I am not Ximen Qing.

"It's over, the madman has appeared. I knew this would happen."

Henry had been waiting for Zhang Sheng to become like this for a long time. Zhang Sheng and Henry had drunk too much Wuliangye (a type of Chinese liquor), and now Zhang Sheng had lost control of his rationality. He seemed to have forgotten that this was Henry and Zhao Feiyan's wedding. Zhao Ji watched Zhang Sheng sing on stage in shock. Zhang Sheng seemed to have returned to the Asian Games Village, the flame of love burning brightly. In Zhang Sheng's heart, he seemed to smell the fragrance of blooming rose petals. She truly was a rose in the wilderness, with thorns and the wildness of a rose. Henry, like a rational and wise capitalist speculator, watched Zhang Sheng, now the protagonist on stage, frantically singing a toast to him and his lover, a wedding march of blessings.

Zhang Sheng unexpectedly became a wedding entertainer, a twist of fate that led him to become Henry V instead of the mischievous Windsor woman, Hustaff. Regardless, Zhang Sheng's sole purpose was to attract Zhao Ji's attention; at least he could sense her youthful naiveté. A female college student fresh out of university—perhaps only Bai Hua could compare. Henry still retained his hypocritical philosopher's demeanor; a capitalist in philosophical garb was his true nature. It's easy to become a philosopher from a capitalist, but difficult to become a capitalist from a philosopher. Why? There's no why. And so, Henry watched Zhang Sheng's performance with utmost enthusiasm and patience.

Zhao Ji has disappeared, which is truly disappointing. The wedding is over. Henry and Zhao Feiyan are shocked because Zhang Sheng is indeed behaving like a heartbroken man, hysterically screaming and howling as if it were the most shameless and stupid thing in the world. Only Zhang Sheng and the newlyweds remain.

"It's nothing. People chant scriptures in heaven and dream on earth. Let's all go to the mountains and continue the revelry, how about that?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's nothing special. Do you like her when she's young?"

Henry, taking advantage of Zhang Sheng's slightly drunken state, was quite provocative. Zhao Ji truly possessed a captivating allure; for some reason, she exuded a strange aura rather than a scent—was it instinct? He rediscovered that burning, fiery love, that fervent passion, which was crucial for Zhang Sheng. Painting requires inspiration, and it seemed Zhang Sheng found his creative inspiration in Zhao Ji.

Old Li drove through the winding mountains of Miyun, along the highway. Modern people in the city were going crazy, restless. Faulkner's *The Sound and the Fury* had the soul of Othello, the spirit of Don Juan, and the power and ambition of Macbeth—too many sick people. Were they the cousins ​​in *The Magic Mountain*? Going up the mountain for treatment? Perhaps Henry discovered Zhang Sheng's serious problem at the hotel. How many times had he been to the mountains near Beijing? It didn't matter anymore! He remembered his first trip to the mountains of Beijing was in a minibus, venturing to Simatai with his company employees for a team-building event, similar to a company annual meeting. Now he thought of the steep and precipitous Simatai Great Wall, practically built on cliffs, containing relics of the Yan Kingdom and beacon towers from the Ming Dynasty. He also passed by the simple villages at the foot of the Great Wall, all thatched cottages, front and back yards, fragrant orchards, and trees laden with unripe fruit.

The mountains ahead are all winding roads. Henry is adept at cultivating his mind and spirit. He runs a retreat called Vimalakirti Zen Temple deep in the mountains, where he can hold annual meetings and occasionally cultivate his mind and spirit. Of course, to maintain operating costs, it is also open to some large companies, purely for corporate networking. Henry is now financially secure. His AI robots are selling like hotcakes worldwide, and he has many friends who are executives at large companies. These acquaintances refer each other internally, and the income from maintaining Vimalakirti Zen Temple is sufficient. Henry uses a membership system, making Vimalakirti the top Zen temple in the eyes of all CEOs. He believes that practicing here can inspire wisdom, and he wants to make it a top-level retreat through the membership system. Henry is passionate about the study of Chinese classics and Buddhism, the embodiment of entrepreneurial culture, as evidenced by the Analects and calligraphy works in his office. The spirit of Yan Hui, who remained steadfast in his principles even in humble circumstances, is a must for any great entrepreneur; otherwise, one is destined never to become an entrepreneur.

At the intersection ahead, a boulder was engraved with the large red characters "Vimalakirti." Zhang Sheng called Henry. Of course, Old Li's story was quite captivating, like a beautiful woman from One Thousand and One Nights—something one could only dream of. After getting out of the car, Zhang Sheng told Old Li to go back. A staff member greeted Zhang Sheng and led him into the Zen temple, a veritable "Travels of Lao Can" in the Miyun Mountains. There truly was that ethereal, Zen-like atmosphere. Working in the city for so long, the pressure was immense; coming here was a way to relax. It's not about the height of the mountain, but the presence of Buddha that makes it sacred. There are fewer people cultivating immortality these days, but there are still many laypeople seeking enlightenment. He began to like the tranquility of the mountains, the rich fragrance of grass, the dense forest. This Zen hall, hidden among the mountains and forests, had an ancient Tang Dynasty style. The staff at Henry's meditation place all had a fairy-like taste, with a ghostly smile that gave it a magical feel. But this wasn't a place to treat pneumonia. Here, squirrels, magpies, and doves occupied the dense forest, and the branches and grass at night returned to the natural symphony. Listening to the sounds of nature, the poetic beauty of the mountain village...

Upon arriving at Henry's private meditation hall, the incense smoke drifted gently from the bronze incense burner, rising in wisps and wisps of pale purple smoke, soothing and enlightening. Zhang Sheng knew this was a trend—Steve Jobs' Zen Buddhism at Apple. If this was a pursuit of Zen history, whether it was the Southern or Northern School, after the passing of the last Zen patriarch, Yin Guang, China seemed to have lost its Zen tradition. Jobs might have attained enlightenment in Japan, but at least in Henry's hall, Bodhidharma was vividly depicted! The Diamond Sutra, Heart Sutra, Mahaparinirvana Sutra, Avatamsaka Sutra, Surangama Sutra, and Lankavatara Sutra were neatly arranged on the sandalwood bookshelves.

"I'm here purely to clarify my mind, to cultivate my character; the outside world is too materialistic."

"For the lay Buddhist Mojie?"

"Subhuti, Manjushri, Ananda, do you believe it most?"

"Yes, how much investment did Henry make here?"

Zhang Sheng changed the subject, saying that a meditation courtyard built deep in the mountains couldn't possibly be solely for enlightenment; that didn't align with Henry's pursuits. Commercialization, capitalization, and profit maximization were his true nature.

"Not many, mainly for the annual meeting. We rented a hotel, with absolutely no privacy. Of course, it's not about the money; the annual meeting is very important to the company. This place can easily accommodate several hundred people, including the company's senior management. We can't possibly accommodate that many at once. A few dozen, a hundred, or even several hundred people in the mountains is already quite lively."

Henry showed Zhang Sheng every corner of the Zen temple. He explored the stories, meditations, the sky, the art, and the imagination of Zen—all for the sake of understanding the Zen taste. This was incredibly instructive for Henry. What is Zen? Built against the mountain were bird-watching pavilions, bamboo towers, and two-story bamboo pavilions where one could enjoy tea and discuss Zen principles. In moments of great interest, one could play the guqin (a seven-stringed zither). The sounds of wind, cranes, flowing water, and the zither were endlessly enchanting. The sounds of wind, rain, and cicadas filled the air—more than just Zen music, more than just zither music, more than just Buddhist chants. Returning from the city to the mountains made everything perfect. Of course, after living in the mountains for a while, one would begin to miss the hustle and bustle of the city, and then return to "City Inside the World," where everything was perfect again.

The Four Masters of the Yuan Dynasty, along with Bada Shanren and Shitao, represent a pinnacle of pure artistic spirit that can only be admired from afar. Contemporary humanity remains confined to a state of solitary taboo, struggling to balance the eternal contradictions and conflicts between city and nature.

"Henry, are you laughing at me?"

No, no, no, how could I laugh at you?

Believe it or not, you can't see the Huangpu River from the Huangpu Bridge.

"Ah, that's right, that's the essence of Zen!"

"Don't joke around."

"No joke, I know your hobbies. Come visit my wine cellar. I understand your longing to come home. You know me too superficially. Actually, my greatest desires are hidden in Buddhism, in Buddhist scriptures, and in the Buddha's 84,000 Dharma gates!"

"Henry, do you know how it feels to come home?"

"Ulysses in the city, love and beauty, alcohol-crazed guy, I really can't find anyone else to choose. Using a madman to cure another madwoman, maybe the female psychopath will work, what to do? She wants to commit suicide, she's so desperate, can you help me? Don't be afraid, you've seen her, Zhao Feiyan's sister, the sexy Zhao Ji, a recent college graduate, a fanatical artist, the key is that she's too avant-garde!"

"What a strange name!"

"Don't talk nonsense, is Zhao Ji's name strange?"

"It feels like time travel. Could she be Zhao Ji, who traveled from the Qin state?"

"By the way, what's the name of the girl you were chatting with while holding the cat?"

"Tingting disappeared. She vanished the moment we discussed marrying her."

"Very good,"

"What"

"Out with the old, in with the new. Do you like it?"

She's a little shy.

"That's your problem. It's not that she's shy, it's that you're shy. It's not that she's caught up in a ghostly love affair, do you understand? She's heartbroken!"

"I'm not heartbroken, I'll fall in love again."

Do you want to fall in love with an angel?

"Yes, falling in love with an angel is so innocent."

"She is the only angel in the world, let's have a few drinks with her!"

"Where is Zhao Ji? Is she in the wine cellar? Is she a female alcoholic?"

"No, it's her studio. She just returned from Mexico City. She's a painter, a poet, has held art exhibitions, published her own poetry collection, and does piano improvisation. You might not be able to stand her style—a mix of jazz, big blues, and beatles. Make her fall in love with you, or you actively pursue love of hers. Just be with her, save her from the torment of love's ghost. You can't just stand by and watch her. She's fallen into hell, she has mental problems, but that doesn't mean she isn't a pure, passionate red rose. She has thorns and brambles, but she's absolutely, positively beautiful. Where does the problem lie? It's all a problem with her primal desires. It's unavoidable. Just consider her the devil in your life. She falls for it. Women are all like that; they like devils, hate angels."

I will make her a lady.

"No, no, she's not a shrew."

I will free her from the ghost of love.

"Great, yes, just make her normal. If you're willing, why don't you just marry her?"

Zhang Sheng thought it was just Henry joking, too unserious. He'd only met her once at the wedding, and Henry was already rushing to persuade Zhang Sheng to marry Zhao Ji. Actually, the girl had a very alluring, natural charm that men generally find attractive.

"I'm not kidding, I'm serious. Didn't you used to be fearless? Don't take her too seriously. Go for it, show that girl-chasing spirit you have, that shameless, scoundrel style. That's what she likes. She might need the love of a scumbag."

"Henry, are you out of your mind?!"

Besides Wine Taste, Zhang Sheng sensed something else in this art gallery in the mountains – Arts. The gallery's perfect design, strong motivation, and the fusion of art painting and the visual spirit of wine—perhaps Zhao Ji possesses magical power, or perhaps it's more accurate to describe it as a perfect combination of a palace of graffiti art and a wine cellar. The sense of space, or rather, the sense of time and space within, is incredibly strong, because the aroma of fine wine in the air is unimaginable. Rows of oak barrels filled with wine are neatly stacked, like round logs over 1 meter in diameter. A row of gleaming metal taps, ready to flow at the slightest turn, accompanied by the sound of a piano. Piano music can cleanse the soul, increasingly evoking the fervor of *The Phantom of the Opera*. In the center of the space surrounded by art paintings by Eric Raoul, stands a gleaming black grand piano. It's best if two pianists play *The March of Love* together to create this famous, passionate piece. It seems even more luxurious and fashionable than Zhuo Ziwei's *My Fair Lady*. This so-called combination of a wine cellar and an art gallery is perhaps better described as a salon of… Arts, an art salon bar filled with barrels of wine, and all sorts of bottles filled with different colors; the key is the beautiful magic bottles, whose liquids can turn reason and emotion into a mad, twisted love.

As Zhao Ji played the piano, she sang the melodious Rose Song. Her music voice was captivating and penetrating, more passionate than any female singer from the Haozi ethnic group or Christina Aguilera from The Phantom of the Opera. It was practically a call to love: Love of Red Roses, Red Wild Rose Cherry, How Whiskey and Tequila Tequila. This wild female artist who could play the piano had a pure understanding of love, but her understanding of the power of beauty in this perfect world was narrow.

Oil painting is a way to purely express love and affection. Beyond love and affection, humanity's depravity lies in losing the purity of beauty. This music is the release of Zhao Ji's inner flames of desire; she is perfect in every way, from her inner and outer form to the divine existence of her soul. It is the monologue space of the female artist's inner world. Her pure self-space is constructed through her "Sparks of Love" series. Her philosophical theory is not about gods or God, but about pure emptiness. She has been searching for the sublimation of love and desire in emptiness, believing that only love and desire can create eternal emptiness. What is the highest realm of love and desire in the world? It is not gods or Buddhas, not Jesus Christ, not any religion, but the trumpets of the snowy plateau.

Zhang Sheng was completely absorbed by her piano music and the celestial maiden, goddess, and jade maiden series of oil paintings hanging on the wall, submerged in the space of the painting show. Perhaps this can be considered as form being emptiness, with emptiness being one of the manifestations of form. Emptiness is the limitation of thought, and desire is the driving force that propels the exploration of emptiness. The soul of these paintings refers to Zhao Ji's oil paintings of indulging in piano music. The creative technique is somewhat mythical, but this is just one interpretation, and it certainly has limitations.