Chapter 121: The Bronze Immortal Within the Bronze Hall

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Just as naturally as ever. The pool water remained calm and mirror-like, clearly reflecting the flickering springs, the shifting flames, and the jade toad in the azure sky. The sun had already set, yet its light reflected from beneath the clouds, casting a red glow upon the lake’s surface, making it appear ablaze. Everything around lost its original color, submerged in this crimson light. Suddenly, my eyes brightened; I hurried forward and discovered a clear artificial lake, like a grand mirror in the countryside, reflecting the blue sky and white clouds. The water was pure, rippling gently under the breeze, shimmering with golden light.

With a “squeak,” a swallow swooped down, dragging its pointed tail skimming the water, stirring a circle of ripples... The poet Li Bai once praised, “The waters of Jin Temple flow like jade,” and here, in the shimmering reflections, the water fluttered lightly like a dream... At this moment, Dongting Lake lay vast and serene, like a poetic realm. Fish surfaced; some exhaled a string of bubbles, some chased and played with each other; some used lotus leaves as little umbrellas, playing hide and seek beneath; others swam leisurely behind their mothers. The withered lotus stems in the front pool shook suddenly and sharply, followed by lively leaps of red carp that shattered the deathlike stillness of the water. The lake surface was smooth as glass, boats gliding as if over a pane of crystal. The sparkling ripples resembled fine silk patterns, smooth and tender green.

Looking afar, the color deepened gradually, turning into a rich emerald. Gazing at the sky, clouds drifted leisurely; looking down at the lake’s heart, another sky appeared, with wandering cloud shadows. The peaks on both shores reflected inverted in the lake, all a uniform green, weaving a poetic ambience to accompany the visitors. Reaching the end and turning a bend, the same mountains and waters appeared again. I longed for some change, yet after traveling north and south for 120 miles, the scenery retained its graceful posture.

Compared to the surging waves of Dongting Lake, Mirror Lake (Jingpo Lake) was peaceful and serene; compared to the vastness and roundness of Tai Lake, Mirror Lake resembled a great river with unruffled waters. Ming Lake was but a pond in comparison, and West Lake, by contrast, was like a beautiful young woman—“spring mountains low and elegant, autumn waters calm and charming”—while Mirror Lake was like a modest, natural, and virtuous maiden. Looking afar, the water sparkled brilliantly, dotted with sails; the islets in the lake resembled pieces of jade embedded within the lake’s scenery, appearing so delicate and enchanting.

The lake water was irresistibly inviting, especially in such heat. Approaching the shore, the heat barrier before me vanished instantly. The water rippled, sparkling as though gilded with gold. My hand could hardly resist, gently dipping into the water. Ah! That refreshing sensation was beyond words. Ripples gently caressed the white marble pool walls; the autumn waters flowed beneath the “Fish-Knowing Bridge.” Each green islet looked like a pearl set upon the lake, or like waves of green rolling among clouds. Colorful sails appeared charming amid the thousand-island lake surrounded by verdant trees.

Bird’s-eye view of the clear lake revealed wind-driven scales of waves, like lace patterns flickering intermittently. The pine’s murmurs sounded low and melodious, evoking legends and dreams; the delicate white reeds swayed in the wind, revealing a unique grace that made one hesitate to touch them. As the sun set, the blood-red sunset tinted half the sky, and the lake blushed like a shy maiden’s face. Nestled beside a hill was a reservoir enclosed by mountains, its water green like a cat’s eye, awe-inspiring. From Hongque Tower, looking down upon Lu Lake, several exquisite pavilions dotted the shimmering green waters. Golden sunlight sprinkled the lake, resembling thousands of radiant gems sparkling vividly.

Ah, the waters of Peach Blossom Pool were truly green, like flawless jadeite; the autumn ripples offered a touch of coolness. Look! On the pool, scattered with a few withered lotus leaves yellowing at the edges, dewdrops mischievously nestled atop them; beneath the leaves, red goldfish roamed leisurely. On both sides, maple trees cast mottled shadows—yellow, green, red, white, black! The spring pond’s beauty lay in its stillness, so quiet you might think it was not water but a verdant, crystal-clear turf. Blue sky, green trees, and white clouds all embraced its silhouette; the tranquil emerald waves carried a hint of contemplation.

Due to eternal stillness, the water was extraordinarily clear: fish and stones at the bottom were revealed with no disguise. Naturally, these were not the eyes of a recluse but eyes blazing with hope. The spring pond’s beauty thrived in motion, like a shifting green silk, so pure and lovely. Under sunlight, the shimmering waves leapt like flying blossoms or scattered gold. Each small gleam seemed to hold a tiny sprite flickering and trembling. When the breeze stirred, ripples gently rolled from one side to the other. Then one or two more... The once-clear borders on the water surface spread and blurred, like faint ink lines on rice paper veiled by misty gauze.

The vast desert was monotonous and lonely, yet broad and open, inviting your wild thoughts to gallop through the vast space. At dusk, Sailimu Lake gradually turned deep blue, sky and lake blending, indistinguishable whether the sky dyed the water or the water the sky. At noon, under brilliant sunlight, Sailimu Lake gleamed like shimmering silk; green grass, red flowers, white sheep, yellow cattle, gray camels, and golden horses floated like colorful clouds at the lake’s edge.

Qiandao Lake was not a natural lake but an 860,000-mu artificial lake formed after the completion of the Xin’an River Hydropower Station upstream, about a hundred times the size of West Lake. Spring rain pools were no less than Nanlao Spring: spring water flows, hard to consolidate into one jade piece, but this pool was calm, soft, and beautiful like a piece of emerald. The lake water was green, as if draped in a thin veil as delicate as a cicada’s wing, making one hesitant to breathe deeply for fear of breaking its fragile beauty.

The ancient lake’s gentle waves sparkled under sunlight; graceful willow branches resembled a maiden’s washed hair. Some peaks rose nearly a hundred meters, some submerged beneath the water, others formed islets. These islets were the mountains I had seen standing in the water before—large and small, totaling 1,078, earning the lake the name “Thousand Island Lake.” The broad lake stretched beyond the seventeen-arch jade bridge, reaching out to embrace the heavens, finally blending into the light mist.

In the crisp autumn air, looking afar, the shimmering water marks appeared as gentle waves. Layer upon layer of waves pushed to the shore, striking the rocks. The water contained a chill, as if purified. Dark hues sank to the lakebed; gentle water mist floated, swaying with the autumn wind, drifting freely. White reeds swayed in the breeze, delicate and pure, displaying their unique beauty, tender enough to hesitate touching.

As the sun set in the west, the fiery remnants dyed half the sky red, and the lake blushed like a shy maiden. The lake surface, shaded by green trees, clearly divided into blue and green. Blue reminded one of the azure sky; green evoked memories of the grasslands. The surroundings were unusually quiet; the green transitioned from light to deep and back again. A faint gray mist enveloped the Thousand Island Lake, rendering it deep and mysterious, yet the clear lake water remained open and bright. From here, I saw the charm of green—it was so majestic that before you could react, it surged into your sight like a dam burst, compelling you to be moved and captivated by its spirit and vitality.

Sailimu Lake, called “Sailimu Kule” in Kazakh, meaning “Lake of Wishes,” lies between the mountains connecting Yili Kazakh Autonomous Prefecture and Bortala Mongol Autonomous Prefecture, at over 2,000 meters above sea level. It is one of China’s famous highland lakes, covering 120 square kilometers, much larger than Yining City. Its deepest point exceeds 90 meters, with undulating hills beneath the surface. The water is sweet and refreshing, containing two parts per thousand of mineral salts, making small amounts a good refreshment for the heart, clearing heat, and aiding digestion.

Did you know? Sailimu Lake is constantly changing. According to physicist and meteorologist Zhu Kezhen’s research, seven hundred years ago, it was surrounded by ice peaks. Today, the beautiful lake is encircled by boundless grasslands. Yet, given the recent rise in water levels, perhaps in another seven hundred years, it will become an ocean once again.

Warm sunlight gently poured down; brewing a pot of fragrant tea, I softly let the pages unfold in the fresh air, caressing the words, allowing the rhythmic sounds to guide me to various blessed places. A profound, indescribable comfort spread through my heart.

2. “Reading is like invisibly visiting others’ homes,” Yang Jiang once said. Indeed, reading has taken me into many households. I grasped hands with Yue Fei, shouting together the heroic words: “Hungry, I feast on the Hu invaders’ flesh; thirsty, I drink the blood of the Xiongnu with laughter.” I gently patted the grieving Liu Yong, walking with him along the “willow shore in the dawn wind and fading moon.” I first witnessed the grape wine and luminous cups at the Western Regions’ frontier, then laughed under the blue banner while buying pear blossom wine. I conversed heartily with friends from all over the world, raising glasses and sharing joy. Gradually, I became intoxicated in the mountains of poetry and rivers of verse, slowly merging with the books, lost, unaware of the way home.

3. Since I did not know the way back, there was no need to return. Exploring through reading offered a unique flavor. Sinbad led me to Solomon’s temple, bypassed valleys where giant serpents lingered, crossed the world’s end where whales appeared; Verne took me in a submarine to travel twenty thousand leagues to the mysterious island; on the gentle waves of Cambridge, I saw the melancholy Little Prince desperately asking questions. I passed beneath countless giants’ legs, while countless dwarfs passed beneath mine. Oh, what a marvelous journey! Reading brought wonders and surprises to my side, walking together.

4. While walking, an old man named Knowledge joined our company. His body shone with wisdom’s light, illuminating my heart like a bright lamp. I learned that majestic towers could lean, indomitable steel could sink; some shielded a blade with their bodies for a circle, others were nailed to crosses for a bag of copper coins. Sailing in the sea of knowledge was like a bird freely gliding in the sky. Once set free, thought traveled faster than light; yet reading and books were like a perfect black hole, always drawing the mind into it, accumulating energy for a magnificent explosion. The clouds and moon of eight thousand li all entered the depths of my soul through reading.

5. Suddenly lifting my head, the sunlight still smiled warmly, welcoming me. I gently touched the tiny tadpoles on the pages, those wonderful little sprites, savoring the experience of reading amid wafting tea fragrance, merging enjoyment with myself.

6. At leisure, brewing a pot of tea, holding a book in the light mist, savoring the tea’s aroma, inhaling the book’s fragrance, repeatedly chewing over every word, every sentence—this was my greatest pleasure in idle moments. Some say reading is an art. Indeed, reading truly is so.

7. Reading is an art of enjoying life. Mr. Five Willows loved reading without seeking full comprehension; whenever he understood, he joyfully forgot to eat. When you feel bored and depressed, reading lifts your spirits; when confused and melancholic, reading calms your heart, helping you see the path ahead; when joyful, reading helps you discover more beauty around you, enhancing your enjoyment of life. Reading is the most beautiful enjoyment. “Within books lie houses of gold, and beauties like jade.”

8. Reading is an art of self-improvement. “Jade must be carved to become a gem; man must learn to understand.” Reading is a learning process. A book tells a story; a story narrates a life; a life reflects a world. “Read ten thousand books, travel ten thousand miles” captures this truth. Poetry refines elegance; history fosters wisdom. Every book yields different gains. “Hanging by the beam, stabbing the thigh,” and “the firefly window illuminating snow”—since ancient times, diligent reading and self-improvement have been lifelong pursuits. Reading is the most elegant quality, shaping the spirit and elevating thought.

9. Reading is an art of enriching life. A life without books is like hollow bamboo, empty and void. Books are life’s greatest wealth. Jews have their children kiss honeyed books to remind them: books are sweet; to fill life with sweetness, one must read. Reading is life’s rarest savings account, accumulating bit by bit until you find yourself the richest person in the world.

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10. Reading is an art of perceiving life. Reading Du Fu’s poems makes one feel life’s hardships; reading Li Bai’s poems reveals official corruption; reading Lu Xun’s essays exposes social darkness; reading Ba Jin’s works instills hope for the future. Every book is a friend, teaching us how to view life. Reading is an indispensable life lesson; through books, we perceive life and are guided on every step.

11. Books are lamps; reading lights the way ahead. Books are bridges; reading connects 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 exuded a rich sweetness; your old dog lay lazily at your feet. Sunshine gilded your silhouette, blending with this languid time to form a memory.

13. This was your solitary memory, like a dewdrop on your fingertip at dawn, fragrant yet untouchable, indescribable. See, reading is just such a feeling. It is merely a sensation.

14. Sometimes, as you read, you seem to embrace the whole world. You are not just yourself; you become an observer, like a world-weary bard, watching all that unfolds before your eyes. The story begins, rises and falls, twists and turns, finally concluding. You collect these stories, composing them into songs—sometimes joyful, sometimes sorrowful—and softly sing them. Reading, you find life, a flavor, a realm. Then you become a broad-minded elder, calmly watching life’s mingled joys and sorrows. Perhaps life is but a waning moon in a tranquil night—seemingly cold and incomplete, yet always full, a quietly spinning distant star. Of course, sometimes you throw yourself into it, inevitably swayed by fate, occupied by passions. This is because we need love and hate; none can escape. You read intently, so tense you almost forget to breathe. Isn’t this life’s excitement, dragging you to run wildly? You are led by an emotion, blindly rushing forward, wind roaring past your ears; at this moment, reason vanishes, and you cast off life’s mask. Like a child, you shout sincerely, clash recklessly, heedless of consequences. You even boldly blame fate’s unfairness, rebuke society’s darkness, bitterness, and weakness.

15. At that moment, you wept freely, tears wetting the pages, only to realize you were merely reading another’s story. Yet why did you see yourself there? You felt so alive, so real. At a certain instant, you gave 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. You may have forgotten why you were so moved.

17. This is reading: you never sought to gain anything, no plan, no pressure, just vaguely savoring life. You cry, you laugh, you hate, you love. You read, then forget, turning back to the chaotic reality. Reading arises from your momentary emotion: you read joy because you are joyful; you read sorrow because you are sad.

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

19. Since humanity separated from the ignorant animal world, first came language, then writing, then literature, and finally books. Sometimes, thinking of this long process fills one with awe. Without it, there would be no “reading,” and today, such a loss would be unbearable!

20. Yet, though everyone depends on reading, the realms of reading differ greatly in judgment.

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21. One realm is reading to pass exams and gain fame. In my view, this is “low grade,” for it is no longer true seeking of knowledge nor does it bring real joy. When one’s eyes only sparkle with fame and profit, all knowledge becomes mere stepping stones, discarded once the gateway to fame is opened. Isn’t this a desecration of knowledge? This realm has historical precedents in imperial examination candidates, and today, in the countless people joining various exams—college entrance exams, graduate exams, certification tests, civil service exams. Have you not seen, before every test, candidates clutching “sacred texts,” standing or sitting with furrowed brows? Such reading is more a nightmare in one’s life experience, filled with pain, without joy. Yet few can avoid this “painful reading” in life, a form of alienation.

22. Another realm is reading to exhaust knowledge and truth. This can be called “high grade,” as it frees itself from personal fame and arises from humanity’s great curiosity. Many scientific giants, ancient and modern, have devoted themselves tirelessly to exploring a question; some rare polymaths have delved into multiple disciplines, exploring mysteries of the world and life through reading. This is autonomous, conscious reading. They are brave travelers and explorers on the path to knowledge and truth. We have every reason to deeply respect them. I would even say, those who reach this realm have received life’s blessing.

23. However, Zhuangzi once said, “Life is limited, but knowledge is limitless. Pursuing the limitless with the limited is perilous.” This is a partial truth. Thus, in my view, the second realm, though “high grade,” cannot reach the “supreme” realm. The “supreme” reading is desireless, a spiritual stroll, a soul’s wander. Such readers seek no wealth or status from books, no treasure of knowledge, nor moral maxims to save the world. They see kindness and beauty in books; they are moved by brilliance, weep for happiness. They always need reading but seek nothing from it, only fullness and tranquility. Reading gives them spiritual air and nourishment, transcending material and mundane life.

24. These three realms of reading may appear similar outwardly, but their spiritual cores are vastly different. Finally, I must admit, which is higher or lower varies by person. “Low grade,” “high grade,” “supreme”—in different minds, the order may be reversed.

25. Listen to nature—the rustling pines pulse rhythmically; the cicadas’ chirps sound plaintive; the cuckoo’s call is sorrowful.

26. Listen to the heart—warmth flows tenderly, passion blazes like a torch, and sincere greetings embody a pure heart.

27. Listen to books—with the subtle words of Qu Yuan, Tao Yuanming, Li Bai, Du Fu, fresh and bright; the literary brilliance of Xu Zhimo and Eileen Chang, tender as dreams; the bold personalities and insights of Han Han and Annie Baiyi.

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