From Purple Bamboo Park to Beiwu Park

For city dwellers, a park is an extension of home. Without parks, with only one's own narrow dwelling, life would be very uncomfortable. Going to a park each day after meals and in spare moments to relax can greatly improve quality of life.

And a patient like Shi Tiesheng needed even more a spiritual home such as Ditan Park, to dispel the sorrow in his heart. Shi Tiesheng's I and the Temple of Earth moved many people: a man dogged by misfortune, who alone in Ditan Park savored loneliness, anger and grief, and ultimately reconciled with himself and with the world—how could such a process not move the heart?

I have been in Beijing for more than twenty years. In the first dozen years, the most important park for me was Zizhuyuan (Purple Bamboo Park). From my home to the National Library, Zizhuyuan is the waypoint. I could ride my bicycle along the road to the National Library, which would save a lot of time, but most days I gave up cycling and chose instead to walk, crossing the Third Ring Road, then walking through Zizhuyuan to the National Library on foot.

Because I love Zizhuyuan Park very much. I know every corner of it like the back of my hand; over more than ten years and thousands of round trips, through all four seasons, I have witnessed every subtle change there.

This former imperial garden has now become a place for ordinary folk to stroll after meals. Many people sing and dance here; many folk bands have spontaneously organized here, and many band members are master-level. The folk choir here is probably the largest in China.

Sometimes I would be drawn by some singing and dancing in Zizhuyuan, stopping for a moment to appreciate it in silence. But most of the time, I preferred to find quiet places to sit. There are quiet corners in Zizhuyuan too; sometimes I would borrow a few books from the National Library and read in those corners for a while before going home.

But after the pandemic began, I have never again entered the National Library, and have rarely gone to Zizhuyuan.

The pandemic changed our way of life. For epidemic-prevention reasons, the National Library is restricting entry. Readers who want to go in to read or borrow books must reserve in advance; some time ago I saw that each morning or afternoon only 600 reserved readers were allowed in. Such complicated and tedious entry procedures deter even a veteran old reader like me.

After the pandemic I did go to Zizhuyuan a few times; every day there are quite a few tourists coming and going, and many people do not wear masks. After going a few times and finding it always the same, I no longer wanted to go. My son is in high school and will soon enter senior year; I do not want to go to crowded places—if I caught the virus and was quarantined, it would hold him back and affect his future.

Over time, habits that had not changed for many years were altered. Now, when I read, I first try to find e-books on the WeChat Reading app or Kindle; when some books feel inconvenient or unsatisfying in electronic form (such as professional medical books), I buy paper editions to read at home. Before the pandemic, my child's mother always said I wasted money on books, buying enough to last ten lifetimes; now those collections have come in useful. My home library is rich enough that I do not necessarily have to go to the library.

Not going to the National Library, I also lost the motivation to walk in Zizhuyuan every day. After the pandemic began, I gradually took up cycling. The bicycle widened my range; as I cycled around the western part of Beijing, I saw many places that touched my heart, and the most fascinating of all was Beiwu Park.

Beiwu Park is in Beiwu Village, Siqing Town, a country park themed on farming culture. Cycling from my home to Beiwu Park takes about half an hour; a loop through Beiwu Park takes ten or twenty minutes, and I cycle there about two or three times a week.

In Beiwu Park there are vast stretches of rice paddies; I estimate at least 100–200 mu of rice fields here. For someone like me who grew up in the countryside, coming to Beiwu Park is like returning to a watertown south of the Yangtze. These rice paddies feel so familiar and dear to me; they have healed my homesickness. The reason I have long wanted to return to the countryside to live is that I love those endless stretches of rice paddies back home.

Besides the rice paddies, the wetland environment of Beiwu Park is also very similar to my hometown. Now I often bring a book and a pencil to Beiwu Park, find a quiet corner, and sit for a whole morning or afternoon. It is far quieter here than in Zizhuyuan, because it is far from the city center and there are not many residential areas nearby, so it is sparsely populated.

Here there is none of the city's noise; only the sounds of nature, the chirping of insects and birds, all very pleasant. In summer it is a lush green, in winter a blanket of snow; being here is truly refreshing to the heart and mind.

There are many spots in Beiwu Park where not a single person passes all day—something impossible in Zizhuyuan. Zizhuyuan has some quiet corners too, but that quiet is only relative; people still come and go from time to time. Beiwu Park, by contrast, is a country park rarely visited; tourists are very sparse, and when I stay deep in the woods, no one disturbs me all day.

I do not know why, but there are not many mosquitoes here either. Sometimes I sit on a large stone by the water reading all morning without a single mosquito bite. The reeds in the water are taller than a person; wild ducks appear in flocks, and looking up you can see the pagoda on the top of Yuquanshan. Sitting here alone reading, I feel I have merged with heaven and earth, forgetting both self and the world. That ease and comfort are hard to put into words. Just as Tao Yuanming wrote: "In this there is a true meaning; I tried to explain, but forgot the words."

I love quiet and dislike clamor. I have cycled into the deep mountains of Mentougou; honestly, it is still noisier there than Beiwu Park. On the mountain roads of Mentougou, large trucks pass by from time to time, and some motorcyclists deliberately modify their engines to show off; when they pass by, they emit deafening roars that destroy the unique tranquility of the Mentougou mountains. But deep in the woods of Beiwu Park, I hear no sound out of harmony with the surroundings.

Beiwu Park is rich in vegetation and shaded by green trees; the temperature is noticeably lower than outside the park. Even in the scorching summer it is cool here. Some children play in the Jinging River that flows through Beiwu Park; watching them, I feel as if I have returned to childhood—was I not myself, back then, splashing every day in the small river at the village entrance with my childhood friends?

The pandemic has indeed greatly changed our lives, but for me, whether life before the pandemic or now is essentially much the same. I am very satisfied with my present state of life; before I loved Zizhuyuan Park, now I love Beiwu Park just as much.

My fate is utterly different from Shi Tiesheng's; I never suffered the misfortune that befell him. I always feel that Fortune is watching over me, and has kept me healthy to this day. So what I feel in the parks is the joy of life, not the depth and pain he felt.

If life is a dream, I would rather this dream be as beautiful, poetic and picturesque as what I see now. I love life, love natural scenery, and can adapt to whatever comes my way, so I am easily satisfied and happy. Happiness has not many secrets; be content with what you have and you will always be happy, and make the best of whatever comes.