Chen Xu walked ahead, with a nameless village stream beside him.
The babbling stream meandered from the foot of the distant mountain, winding past patches of irregular fields, carrying a melodic tinkling as it flowed away into the distance.
The pastoral landscape has always been plain and serene, clear and amusing.
But that is often only for those who are accustomed to the hustle and bustle of the world, those who have their own vision and depth. When they descend from the heights, the mountain village appears vibrant and lovely.
Yet, if you were to ask the real villagers living there, it might not be a scene of distant mountain hues and green mossy steps.
The mountains are layers upon layers of insurmountable ridges;
The waters are lifelines that must be fought and contended for;
The fields are countless days with faces to the earth and backs to the sky;
The cooking smoke is the desolate gray smoke of having eaten today but not knowing where tomorrow's meal will come from...
