I am not Ximen Qing.

The sky and the earth are different. At least you can understand whether mythological novels have precise imagination; they're almost exactly as described in the myths. When an airplane flies above the clouds, you can see the endless clouds on the horizon from the airplane window!

The mortal world is the source of trouble, but the heavens truly offer a place free from trouble, a temporary tranquility of mind—a tranquility that leads to far-reaching vision. What else is there in the heavens? In the heavens! A temporary purity is attained; trouble vanishes instantly, and the ethereal goodness of humanity emerges. There's a vast difference between a high-speed train, a slow train, and a plane flying in the sky—a difference between heaven and earth, a difference that can be understood as a dimensional shift. In the heavens, one can narrowly understand it as four-dimensional space, although flying through the clouds can also be narrowly understood as four-dimensional space. Every time I fly, I can't forget the warm smiles of the flight attendants. In the sky, humanity is the sublimation of love; the flight attendants are full of smiles, like the Virgin Mary. In their eyes, everything needs the warmth and care of love. When they are in the air, Zhang Sheng believes they have overcome the sophistication of the world, leaving only smiles and love. He believes it's because they are in the air that he's addicted to flying—because of the flight attendants' beauty, their delicate features. To use an analogy, the standard of beauty used to be the "slender horses" of Yangzhou in Jiangnan. Now, do you understand something? The representative of Jiangnan beauty is Dong Xiaowan. She bewitched Emperor Shunzhi to the point of madness, eventually leading him to become a monk at Mount Wutai. This is just one version of the story. The emperors of the Qing Dynasty were all romantics, to the point that there's a mystery surrounding the true and false Dong Xiaowan. The Dong Xiaowan of the furry craftsman is a vanished beauty, impossible to simply disappear like spring flowers in the wind. For this reason, Mao Pijiang specially wrote a story similar to Jia Baoyu and Lin Daiyu's "A Dream" for Dong Xiaowan. Because Emperor Shunzhi valued his reputation, and Mao Pijiang valued his life, there could only be one Dong Xiaowan in this world—Emperor Shunzhi's Dong Xiaowan. In the Forbidden City of the Qing Dynasty, Dong Xiaowan was called Consort Dong'e. Anyway, her relationship with Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang was very tense. Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang was naturally afraid because Dong Xiaowan and Su Daji had the same ability to bewitch the emperor. Emperor Shunzhi was a great... The first Qing emperor to enter the Central Plains, Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang, used both feminine gentleness and iron fist to appease the three Dorgon brothers. Just think how hard-won Emperor Shunzhi's throne was! The beauties of Suzhou and Hangzhou, the beauties of Yangzhou, and the "slender horses" (a euphemism for prostitutes) represented the standards of beauty pursued by Chinese literati. In the past, there was a custom of painting portraits of beautiful women and making bronze mirrors. The literati of the past had the leisure to appreciate paintings of beauties. Tang Bohu of the Ming Dynasty was a top master of painting portraits of beauties. Paintings of beauties weren't only found in *Dream of the Red Chamber*, but also in *Jin Ping Mei*. There was a tradition of analyzing birth charts and facial features; these were simply cultural traditions.

So, the beauty of flight attendants must at least be vibrant and colorful, like the fragrance of orchids and osmanthus in the sky, the beauty of spring flowers as bright as jade, and the charm of crabapple blossoms. Because those who have seen the Twelve Beauties of the Yongzheng Emperor do indeed know that there are indeed paintings of fairies and ladies. At least the flight attendants in the sky can leave a unique and impressive mark of beauty! In heaven, there are not only warm smiles, but also beauty—at least the beauty of heaven. The concept of beauty in abstract art has been clearly defined. At least in heaven, one can escape the troubles of the mundane world. This reminds me of the three women who profoundly influenced Song Yu. The first was the girl who led him down the path of entrepreneurship. Of course, the girl may have also fallen in love with him; it's often difficult to distinguish between love and temptation. Anyway, as long as the girl achieved her goal, it was okay. But Song Yu's life path changed. The second was a virgin with an unparalleled beauty. That beauty truly devoured Song Yu's love and the dignity of love. It turns out that the hymen was just a joke in a love prank. The third woman loved houses more. In the choice between love and a house, the woman chose a house. That's fine; Song Yu got married, and the woman made him play a game of strategy with his old friend!

Only in heaven can one forget all troubles, including the contractual issues emphasized by Viola White Birch Immortal Beauty, and the glamorous, extravagant love life. Ultimately, it takes the energy of money to ignite the flames and sparks of love! Because if one wants to live a dreamlike life, one will return to the frenzy of Wall Street, the state where money never sleeps. Materialism and idealism exist in this world in contradiction, yet they are also two coexisting entities, like yin and yang, the same principle as the Bagua! Men are all like Clyde from Gatsby, Othello, Romeo, and in *An American Tragedy*, whether it's Roberta or Sandra. Clyde's love is full of twists and turns and temptations. His desire to rise to the bourgeoisie is now an obstacle for Roberta, but he cannot overcome the allure of the beautiful and wealthy Sandra. Every man is both Julien and Clyde; they are tragedies of two eras. Nothing can escape the fate of judgment, and no one can escape being judged. They are judged by Ox-Head and Horse-Face, Black and White Impermanence—anyone who has seen a diagram of hell knows about the six realms of reincarnation: ghosts, animals, asuras, hell, and the human and celestial realms.

"You know what? The protagonist in the trial, no matter what he tried, was still stabbed to death. At least it was a quicker death than the salesman's in *The Metamorphosis*. He didn't die tragically as an Agreed Beetle in front of his company manager, parents, and sister. Waking up as a four-legged, ugly beetle is unimaginable. Kafka's *Trial* and Kafka's *The Metamorphosis*, Kafka's magical realism, deeply influenced One Hundred Years of Solitude's work. Now I remember, I can create a great modernist work in Kafka's style: *The Abstract Victim*."

Ah, only in the sky can one truly understand. How wonderful it is to find trouble on an airplane when one can't comprehend it on Earth! If one could stay in the sky forever, one could always face smiles and at least taste the flavors of the air. What are the tastes of the air? It's such a luxury to be in the sky, to have the absolutely selfless smiles of flight attendants! And to experience the tastes of the air that no one else in the world can match. Before boarding the plane, there was utter and complete despair, that oppressive despair, the unbearable pain, without a shred of hope. What are marriage, love, and romance? Zhang Sheng felt empty in the air, in a state of being empty. Perhaps it was because the white clouds in the sky were as white as snow, layer upon layer, warm and boundless clouds. While the world admired the fluffy white clouds, only the deep blue sky remained. Suddenly, I remembered that scene from *Lost Horizon*. He could never become Conway, never become a Living Buddha, or a Tibetan lama! So why not go to Tibet? Why go to Hangzhou instead? It's simply because he still longed for more of West Lake, isn't it? I strolled along Bai Causeway in a whirlwind, failing to appreciate the beauty of Gushan Island. It seems I could only leave Gushan Island unappreciated. My trip to Hangzhou was merely an exploration of beauty and its existence. No, I didn't visit Lingyin Temple or the Qiantang River in Hangzhou, did I? Isn't that enough? Why Hangzhou specifically? And not Shanghai? I don't know why. Is it some Shangri-La in my heart, fulfilling a princess's fantasy? The girl is so naive. She still thinks love will be like the unexpected encounter between the Manchu princess and Kang Wei? Finding that kind of love that transcends time and space? Thinking about it, this Hangzhou girl is a bit confused. Is Miss Tang a Suzhou girl or a Hangzhou girl? Miss Tang can be said to be a Southern girl who hasn't given up on Zhang Sheng. Southern girls are pure in love. Sometimes, when a man is down, a Southern girl will bestow hot love upon him. In the clouds above, there's nothing but clouds; that's quite disappointing. It was strange. When I arrived at Hangzhou Xiaoshan Airport, I blushed and felt embarrassed as I walked out of the airport and greeted the flight attendants with smiles and greetings. I walked along the elevated walkway to platform T3, everything was unknown. My mind was filled with thoughts of People's Square – could I still find that bank? And that hotel? I used to come to Hangzhou by high-speed rail, but flying can be addictive. I believe I'll still choose to fly next time I come to Hangzhou. Because you can think through so many troubles in the air. The feeling in the sky is completely different from that of a high-speed train or a slow train. One is the feeling and mindset of being in the sky, the other is the feeling of being in a three-dimensional world. No, no. There was no choice left. Birch, Viola, and Immortal Beauty were his dreams. Alice, his AI wife, is his reality. Song Yu is like Prometheus bound in chains, and Zhang Sheng can't immediately become Zeus to save him. He took Metro Line 1 from Xiaoshan Airport, transferred to Line 5, exited the station, hailed a Didi (ride-hailing service), and stayed overnight at a chain hotel. The next day, following the hotel receptionist's advice, he walked 50 meters from the hotel to Metro Line 5 (Jinji Road Station) and then Line 1 (Fengxiang Bridge Station) to reach West Lake. Like the previous West Lake puzzle, he passed the famous West Lake villa on Bai Causeway. He didn't choose to continue forward; there was a path to the right ahead—Gushan (Solitary Hill). Now he understood why it was called Gushan. In fact, if one were to rush past Gushan on Bai Causeway, it might resemble Su Shi's famous Zen poem, "Written on the Wall at West Forest Temple."

Viewed from the side, it's a mountain range; viewed from the front, it's a peak; its appearance varies depending on distance, height, and perspective.

You can't see the true face of Mount Lu because you're in the mountain yourself.

As Su Dongpo saw Mount Lu, so too did West Lake. In Zhang Sheng's eyes, West Lake was like the poem "Written on the Wall at West Forest Temple." West Lake is a mirror of Hangzhou, and its eternal presence, like the Diamond Sutra, is what makes it so beautiful—in short, an unfathomable wonder! But the most beautiful thing about Gushan Island is that, though so close, its existence is almost imperceptible!

I love the emptiness of Gushan (Solitary Hill), but Gushan is truly remarkable. There's so much more to say about Gushan, especially since it's part of West Lake. But Gushan in West Lake is far more famous than Longevity Hill in the Summer Palace. Longevity Hill, built by hollowing out Kunming Lake, now seems to simply exist in solitude, and that's beautiful enough. I don't expect Gushan to regain its former glory; climbing it is purely out of curiosity. It's just a pretentious display of refinement. Coming to West Lake without visiting Gushan, at least I saw Lu Xun's statue. Just imagine how terrible it would be if China didn't have Lu Xun! Lu Xun's existence... He wrote the most novels in vernacular Chinese, the kind that made the Japanese afraid. Lu Xun was born for culture. Many other writers and artists of his time were parasites living within the sphere of Chinese culture. Lu Xun created for culture; he was a banner, confronting the realities of contemporary China without compromise or escapism, facing the challenges head-on. Lu Xun was a warrior of culture, for there are far too many parasites cloaked in the guise of Chinese culture. Therefore, Lu Xun will never be outdated. Beside the pavilion where we rest is the tomb of Lin Bu of the Northern Song Dynasty, the founder of the spirit of plum blossoms and cranes on Gushan Mountain, who dedicated his life to pursuing the integrity of a scholar.

Plum Blossoms in the Small Garden

Amidst the falling blossoms, only the scholar's studio resounds with activity, captivating the small garden with its charm.

Shuying horizontally and shallow water, subtle fragrance floating moon dusk.

The frosty bird, about to descend, first steals a glance; if the butterflies knew, they would surely be heartbroken.

Fortunately, we can enjoy each other's company with gentle chants; there's no need for clappers and golden gongs.

"Plum Blossom Wife and Crane Son"—I wonder if this can be considered the highest realm of love? Zhang Sheng was a little afraid, afraid of disturbing the tranquil and secluded place of the sages. He bowed three times, but still felt a little thrilled. He wasn't honest enough before the sages. He seemed to hear the poem "Little Boy's Rudeness," a poem with a profound and distant meaning, reaching the 33rd heaven. He strolled along the green-lined steps from a side opening, past the leisurely swaying grass and bamboo groves. There was a mountain pavilion and an old man with white hair. He thought of the secluded pavilion on a high mountain in Taoranting Park, where a singer expressed his feelings. Zhang Sheng felt the same way. The pavilion on the lonely mountain was so close. At the place of "Little Garden Plum Blossom," he could sing a lament, with profound sentiment and meaning. He stepped onto the green-lined steps on the right and turned to a quiet corridor. The charm of the lonely mountain also moved him. Traces of the sages still linger. Emerging from the long corridor and wooden pavilion, I descended the green-paved steps to a small pond. Within it swam red goldfish, wary of their presence. At the sound of a song, they scattered and disappeared beneath the surface. These goldfish seemed to possess the air of hermits, captivated by the beautiful melodies of songs sung alone in the Lonely Hill Pavilion. My feet sank into the grass, realizing it was merely the path of immortals. Yet, my interest remained high. Truly, I had sought a hermit but found none; this was only the beginning of my journey to Lonely Hill. My heart was filled with joy. Though over 1000 years had passed, it felt as if I had met Lin Bu himself. Zhang Sheng's feelings were like Bai Juyi's upon meeting Tao Yuanming at Mount Lu. Just think, no one in the world could disrespect Lin Bu of Lonely Hill. Even Emperor Zhenzong of the Northern Song Dynasty admired Lin Bu's spirit of plum blossoms and cranes!