You Only Realize How Many Books You Own When You Move

Until I moved house once, I had no idea just how many books I had bought.

Between my home and the study I rent, I have seven bookcases in all, and every one is stuffed with books in layer upon layer. If I did not pack them this way, there would not be enough room for so many books and bookcases. The bookcases I bought—whether hardwood or the sturdiest steel cabinets—have all buckled to varying degrees under the weight of the books.

After more than twenty years as a Beijing drifter, I have unknowingly accumulated this many books, spanning several disciplines. Quite a number of the technical and professional books were bought out of necessity, to "learn on the job." I have, in a sense, chewed through several of the hardest specialties; people who cross multiple disciplines just to make a living are, I suppose, rare.

What have I done with myself all these years? To be precise, I seem to have done nothing but read, occasionally exchanging what I had learned for a little money to feed my family. I am already forty-three, yet I feel I have never left my high-school years behind; every day I am still dealing with mountains of books.

I remember when I was about twenty, having just arrived in Beijing, I told my older brother that my greatest love in life was reading and writing. He said: you are an adult now; whatever you love, you must be responsible for your own love. If you love reading and writing, you must rely on your own ability to support yourself and realize your dream; you cannot lean on others to support you. I said nothing after hearing him, but quietly resolved that no matter how hard life got, no matter how much effort it demanded, I would never change my ambition.

More than twenty years later, looking back on that episode, I am grateful that I have both managed to support my family through what I learned and kept the dream of my youth, still reading and writing. I am a farmer's son; my parents could not even afford to put me through college, so everything had to depend on myself. Relying on the will to survive I forged in the countryside, I have kept on reading, writing, and working diligently to support my family, and now I live a settled, comfortable life in Beijing, having realized my dream of reading for a lifetime.

From age twenty until now, I have learned a great deal of knowledge and skill, and my life experience is rich. The ancients said a gentleman is not a mere vessel. I am no gentleman, but after learning so much and mastering several skills, I can indeed do many kinds of work. Now I can steer my own fate, and so have gained a measure of freedom. I have felt in my bones that knowledge really can change fate; without these books, I could not have reached my present state in body or mind.

So I have a special affection for my book collection; I treasure them deeply and take them with me wherever I go. After this move back home, even if I later rent another place to work, I do not plan to move the books out of the house again, because moving books is simply too much of a headache.

In my home there is a large balcony nearly ten meters long—a perk for us ground-floor residents, given free when we bought the apartment. I plan to have a batch of low bookcases custom-made to line one wall of the balcony, and put most of my books in them. Then I will lay waterproof mats on top of the bookcases and set my dozens of potted plants on the tops. With care in arranging it, even a cramped dwelling can become a paradise.

There may be some changes still in my life, but I will not dwell on these external changes. Reading The Years Flow Like Water: A Centennial Oral History of Zhou Youguang, I often reflect on the impermanence of the human world. A man who had only ever wanted to read in peace, with few desires, still could not escape the tide of the times, suffering repeated upheavals and several periods of displacement; it shows that a person ultimately cannot exist independently of the age. Yet no matter how turbulent the times, old Mr. Zhou Youguang read and wrote his whole life. In his heart there was always a Peach Blossom Spring; reading and writing settled him. Even while storms raged outside, his inner mind stayed as calm as still water.

I do not have Zhou Youguang's brilliance, but I too want to learn from his bearing—not chasing external glamour. Having this many books as companions for the rest of my life is enough. A reader may be alone, but is never lonely.