空影

In the afternoon, the dormitory was too noisy: people running around asking about the paper format¹, playing games with their heads down and muttering, lying flat on the bed watching videos... I wanted to write something quietly, but I was disturbed.

While watching videos, A, who felt empty, sat next to me after recommending a video. B, the class monitor from the next room, finished asking me something and then curiously stared at my screen. I felt uncomfortable when someone watched me typing, and my thoughts became intermittent. It had been two days and I still hadn't finished my study notes. After a few perfunctory sentences, B turned his head and started chatting with D, feeling bored.

Suddenly, C, who had been silently playing games, looked up and a hysterical curse broke through the crowded dormitory, soaring into the sky like a noisy crow flapping its wings, disturbing the fragile calmness that had already been on the verge of disappearing. At that moment, everyone in the dormitory felt an indescribable sense of oppression.

Seeing that the atmosphere was not right, B opened the door to leave. In that instant, a gust of wind blew in from the half-open window, brushing against my hot face and bringing a refreshing feeling. I turned my head and looked out the window:

The sky was so clear, the clouds were so soft, and the wind was so gentle.

To hell with the notes, I don't want to write them anymore! I grabbed my camera, put on my headphones, and walked out of the school in one breath. I walked north along the asphalt road outside the campus, with no pedestrians on the road, only a few cars passing by.

Humming a tuneless whistle, I walked three steps at a time. When the last note of the whistle rose, I felt a long-lost sense of contentment. I followed the rhythm of my footsteps and started to whistle boldly and freely. As I whistled while walking, I became even more joyful. All the unhappiness disappeared, and the past and the future were left behind. My whole body immersed itself in the light and lively rhythm of the present moment. A gust of wind blew by, and I lifted my head, raised my arms, and stretched my fingers, letting the wind take away the residual heat in my palms:

The sky was so clear, the clouds were so soft, and the wind was so gentle.

A cumulonimbus cloud surged from a distant hillside, and several birds flew through the clouds. The power tower at the foot of the hill became particularly elegant against the backdrop of the clouds, and the taut power lines became soft, as if they were about to break free from the gravity of the earth and escape the constraints of the catenary equation, dancing in the wind.

A newly trodden path cut through the green grass and low trees, extending straight up to the top of the hill. I climbed up along the path. The setting sun shone through the leaves, creating a mottled pattern in the forest. Unidentified small yellow flowers bloomed among the trees, and several sparrows were chirping. After passing through the woods, I was about to reach the top of the hill. The view became more open, the buildings became lower, and everything was visible. Looking back at the road I had come from, there were no pedestrians, only a few cars passing by.

Continuing to climb up, I finally reached the top of the hill, and the view became even more expansive. The snow-capped mountains to the east had turned indigo under the cleansing of summer rain, and the remnants of winter had finally disappeared. There were two eagles circling in the south.

When I looked west, my heart suddenly warmed. In the golden city immersed in the setting sun, there was also a hill, and a person, who might have the same troubles.

Before long, three more people climbed to the top of the hill. They were obviously seeing this view for the first time, and their buzzing conversation could be heard from a distance. They posed for photos, adjusting their positions one by one, the reflections on their screens shining brightly.

They were too focused on taking pictures to appreciate the beauty around them. They continued to adjust their positions and take photos, as if they wanted to capture every second in their albums.

The noise was not in harmony with the sacred sunset.

A quiet observer nearby seemed dissatisfied and drove away quickly, raising a cloud of dust that looked like a golden ribbon in the light, floating in the deep valley, and then gradually dissipating, disappearing without a trace.

As the sun set in the west and the mountain breeze grew cooler, I felt a chill. I walked down the hill and headed back to the school along the asphalt road.

The moon had already risen and was quietly hanging on the power tower.

A gust of evening wind blew by, and I started to whistle loudly again, but it was no longer as carefree as before.

There were no pedestrians on the road, only a few cars passing by.