Image from the Internet

Image from the Internet

The moment the intro of Brother Xiaoqi’s song rings out,

Picking up memories, youth all comes back,

And the heart is healed just like that,

This is a scene I can never tire of,

This is a blessing.

Once you speak, it’s the jianghu,

Who didn’t dream of the jianghu in youth,

Half a lifetime weathered like a beast of burden,

Not letting down the best years, drunk on the dust of the world,

Fearless of tomorrow’s stormy road.

Youth is quite abstract,

In youth, a psycho,

In middle age, he looks like a madman instead,

In our teens, we were as bland as plain water—every day pretty much the same,

In your twenties, you say we have no money now, how about buying a box of instant noodles to get through the month,

In your thirties, one day you say when I turn 38 I can treat you to a glass of Moutai,

Murmuring,

Two old boys racing toward forty, heading out to hear a sixty-something sing,

That night,

A belated encounter—how much youth do you pick up,

Off-key,

Those years, a small southern coastal town, an old triangular cassette player playing music,

Little one,

Under the swaying trees of high summer, us 2Bs, with only a patch of ground to ourselves,

Folded in half,

There’s a kind of warmth called “I’m still here”,

You see,

Willn’t the world one has to look up to be so hard to reach?