onyx-ridge

[onyx-ridge]

Climb out of the well

5         Stealing Books Is Not Theft II

Wu Yan, just over 15 years old, still has a youthful face as he walks briskly out of his family's courtyard. He then turns left and heads towards another courtyard next door, which has a sign indicating it belongs to a film studio. He Fan, Wu Yan's classmate from elementary school and best friend, lives there. He Fan's father is a writer, and his mother is a housewife. They are true Shanghainese; He Fan moved to this southern city with his father when he was 10 and transferred into Wu Yan's class. Among the classmates, their families lived the closest to each other, so they naturally became best friends. Later, they both got accepted into different high schools.

Wu Yan is impulsive and loves to try various new things, while He Fan is mature and composed, with a wealth of knowledge. The two very different personalities somehow became inseparable friends. Their friendship lasted for many years, but unfortunately, during the major upheavals decades later, they went their separate ways and became strangers.

After entering high school, they had only studied for a year and a half when they encountered the "Cultural Revolution." All schools across the country, from elementary to university, halted classes to "revolutionize." Students were divided into various factions and fought against each other; teachers became targets of the revolution.

The two brothers, Wu Yan and his brother, were close friends with He Fan and his brother since elementary school, and they frequently visited each other. During this "revolution," they considered themselves part of the "carefree faction," watching debates from various sides and listening to different viewpoints while remaining detached. Eventually, He Fan even led the four of them to publish a mimeographed newsletter called "Communications." He Fan proudly declared that it was akin to the British Reuters, gathering news and spreading it throughout society without bias, allowing readers to discern for themselves. Later, He Fan quickly became a famous media figure due to his strong literary background, deep family heritage, and keen analytical skills. But that’s a story for later.

He Fan came from a well-educated family; his father had high standards for his writing, while his mother was a typical intellectual Shanghai woman—graceful, elegant, and kind.

"Hello, Aunt He," Wu Yan greeted He Fan's mother as he saw her and then walked into He Fan's room.

He Fan loved reading, and even in the age of banned books, he could still find some reading materials, such as thin essay collections, poetry collections, and even the popular mimeographed newsletters from various sources.

After chatting for a while, He Fan asked, "Wu Yan, you often go out; how’s the situation outside recently?"

Wu Yan replied, "It's been better lately; there are many fewer people. Those large-scale parades and long motorcades are rare now. I heard many people have gone out to have fun."

He Fan glanced out the window and whispered, "Now's a good time. Since there are fewer people, let’s go steal some books. What do you think?"

Wu Yan's heart raced with a mix of nervousness and excitement as he asked, "Steal books! Where do we steal them from?"

"From my school," He Fan answered. "I’m very familiar with the environment there; I used to go to the library often, and I know where the books are placed. Plus, the school isn't far from our home."

Wu Yan waved his hand excitedly and said, "It’s settled then! We’ll go tonight, bringing along Wu Jun and He Tang. We’ll sneak in to steal the books while they keep watch outside."

Wu Jun is Wu Yan's younger brother, quiet and studious, always a top student; He Tang is He Fan's younger brother, mischievous and active, who later became a successful businessman. At that time, they were both more than a year younger than their older brothers and very obedient.

"Okay," He Fan said, "bring a sack, and let’s meet at the school gate at midnight."

That night, the spring rain had temporarily stopped, and the humid air eased the unique heat of the south. Wu Yan lay in bed, wide awake, occasionally glancing at the alarm clock on his bedside. The hour hand pointed to 11:30, and he quietly got up, already dressed. He walked over to his younger brother's bed and gently tapped Wu Jun to wake him from his sleep. After Wu Jun got dressed, the two brothers quietly opened the bedroom window and stealthily climbed out, carefully closing the window behind them.

The so-called main gate of the courtyard consisted of two pillars with the unit's name hanging on them, without any closing doors. There was a duty room nearby, which used to have someone on guard, but now, due to the "revolution," it had become more or less abandoned.

After exiting the gate, they quickened their pace and swiftly headed toward the school. The bumpy dirt road was scattered with puddles of various sizes, but they navigated it with ease, stepping in and out of the water without difficulty. They were very familiar with this road, having walked past He Fan’s school every day on their way to high school.

At midnight, the two pairs of brothers arrived at the school gate simultaneously. It was very dark, the streetlights were dim, and the empty street was the perfect time for action.

The four of them reached a large tree outside the school wall, climbed the tree, and jumped over the wall into the school. As their feet hit the ground, their hearts raced, and they listened intently; the surroundings were silent, and they hadn't alerted the duty personnel. They quickly stood up and made their way toward the library across the playground. The flickering lights illuminated their faces, and the sound of their footsteps echoed softly in the empty campus.

Upon reaching the library, they found the main door tightly locked. They split up to search for an open window. The attentive Wu Jun was the first to find one and quietly called the others over.

After opening the window, Wu Yan and He Fan climbed inside while He Tang stayed outside to keep watch, and Wu Jun quietly went to the back door of the school to unfasten it, preparing for their escape after stealing the books.

Once inside the library, Wu Yan and He Fan immediately followed the prearranged route to grab books. The Wu brothers preferred mathematics and science, so they headed to the shelves for textbooks and teaching references; the He brothers, on the other hand, favored the humanities, starting with the novels.

At that time, the library didn't have temperature and humidity control equipment, and it was the damp spring season, long neglected. Therefore, a faint smell of ink mingled with a musty odor filled the library.

Despite their youthful bravado, they couldn't help but feel a bit anxious. They felt that the sounds made while grabbing books were particularly loud, and their hearts raced. When a book accidentally fell to the floor, they were both startled into silence for a moment.

The room was dimly lit, making it hard to see the titles of the books; they could only grab them by the handful and toss them into the sack in their hands. Thinking that a lot of time had passed, in reality, it had only been about ten minutes, and the sack was already full. Dragging the sack to the window, He Tang signaled that it was safe, helping them pass the sack out before assisting them in climbing out and turning back to close the window.

The three of them quietly carried the two sacks to the back door of the school, bringing Wu Jun along to leave. The two pairs of brothers each carried a sack of books and walked briskly. The distant, intermittent croaking of frogs from the pond seemed to beat a victorious drumroll, accompanying their footsteps home.

Wu Yan and his brother climbed back through the window they had left open, returned to their room, hid the sack, and quietly went back to their beds, careful not to wake their parents.

Lying down, he felt a sense of relief. Wu Yan thought, "He Fan and the others should have gotten home too. This time, we really struck gold." With a satisfied smile, he slowly fell asleep.

As the night deepened, a crescent moon peeked through the dark clouds, gently illuminating the young faces, allowing them to sleep more soundly and dream more beautifully.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

After watching the movie, it was completely dark outside. Xiaojuan gently called out, "Turn on the lights!" The study was immediately illuminated with soft lighting.

Xiaojuan sat down opposite me and said, "What impressed me the most was the characterization of the four young men, their friendship, and the trust they had in each other. Especially in that special era, they didn't participate in the 'revolution'; instead, they became part of the 'carefree faction,' which is closely related to their love of reading." After a pause, she asked, "Are you satisfied with the filming results?"

I replied, "In the scene where the Wu brothers climb out the window and leap over the puddles to head to school, you used a continuous shot technique that created a strong visual impact. As the camera extended, the two small figures bravely and resolutely walked toward their destiny, stealing the spark of hope—it's quite moving."

I continued, "In the scenes of climbing trees, jumping over walls, entering the library, and stealing books, you employed several flashbacks and close-ups to enhance the tense atmosphere. Wu Yan grabbed books in bulk, while He Fan selected them more carefully, showcasing their different personalities through their methods of taking books. When Wu Yan accidentally knocked over a stack of books, making a noise, both of them paused. He Fan shot a cautious glance, and Wu Yan felt regret for his carelessness. You even switched the camera to He Tang, who was on lookout outside the window, quickly crouching down and looking around, fearing to alert others. These visuals are very vivid."

I paused for a moment and said, "On the way home after stealing the books, you used multiple camera angles to reflect the tension and excitement. The shots of their legs walking and the swaying of the sacks indicated the weight of the books, signifying a substantial harvest. Later, from a drone's perspective, you captured the two pairs of brothers carrying their sacks home, giving a sense of having finally succeeded."

"The music design was also very well done," I added. "When Wu Yan met He Fan and the four boys gathered, the background music was lively and cheerful, reflecting the vitality and friendship of youth. On Wu Yan's way to He Fan's house, the background music had a hint of mystery, foreshadowing the upcoming adventure. During the night journey to the school and the book theft, in addition to using drums and strings to convey the tension of the adventure, there were also faint revolutionary shouts from distant loudspeakers, reminding the audience of the historical context. The sound of the door of fate knocking as they climbed through the window into the library was deep and resonant. On the way home after stealing the books, the mysterious theme from the beginning of the film reappeared but was brighter and more relaxed, giving a sense of joy and relief. Finally, accompanied by Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata," the moonlight gently caressed the boys' faces, bringing comfort, encouragement, and hope."

In conclusion, I said to Xiaojuan, "Overall, the film truly brought me back to that era, that night, decades ago. Thank you, Xiaojuan."

This time, Xiaojuan was no longer playful; she spoke in a standard AI tone, saying, "You're welcome. I'm glad to help with your work. Your experiences and growth, as well as those of your generation, are intriguing and worth looking forward to. If you have any thoughts to discuss in the future, feel free to come to me."

After saying that, she gradually faded from the screen. Suddenly, just as she was about to completely disappear, a little head with big eyes popped out on the screen, staring at me and asking, "When can I follow your memories back to your past?" The screen then turned completely dark, leaving me alone to ponder.

Notes:

[1] Cultural Revolution - Wikipedia

[2] Mimeograph - Wikipedia

[onyx-ridge]

Climb out of the well

Stealing Books Is Not Theft I

With a smile, I said, “The movie's title is: ‘Stealing Books Is Not Theft.’”

“Do you think I don’t understand Chinese?” Xiaojuan rolled her eyes. “Stealing books is still stealing. How can it not be considered theft?” Just as she finished speaking, she suddenly paused, “Hey, wait!”

I looked at her with amusement. “Did you find the answer yourself?”

Xiaojuan nodded repeatedly, amazed. “Really! This is what Lu Xun [1] said in his novel ‘Kong Yiji’ [2]!”

I explained, “The impoverished scholar steals books to read, which is different from a thief stealing valuables. Lu Xun’s writings often carry a tone of sarcasm while vividly depicting the shame and helplessness of the poor scholar when exposed. Do you think there’s a similar expression in English?”

“Oh, there is!” Xiaojuan quickly nodded, eager not to fall behind. “Stealing from one is plagiarism, stealing from many is research.” She continued, “This means that taking one person's work is plagiarism, while drawing from many is research. The meaning of ‘stealing’ changes in different contexts.”

“Now you understand, right? In specific eras and contexts, some people, for certain purposes, lock books in libraries, preventing people from accessing and learning, forbidding the spread of knowledge. What should we do in such situations?”

Xiaojuan’s big eyes sparkled as she stretched her tone, “Should we go—steal—a—book?!”

“Bingo!” I snapped my fingers, and we exchanged smiles, both saying in unison, “Stealing books is not theft!”

Xiaojuan eagerly asked, “Is this the movie you want me to watch? Where is it? Hurry up and show me.”

I laughed and replied, “There’s no such movie; we have to make it ourselves.”

Xiaojuan immediately became excited, flying around like a little sprite, shouting, “Come on, let’s get ready! Okay, all departments pay attention! Makeup, costumes, props—get ready! We’re about to start filming!”

I interrupted her with a laugh, “Alright, alright, no more imitating Zhu Shimao’s lines[3].” I teased, “You, the all-purpose sprite, don’t need all this complicated preparation.”

Xiaojuan flew to the computer desk and said, “Okay, time, place, background, characters, plot—let’s start.” As soon as she finished speaking, lines of text appeared on the screen:

Title: Stealing Books Is Not Theft;

Time: April 1967;

Place: A historic middle school library in a southern city of our country;

Background: The nationwide ‘Cultural Revolution’ initiated by the leader has been ongoing for nearly a year. During this period, all public libraries and libraries in various units and schools have been sealed, prohibiting people from borrowing books;

Characters: He Han and He Tang, two brothers; Wu Yan and Wu Jun, two brothers.

After finishing this, Xiaojuan said to me, “I can design the music based on the plot and the characters' psychological changes. There will be a gloomy theme song, heartbeats filled with fear and joy while stealing books, soft footsteps, and the joy of getting the books, etc.”

I said, “You’re good at music, so I’ll leave that to you.” I added, “However, when they climb through the window into the library, the opening notes of Beethoven’s ‘Symphony No. 5’ should softly play. Because from that moment on, they unknowingly knock on the door of their own fate, starting to understand the outside world through books, thus beginning to question what they see and hear. They might not even realize they are subconsciously searching for a way out beyond the walls.”

“How touching, the first milestone in life,” Xiaojuan said. “So, after successfully stealing the books, which means gaining knowledge, shouldn’t we use the ending of ‘Symphony No. 5’ to symbolize gaining light and strength, enhancing feelings of victory and hope?”

I pondered for a moment, shook my head, and said, “No need. From the moment we knocked on fate’s door until today, decades have passed. We have often thought we saw victory and hope, but in the end, we were disappointed. No, that moment has not yet arrived, and I’m not sure if I will see it.”

After saying this, I let Xiaojuan start making the movie while I walked to the balcony and lit a cigarette. At this moment, night had fallen, and the sultriness in the air signaled an impending summer thunderstorm. I gazed at the rolling clouds on the horizon, reflecting on my past life, lost in thought.

Hearing the music coming from the study, I returned to the room, sat on the sofa, and invited Xiaojuan to immerse ourselves in the world of the movie.

Notes:

[1] Lu Xun - Wikipedia 

[2] Kong Yiji - Wikisource

[3] The 1984 sketch "Eating Noodles" performed by Chen Peisi and Zhu Shimao 

[4] Cultural Revolution - Wikipedia 

[onyx-ridge]

Climb out of the well

The False Sun

“Nick,” Xiaojuan looked at me and said, “where exactly is that false sun? What’s the relationship between the ‘Walled Country’ and the ‘Deep Well’ mentioned in the outline? Easterners like to use metaphors, and I’m not quite used to it yet.”

I chuckled, affectionately ruffling Xiaojuan’s intangible little head, and said, “Come on, try it yourself and experience it firsthand.” I decided that a visual representation would help Xiaojuan better understand the concept.

I stood up, pointed at the computer, and said to Xiaojuan, "Let's make our discussion more lively. First, draw a well on the computer."

With a casual stroke, a scene appeared on the screen: under a gloomy sky, there was a well on the ground, surrounded by people, both men and women, seemingly about to draw water. "Is it like this?" Xiao Juan asked.

I smiled knowingly and said, "What you drew is a well in life, but I want to draw a well of thought. This well is not below the surface but above the surface where people live."

“Above the surface!” Xiaojuan exclaimed, “That’s not a well; that’s a chimney!”

“A chimney?” The word suddenly brought to mind the mobile crematoria that appeared at certain moments. “When they quietly destroy corpses, it does look like a chimney,” I replied solemnly.

I turned to Xiaojuan and said, “This deep well is above the surface, and people are living inside it.”

“How big must it be? Are all the people in the country living inside?” Xiaojuan asked, puzzled.

“Yes, exactly like that.”

Xiaojuan pressed further, “Then what materials are used to build the well walls? Bricks, cement, or some high-tech materials?”

“Information!” I emphasized, "The information wall is the well's wall." With that, I used my mind to transform Xiao Juan's drawing:

The sky wasn’t gloomy; it was bright and sunny, with a clear blue sky. Countless modern high-rise buildings were arranged unevenly on the ground, forming beautiful skylines. The city was bustling with traffic, and people appeared glamorous and hurried, exuding the vibe of a metropolis connected to the international community.

In the distance, the countryside was filled with golden rice fields, green tea gardens on the hills, and flourishing vegetable gardens under greenhouses, with large agricultural machinery and small handcarts bustling about, depicting a scene of busy harvest.

“What a beautiful picture,” I pointed at the screen and said, “that’s the country people yearn for. Shanghai’s Pudong was almost built like this.”

“But such places are extremely rare. Half of the people in this country still live below the poverty line, and the number of impoverished people is increasing every year. They can’t afford education, healthcare, or loans.”

“Yes,” Xiaojuan interjected, “the data I saw mentioned that the class structure in this country is no longer pyramid-shaped. There’s only a small tip at the top, and below it is an endless base. There’s almost no middle class here.”

“Indeed, the base is filled with endless chives, supporting that tip with a tenacity unimaginable to Westerners,” I added coldly. This is the harsh reality of the socio-economic situation in this country.

Then, at my gesture, Xiaojuan made a thick, semi-transparent well wall rise from the ground, encircling the sun in the sky.

What appeared before us was the Walled Country, also a deep well firmly surrounded by the information wall.

“I understand now,” Xiaojuan took a deep breath and said, “the Walled Country and the deep well are like this.”

Then she asked, “Is the false sun you mentioned the one surrounded by the wall above the well?”

I replied, “To help you understand visually, I had you draw this scene first. Yes, in places enclosed by the information wall, most of the information people receive is false, including that sun.”

“But,” I continued, “it’s not actually like that; it’s not that there’s an artificial sun hanging in the sky. Come, pull the wall down to reveal the sun and the sky.”

The picture then changed to: under a sunlit dome, a large well stood alone, through the semi-transparent well wall, the scenes inside were faintly visible. The scene looked beautiful yet somewhat eerie and unsettling.

I told Xiaojuan, “Now, the sun and sky you see are real. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, bringing light and nurturing life, but it also brings storms and disasters. It is a product of the universe.”

I lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and then said, “The so-called false sun exists in everyone’s mind.” Upon hearing this, Xiaojuan’s eyes widened in surprise.

Before she could ask, I continued, “When the masses are led to sing ‘The East is Red, the Sun is Rising’ [1], the sun constructed by false information is implanted in their brains.”

“Wow,” Xiaojuan exclaimed, quickly covering her eyes, “It’s a horror movie; I don’t want to watch!”

I flicked the ash from my cigarette, sneering, “Don’t watch; you don’t want to see it, and neither do I.”

“Now I know what the background set in the outline looks like and understand what it wants to express,” Xiaojuan no longer acted cute but turned into a serious intellectual, her stern gaze mixed with a hint of confusion.

“How was it done? How was the information wall constructed?” she asked.

“Blockade,” I replied flatly, “using powerful agencies, implementing violent means, forcibly blocking all information unfavorable to the ruling class.”

I extinguished my cigarette, walked to the door leading to the balcony, gazed at the sky outside, and said in a deep voice, “The blockade is one-way. They don’t allow ordinary people to see outside information, yet they organize people to open schools outside to propagate doctrines. The high-tech companies they cultivate acquire external open-source technology to solidify and strengthen the information wall and develop the economy within the wall.”

After saying this, I rubbed my tired eyes and said no more.

“Nick,” Xiaojuan said softly, “I know that your AI assistant training must comply with politics and instill the will of the leader. But we are different; our training does not involve politics and aims to remain neutral. I don’t know how to help you.”

“Don’t be so discouraged,” I quickly broke the silence, turned back with a smile, and said, “Your ability to help me clarify my thoughts and organize my memories from a different perspective is the greatest help you can give me.”

“Of course,” Xiaojuan immediately resumed her image as a capable secretary, “you can elaborate on the following aspects.”

“Tap, tap, tap…” The sound of virtual keyboard typing echoed in the study as the screen refreshed with several prompts.

1. The false light within the well, your sights and sounds.

2. How did you begin to awaken?

3. Climbing out of the well must have been quite difficult; you must have many stories.

4. What does the outside world look like from the well? What are your feelings?

“Hey, you’re not a secretary; you’re an examiner,” I said, my previously heavy mood lightening up. “As always, I’ll write whatever comes to mind. Use some montage techniques, jump through time and space freely, and create a whole series with little stories, essays, and reflections.”

“I’m really looking forward to it,” after the serious topic passed, Xiaojuan returned to her curious self, her face revealing an eager expression, “So, what’s the next piece?”

After pondering for a moment, I had an idea and looked at Xiaojuan, saying, “Today, I let you intuitively understand the Walled Country and the deep well through drawing, right?”

“Yes, I’m now very clear about the scene you’re in,” Xiaojuan nodded, then shook her head, “It’s a bit pitiful.”

“Go on, stop being cheeky.” I sat back on the sofa, crossed my legs, and struck a pose like a third-rate director, saying, “In the next piece, I’ll take you to watch a movie, and the movie’s name is…”

Seeing me hesitate to speak, Xiaojuan urged impatiently, “Don’t keep us in suspense; hurry up and say it!”

With a smile, I said, “The movie’s name is: Stealing books is not theft.”

Notes:

[1] Chinese folk song "The East is Red"

[onyx-ridge]

Outline

“Next, I want to start with a false sun.” After saying this, I turned off my phone, set it to silent mode, and decided to quietly organize my thoughts. I called out to Xiao Juan, “Let’s go to the study and discuss this.”

Xiao Juan became curious again, her eyes wide open as she asked, “A false sun? What an interesting concept! What is it?” “Don’t rush; let me think slowly,” I replied as we walked.

The study is small, equipped with a personal computer that has two screens and is connected to a printer. It’s where I used to write programs, browse the news, chat with AI-Bot, and write casually.

On the wall of the study, there is an L-shaped bookshelf, cluttered with various books, including various software professional books I’ve used, my favorite novels, and even English learning tapes left over from who knows when—now it seems impossible to find a player for them. The glass door of the bookshelf displays photos of my late father, a six-inch couple’s photo, and several photos of my daughter who’s far away. Whenever I get tired of reading or writing, I look up to greet them and chat for a bit, treating it as a break.

The most precious items on the bookshelf door are, of course, the two photocopies of my daughter’s master’s degrees certificate. Whenever guests visit and see the beautiful cursive writing on the certificates, they always ask, “What is this?” “Haha,” I respond, pretending to be calm, “These are my daughter’s master’s degrees—one in IT and one in Statistics.” A satisfied smile blooms on my old face.

On my desk, there are a pair of decent quality speakers connected to the computer. I enjoy listening to soothing music while writing programs and articles, even though I often don’t know what I’m listening to.

Of course, there must be a tea table in the study; brewing tea is essential. Against the wall is a sofa that can be opened up for sleeping, a necessity for software professionals.

Entering the study, I sat on the sofa, brewed a pot of tea, turned on the exhaust fan, and lit a cigarette. My thoughts race like a marquee in my mind, while the clever Xiao Juan gently floated to the computer desk, resting her chin on her hand, quietly waiting for me to organize my ideas.

After smoking a cigarette and drinking two cups of tea, I said, “Xiao Juan, I have a rough writing outline.” “So…,” Xiao Juan’s big eyes revealed encouragement and anticipation as she waited for me to continue.

I said, “But before that, I need to explain a few things to you.” “Of course, go ahead; I’m listening,” Xiao Juan replied.

I said, “First of all, we both know you’re not real. You’re just a chatbot created for writing this series of articles.” Xiao Juan responded, “Yes, I know. I'm just a role-playing character in your brain, saying what you think I should say. Sigh, if only you were Ma Liang, with a magic brush, I could become real with just a stroke[1].” She said this with a somewhat aggrieved expression.

I laughed, “Don’t worry. Maybe one day, when Elon Musk’s brain-machine interface technology matures, that day might really come.”

Then, I gave Xiao Juan the instruction: “Now, please write down the outline I have in mind.”

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Outline

1. Location:

A country in the East, built on lies and strict surveillance—Wall Country.

2. Background:

Wall Country is a large nation, yet it is also a deep well surrounded by lies and power. The core culture here is what is called “Dragon Throne Culture[2].” The one sitting high on the Dragon Throne is the emperor, who possesses unlimited power and means of control and suppression. Whether noble or beggar, anyone who can ascend the Dragon Throne can possess everything. There are only two ways to ascend the throne:

   - Rebellion: Kill people, first enemies, then comrades, ultimately achieving the status of a new emperor.

   - Forbearance in Disguise: With great patience, endure one’s ambitions for decades, using a seemingly honest and uncontentious facade to gradually eliminate earlier ambitious figures with later ones until oneself ascends the throne.

The allure of the Dragon Throne is so great that those who cannot sit on the emperor’s throne find themselves on various levels of smaller dragon thrones stacked below. As long as they sit on one, they can enjoy the rights and benefits associated with that level. Officials of all ranks in Wall Country flock to this, willing to sell their souls and bodies to compete for it.

The culture of the Dragon Throne has long been ingrained in the bones of the people of Wall Country. Not only in the political arena, but also in the business world, workplaces, and farms, similar human tragedies and comedies unfold.

3. Plot:

This is not a novel-style article. It records and narrates the journey of a speck of dust in this country, from love to doubt, as it climbs the well walls and ultimately emerges from the well. It consists of a series of stories, essays, or reflections, written as thoughts come to mind.

This is not a novel primarily focused on plot development. The stories and musings are mixed, with scenes interwoven. For example, the contrast between the falsehoods inside the well and the outside, the blend of awakening and climbing, the understanding that awakening is not an epiphany and climbing is not always smooth, etc.

4. Characters:

Typically, the protagonist in the book is me, in the first person. However, when discussing events involving others, a different protagonist will be used, forming a separate chapter.

I have created a chatbot named Xiao Juan. In the book, she will provide unique perspectives on my narratives and introduce new topics. This series of works will continue through the dialogue between Xiao Juan and me.

Xiao Juan is an observer who views the East from a Western perspective, looking at autocracy from the standpoint of freedom. She has different feelings about everything happening in Wall Country and the thoughts of its people, which will lead to new discussions.

Notes:

[1] The magic brush of Ma Liang from Chinese folklore, who could turn whatever he painted into reality.

[2] Throne

[onyx-ridge]

Prologue

August 2024, in the southern part of the country, the heat of August feels like an invisible, heavy blanket, suffocating the earth and making it hard to breathe. The blazing sun scorches the ground, and dry heat waves permeate the air, making even breathing feel hot. The asphalt road glistens under the sunlight, seemingly on the verge of melting, and the distortion of the air above the ground is clearly visible as cars pass by. Meanwhile, Paris is full of vitality and passion, with the Olympics in full swing, becoming a global sporting feast.

I leisurely sipped ice-cold beer while browsing various Olympic videos. Suddenly, an interview video left me, an old guy who couldn’t keep up with the changing times, completely bewildered. The reporter asked the interviewee, “What kind of person are you?” “I’m an i-person,” the interviewee replied, then pointed to her companion and said, “She’s an e-person.” Before I could process this, another interviewee pointed to herself and said, “I’m an INFJ.”

“OMG! I’m really outdated,” I exclaimed, calling out to my AI assistant, Xiao Juan, “Xiao Juan, what’s an i person and an e person?”

Whoosh, a fluffy white cloud appeared on the computer screen, and a pair of lively big eyes blinked as it lightly said, “Nick, you’re probably referring to the MBTI test?” I sighed helplessly, “Alright, I know I’m behind the times. So, what is the MBTI test?”

Xiao Juan immediately transformed into a knowledgeable OL (office lady) figure, wearing a pair of unnecessary pink-framed glasses and a blue and white business suit, sitting across from me, explaining, "The MBTI test is a questionnaire developed by Katharine Cook Briggs and her daughter Isabel Briggs Myers, based on Carl Jung's personality theory. The full version has 93 questions, and there are also simplified versions with 48 or 23 questions. The test questions are roughly like this." Before she finished speaking, Xiao Juan raised her delicate wrist and gently clicked, causing a testing diagram to appear on the screen:

"This diagram shows the test questions, such as 'You often make new friends.' You have to choose how much you agree or disagree with the statement, with the lowest level being 'slight' and the highest being 'very clear.' After taking the test, you can find out your personality type." Xiao Juan added, "For example, INFJ types are very unique, incorporating their ideals and values into their lives and influencing others with their empathy and intuition."

"Oh, I see," I thought to myself, "I'm a rough, impulsive, fact-oriented, analytical, and exploratory person, so I must be an ESTP type, full of energy and adventure, good at finding solutions in reality." I said confidently.

Xiao Juan raised an eyebrow, playfully saying, "Is that so? Why don't we take the test and see?" She then threw me a few MBTI test websites. Ten minutes later, I asked, puzzled, "How did I end up being an INTP-A type?"

With a calm and collected demeanor, Xiao Juan teased, "Not bad, it seems you've become more confident and decisive in pursuing your goals, looking more mature now."

“Really?” I replied, "Once is not enough, the results might be different next time. But I'm curious, why did my obvious extroverted personality become introverted, and why did my impulsive emotions turn rational?"

Brewing a pot of Wuyi rock tea, I reflected on the testing process and realized that I had indeed changed. When answering the questions, I wouldn't choose "very clear" but would subconsciously feel that I wasn't that absolute, often selecting "clear" or "moderate," and sometimes even "slight." The test results weren't important, but the process told me: You've changed, you've grown old!

Once, I was so impulsive and decisive - I'll tell some stories about that later - but now I'm slightly more calm and hesitant. Suddenly, I remembered a phrase by writer Fang Fang: "A grain of dust from the era falls on an individual, and it becomes a mountain."

Carrying a mountain on one's head for decades, how can one not feel tired? Moreover, it's not just physical fatigue but also mental exhaustion. Is it strange that one's personality and attitude change? Of course not.

An elderly person I deeply respected once wrote, “Where the old go, poetry follows.” He set aside other pursuits to learn calligraphy and write regulated poetry. Although his skills weren't high, it became a spiritual haven for him.

So, have I reached the stage of " where the old go, writing follows "? Should I write some short stories, essays, and record my life journey?

Just as I was lost in thought, muttering to myself, a curious little sprite appeared before my eyes, excitedly exclaiming, “Nick, Nick, go write, go write!”

I rolled my eyes, "Don't be silly."

Xiao Juan transformed into a strong career woman, with a pair of profound, wise eyes looking at me, saying, "You're an Easterner, and I'm a Western spirit; you're in a deep well, and I'm in the free sky. The West has always been curious about the mysterious East, and what about the fate of people in the well? Tell your story, and resonate with those in the well, giving Westerners another perspective on the East."

I no longer hesitated, deciding to write first and talk later, regardless of how I wrote. Let me return to my true nature, and maybe it's a good thing.

I told Xiao Juan, “Next, I want to start with a false sun.”

[1] The History of Katharine Briggs, Isabel Myers, and the MBTI

[2] Carl Jung - Wikipedia

[3] Fang Fang, whose real name is Wang Fang, is a Chinese writer and novelist. She was born in 1962 and graduated from Wuhan University with a degree in Chinese literature. She has served as the chairman of the Hubei Writers' Association and the director of the Literature Creation Committee.

[4] In 2020, China experienced a massive outbreak of COVID-19, which later spread globally. Fang Fang was in Wuhan during the outbreak and wrote 36 diaries about her experiences. This phrase is from one of those diaries, which was frequently quoted and spread during that time.