When Brother Chi’s songs start playing,
So many memories are picked up, youth comes rushing in,
The heart is just healed like that,
This is a landscape that never gets old,
This is a happy thing.

Youth is abstract,
When we were young, we were like madmen,
In middle age, we’re even more like madmen,
In our teens, we were like plain water, every day was similar,
In our twenties, we said we had no money, maybe a pack of instant noodles could last a month,
In our thirties, one day you said when we turn 38, I can buy you a glass of Moutai,

Chattering away,
Two boys approaching forty, making an appointment to listen to someone approaching sixty sing,
That night,
A belated encounter, how much youth did you recover,
Off-key singing,
Those years, in a small coastal town in the south, an old triangular tape recorder playing music,
Small,
Under the swaying summer tree, the two of us fools, only a small space,
Folding,
There’s a warmth called “I’m still here”,
Look,
Is the world you look up at hard to reach?