵件中，我還曾跟她開玩笑說：「我想，咱倆還一定是有緣分的。我們註定是要遇上的。你想啊，要是還是大清，咱們倆肯定會碰上。因為躲不過旗人每三年一次選秀的。像妳這樣出挑的，一定會被選上。我也可能被留在宮裡做個真正的繡女。嘻嘻～」

正如我2009年電子筆記裡寫下的那段話：「船到達大阪，看到前來接我的家人，我的搭伴黯然傷感；雖說都是新婚燕爾，可一聚一散將演繹出多少悲歡離合的故事……」那時她隻身一人前來日本，新婚的丈夫被留在了上海。

命運的因果在幾十年間悄然嚙合。那些失散在歷史狂風裡的清高、孤傲、大船之夢與手心戒尺，最終在二十一世紀的電子信箋裡細水長流。大宅門不倒，血脈至今落鎖，我們終究是在文字的世界裡，大膽地往前走，完成了最圓滿的重逢。

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Chronicles of Youth: 1988—The Curls at Violet Salon, Black Velvet Wedding Dress, and "Red Sorghum" Eastward Across the Sea

Upon returning to Shanghai from Guangzhou, I enrolled in English classes and began going to Changfeng Park every morning to study Wu-style Taiqi Quan, paying a tuition fee of two RMB per month. The instructor’s surname was Wu; I remain unaware of whether he shared any lineage with the official masters of the style. Our practice group consisted of roughly twenty individuals; the eldest among us was eighty-two years of age but remained exceptionally spirited, noting that when he once fractured his own arm, he had set the bone back in place himself. Another participant was a retired public security officer. He told me that if one wished to quickly memorize a face, one must immediately seize upon a distinct feature, such as a mole or freckles on a specific part of the countenance.

There were other groups exercising within the park. I frequently observed a young woman near my own age who came to the park alone to practice Taiqi Jian (swordplay). Her movements were exceptionally beautiful, and she possessed fine looks, a good figure, and a refined bearing that drew much attention. Gradually, I became acquainted with her; her surname was L, and she was a highly diligent and aspiring young woman. Later, we each paid a registration fee of forty-two RMB to enroll in a fashion design and tailoring class that was quite well-known in Shanghai at the time. Word circulated then that manual labor was expensive in the United States, and a single hand-knitted sweater could fetch sixty dollars. Those preparing to depart the country, aside from taking foreign language classes, were mostly rushing to acquire practical survival skills such as cooking, tailoring, and massage.

During this period, I also took several lessons in bel canto singing. Master Z was an instructor who had transferred to our institution after being discharged from a military performing arts troupe; her voice was resonant and rounded. During our first session at the school to train my voice, she instructed me that I must utilize abdominal breathing. When singing, the mouth had to be opened vertically, precisely as one does when yawning, directing the airflow upward to open the nasal cavity, which generated vibrations and resonance throughout the head. Later, she invited me to her home to practice. Young and ignorant of the world back then, I studied singing under her without ever offering a gift or paying tuition. Afterward, I introduced Little L to this same instructor’s home to study singing as well.

[Years later, I introduced Little L to an American husband. He was a Westerner who had graduated from the United States Military Academy at West Point; at the time, he was also a foreign instructor teaching at Tokai University. He had previously traveled to China and courted a Chinese woman, though that relationship had ultimately failed to realize.

That two-story Japanese-style apartment building where we lived was not located on the campus; reaching the university required riding the electric railway for two stations. The building contained three separate suites on each floor, upstairs and down. He occupied the first suite immediately at the top of the exterior open-air staircase on the eastern side of the building, while we resided in the westernmost suite at the far end. Upon entering each apartment, one found a large room combining the kitchen and dining area, with a bathroom and toilet situated along one side. Passing through this room led to a sliding door, behind which lay two Japanese-style rooms, each floored with six tatami mats, which could serve as a study and a bedroom. Virtually all the residents within the building were foreign instructors teaching at Tokai University.

By the time Little L arrived in Japan, I had already departed the country. Do you recall Little Z, whom I had met at Mount Huang, who worked in the international student cafeteria and later brought me into the foreign students' dance where I met J? She had relocated to Japan as well. Through my letters, I introduced Little L—who was newly arrived in Japan without a single friend or relative—to Little Z, and they became close friends. Little Z subsequently utilized her connection with Little L to meet another Western foreign instructor from Canada, who happened to reside on the ground floor of the very same teaching dormitory building where I had once lived. They ultimately established a family together. Is this causal chain not remarkably winding and peculiar? Later, as my own circumstances grew unstable, I lost contact with both of them. But that is an afterthought.]

Returning to the timeline of 1988: I remember that very first day of 1988. I experienced a dream of a massive earthquake, where the ocean waters crashed a gargantuan ship straight to our front door. Terrified, I focused my eyes only to realize it was a dream. Peculiarly, from that moment forward, cataclysmic scenes of shifting earth, shaking mountains, and raging floods frequently invaded my dreamscapes. [I might mention that on July 16, 1988, I boarded a vessel to cross the sea eastward to Japan. Did that New Year’s dream of a massive ship and an earthquake precisely foretell my subsequent eastward "crossing" to an island nation prone to earthquakes?]

I kept myself continuously busy, yet I remained consumed by loneliness, missing J intensely. Regarding J’s two prior marriage probings—"Maybe we should get married"—I had offered no answer at the time. I simply did not know how to respond to that "Maybe." J did not pursue the question further afterward, but merely instructed me in his letters to inquire about the procedures and steps for registering an international marriage.

Upon inquiring with the relevant authorities, I learned that for the marriage registration, he needed to produce three personal photographs, a photocopy of the passport page bearing his photograph and number, a Chinese visa, and a certificate of notary public issued by his state government in the United States and authenticated by the Chinese consulate or embassy. This document had to verify his name, gender, date of birth, place of birth, and marital status (a certificate of singleness), and its validity was strictly limited to six months. For my part, I was required to provide a household registration certificate issued by the local police station and a certificate of single status issued by my work unit. The school’s winter break ran from January 30 to February 25. I had to rush to complete these matters, as it would be impossible to find the responsible officials once the vacation commenced. I recall that when I approached the unit leadership to obtain the single status certificate, idle gossip began to circulate immediately, mostly murmuring about the groom’s advanced age. J was thirteen years senior to me. The marriage certificate itself required a waiting period of roughly ten days to be issued.

In March 1988, J arrived in Shanghai. We proceeded to the civil affairs bureau to complete the marriage registration procedures and underwent the pre-marital medical examination.

March 11, 1988, was the day of my official marriage. Early that morning, I went to the famous Violet Hair Salon in Shanghai to have my hair permed. The young stylist who worked on my hair had been introduced to me by a friend. When he removed the rollers from my head one by one and picked up the blow dryer to style it, I looked into the mirror and saw those bouncy curls hanging gracefully across my forehead, temples, and behind my ears on both sides of my neck. It already looked exceptionally fine. I turned to him and said, "Master, there is no need to blow-dry it. The way it hangs naturally in these curls is quite good." I worried that utilizing the dryer would inevitably make it look rigid, robbing it of its natural, flowing grace.

Those curls hanging down row after row represented a classical western hairstyle I had observed in old foreign cinema. In the court ball scenes of those films, women dressed in lavish, corseted gowns with tight bodices and billowing hoop skirts performed formation dances across the ballroom, their hair styled precisely in that fashion. My own hair was by no means that meticulously refined, nor was I seeking refinement at that moment; I simply loved the voluminous, flowing, and bouncy nature of that natural state.

When I stepped out the door to enter the "bridal carriage" (the wedding car), my fourth and fifth brothers began detonating double-bang firecrackers and strings of small firecrackers in front of the gate. Amidst the sparse shadows of the phoenix trees, fragments of the firecrackers flew through the air, and the smell of gunpowder filled the breeze. J excitedly raised his camera, snapping photos with a barrage of clicks, which made the neighbors and family members feel quite self-conscious. My sixth brother and his friend drove two small cars borrowed from their work units to handle our transportation.

We held our wedding banquet at the Meilongzhen Restaurant. The car I occupied arrived later, while the car J rode in reached the venue first. He caught a candid photograph of my two young nieces as they stepped out of the vehicle. My nieces were suffering from car sickness at the moment, stepping onto the pavement thoroughly dazed; my young nephew sat in the front passenger seat, while I remained in the rear.

That day, I wore a long black velvet dress. The borders of the neckline, cuffs, and belt were adorned with a row of hand-sewn gold sequins and tiny beads. Across the right breast, below the left front waistline, and along the hemline were exquisite floral patterns assembled from hand-sewn colored sequins and bright beads. Over the gown, I wore a bright red coat of pure wool cloth. The moment I stepped inside the Meilongzhen Restaurant, I overheard two young female servers murmuring in Shanghainese: "How can this bride wear black?!" In that era, whenever my friends had married, they wore red from the inside out; it was said that any shade of red would suffice, but it absolutely had to be red.

Was it a harbiner of ill fortune? Simple-minded as I was, I paid it no heed at the time, remaining entirely indifferent.

Inside the dining room, a group of three or four Westerners sat at the table adjacent to ours, waiting for their meal. Upon seeing us hosting our wedding banquet there, they appeared highly delighted. One of the ladies personally carried over a platter of Squirrel-Shaped Mandarin Fish that the server had just set upon their table, presenting it to us as a wedding gift. We immediately returned the gesture by presenting them with wedding candies.

After the banquet concluded and all the guests had been sent away, I moved into the Foreign Experts Building alongside him. The following day, J had to rush back to Japan for work. I accompanied him to the wharf to see him off onto the passenger ship. I stood alone upon the pier, waiting a very long time for the steamer to depart. My newly purchased high-heeled shoes pinched my feet terribly.

On July 16, 1988, I boarded the Jianzhen passenger liner to travel to Japan. While boarding at the Shanghai Huishan Wharf, I unexpectedly encountered a female classmate from my technical certificate program who happened to be taking the same voyage. 

During our school years, she had served as a class monitor and possessed a somewhat aloof reserve; she was remarkably beautiful, gentle, and elegant, standing with a slender, tall stature of 1.7 meters, perhaps even a bit taller than myself. Although she was also assigned to remain at the school to work within the Audio-Visual Education Institute after graduation, we did not associate frequently in our daily lives. There were only eight female students in our entire class. On the eve of my departure from the country, seven of us gathered together for a farewell, and they presented me with a wool tapestry featuring a peacock pattern as a joint gift.

Near the entrance of the ship’s small commissary hung a terrycloth bathrobe priced at over ten thousand yen. Looking at it, I secretly rejoiced that the pure cotton terrycloth robe I carried with me had cost merely fourteen RMB. To prevent seasickness, I spent the majority of the voyage lying down in a berth located along the ship’s centerline. Compared to the hardships of the Great Tang monk Jianzhen, who crossed the sea six times and failed five times, my long voyage was entirely smooth sailing; we encountered not a single gale or wild wave along the way, to say nothing of pirates, running aground, or pursuit by government officials. We departed at twelve noon on Saturday, and by the time we reached the Port of Osaka, it was twelve noon on Monday.

J had rented an automobile and drove to the Port of Osaka to receive me. That evening, we stayed at a typical Japanese minshuku (guesthouse). Along our route, we visited several locations. I recall that while he was driving, J turned his head toward me and said, "Sing a song." At Mount Huang, he had heard me humming a segment of an aria from The Marriage of Figaro; this time, I opened my mouth and sang loudly the theme from the 1987 film Red Sorghum:

"Hey, sister, stride boldly forward! Forward you go, never turn your head! The road to heaven has nine thousand, nine hundred, nine hundred and ninety-nine…"

I suppose my coarse singing voice left his mind thoroughly bewildered. I offered no explanation of the lyrics' meaning to him at the time. In truth, that song precisely articulated my innermost voice back then: entering my thirties, venturing abroad alone, I required that very song to encourage myself—to stride boldly forward.

Many years later, in July 2011, our technical program classmates reestablished contact after thirty years of absence. The woman who had taken the ship to Japan alongside me sent an email. In her letter, she wrote:

"I possess a debt of gratitude that I have lacked an opportunity to express for over twenty years, and today I have finally obtained your contact details... I remember that on July 16, 1988, the two of us boarded the Jianzhen together to leave Shanghai for Japan. Upon arriving at the Port of Osaka, your husband was already there waiting for you, and I was filled with envy... However, the person who was supposed to receive me failed to arrive, and I panicked. I used a 500-yen coin in a non-changing public telephone at the port to call the school (only later did I learn it actually required a mere 10 yen). I didn't know how to use a Japanese telephone back then, and after fumbling about, it took roughly thirty minutes to finally get through. Yet you did not depart immediately with your husband. You worried that if I failed to contact the school, I would face difficulties, and reasoned that with you and your husband present, perhaps you could offer some assistance. You remained there, waiting patiently until I completed my contact with the school... The passage of time has not carried away my gratitude from that day; that scene remains firmly stamped within my memory. Please accept this expression of gratitude, twenty-three years late!"

Upon receiving her message, I penned a reply, stating to her:

"Your first email brought tears to my eyes, but this one made me laugh aloud in the dead of night. It feels to me that you are remarkably modest now; in my memory, you used to possess a touch of princess-like haughtiness. Your reserved, cool demeanor as a female journalist walking the campus with a camera slung over your shoulder was thoroughly enviable.

Strangely enough, yesterday—the very evening prior to your first email arriving—I experienced a dream set in Japan. I was trying to reach three specific locations that surfaced repeatedly in the dream: one was Roppongi, another was Isehara in Kanagawa where I once resided, and the third seemed to be Sagamihara. I was attempting to ascend a very steep slope to meet a friend from the past—a woman, tall and beautiful—but I missed the vehicle and failed to see her. The telephone call went through, yet we never established a connection.

Is it not peculiar? Frequently, the day following my dreams, events unfolding in the physical world bear the exact information from those visions. A couple of days ago, I dreamed of a space shuttle, and the very next day, I watched the broadcast of China’s Shenzhou-8 spacecraft launch. Though in the dream it was a shuttle accident with two astronauts parachuting down, one landing upon our balcony, and myself assisting in the rescue and dialing 911. I have countless questions to ask you, but I must restrain myself; let our words flow like a steady, gentle stream, and we shall converse more in the days ahead."

I subsequently discovered that her grandmother, too, was of Manchu banner lineage. In an email correspondence from 2015, I joked with her: "I believe there must be a destined connection between the two of us; we were bound to cross paths. Consider it—had the Great Qing Dynasty endured, we would have certainly met. There would be no evading the imperial draft for banner girls held every three years. With your exceptional appearance, you would have undoubtedly been selected. As for me, I might have been retained within the palace to serve as a genuine embroiderer."

It perfectly aligns with the entry I recorded within my digital journal back in 2009: "When the vessel reached Osaka and she saw my family member arriving to receive me, my traveling companion was consumed by a profound, silent sorrow. Though both of us were newlyweds embarking on fresh marriages, this single moment of crossing paths—one being received while the other was left waiting—was destined to play out countless narratives of joy, sorrow, parting, and reunion..." At that time, she had journeyed to Japan entirely alone, her newlywed husband left behind in Shanghai.

The causal gears of destiny meshed quietly across the decades. The haughtiness, the tall statures, the New Year's dreams of massive vessels, and the hand-carved brass rulers scattered by the historical gales finally reunited within the text of these electronic letters, flowing like a gentle, endless stream. With the ancestral foundations remaining unyielding and our lineages firmly anchored, we continue, after all, to stride boldly forward through the realm of words, achieving the ultimate, flawless reunion.

特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。

Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.

第三百八十八篇