The Temple of Earth

On the last day of summer vacation, I visited both the Summer Palace and the Old Summer Palace.

I was a little tired, but the weather was so beautiful that I felt I should linger a bit longer with that gentle sunlight and breeze.

I unlocked a shared bike on the street and slowly rode toward the Temple of Earth Park.

Right at the entrance stood a large park map. The markings on it were unusual, unlike those in other parks. Looking closely, I realized they were all accessibility symbols—densely dotted across the map.

The Temple of Earth, I thought, is truly a park without barriers.

And perhaps, I mused, this has something to do with Shi Tiesheng.

I've always loved Shi Tiesheng's writings. I still remember the first time I encountered his work—it was in a school textbook:“When my legs were first paralyzed, my temper became terrible. Looking at the lines of wild geese flying back north, I would suddenly smash the windowpane in front of me. Listening to the sweet songs sung by the famous singer Li Guyi, I would throw whatever happened to be on hand at the wall.”

When our teacher first led the class in reading that passage aloud, everyone laughed, and so did I—imagining him, half crazy, throwing things around.

Later, during the pandemic, I thought of that essay again and bought his most famous book, I and the Temple of Earth.

In his prime, Shi was suddenly confined to a wheelchair. The bitterness and loneliness in his heart were beyond words. In the Temple of Earth, he began to reflect, to tell the story of his renewed understanding of life—like the old pagoda tree in the park, scarred by wind and frost, yet sprouting new buds every spring.

Perhaps, as he wrote, when suffering pushed him to the edge of a cliff, he simply sat down at that edge—and took the time to admire the mist below.

I slowly walked deeper into the park and sat under a large tree, perhaps one where Shi himself once rested. The sound of the wind passing through the leaves was low and soft.

Scattered nearby were a few elderly people and a couple playing with their child. A few gray magpies hopped behind the child, quietly pecking at the breadcrumbs scattered on the grass.

I couldn't bring myself to leave just yet. So I stayed a little longer.