Summer of 2026

It has been a month since I came to Shanghai, and slowly I feel I am learning how to grasp life. Qingpu is lush with greenery, carrying the sweltering humidity of the rainy season. That sense of oppressive heaviness, suppressed by the damp heat unique to the plum rain season and with nowhere to vent, is perhaps my deepest memory of June in Shanghai. A typhoon is expected to make landfall next week. Although I am not particularly fond of typhoons, when such an immense force sweeps into your life, one cannot help but feel a sense of anticipation.

I enjoy running on the streets of Qingpu. At night, wandering alone on empty streets, the verdant greenery on the roadside stands like a barrier separating the fields on either side, stretching slowly into the distance. The relative humidity in the air is extremely high, making the end of the road hazy and mysterious under the streetlights, constantly driving one to walk on, as if one must explore what lies at the end of the road—but that end never truly exists; it is merely a symbol. Occasionally, I encounter one or two runners coming from the opposite direction. I hope they, like me, are immersed in this tranquil night.

Qingpu is essentially the countryside of Shanghai. There are no skyscrapers, no busy traffic like in Pudong, no magnificent streetscapes of the Bund, no bustling commuters packed into subway cars. Here there are small patches of farmland, and next to them stand small residential buildings that seem almost abandoned, yet still house old rural Shanghainese. Some people park their cars by the roadside ramps to sell barbecue, and occasionally one can see a small patch of mangroves along the river from a bridge. Running toward Zhujiajiao, you gradually begin to see some residential compounds, all composed of standalone villas. The gates of these compounds are always a driveway wide enough for a single car, with dim yellow lights on both sides of the road, appearing gloomy and dark in the moisture, reminiscent of the descriptions of London streets in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

In such a serene atmosphere, one inevitably begins a dialogue with oneself, attempting to listen to the voice within.

July 6

Drizzle

Last night, the sky outside the window flashed with lightning and thunder, occasionally brightening as if it were broad daylight, but the thunder was not as loud as one might imagine, nor was there a violent storm. Going to work in the morning, the ground was already somewhat dry. Although a bit of rain still drifted through the air and landed on my shoulders, there was no sense of an impending typhoon at all. Instead, everything felt a bit quiet, almost harmonious.

Actually, I have a nearly crazy idea: to chase the storm at the Bund on the day the typhoon makes landfall (expected Saturday night, at the junction of Fujian and Zhejiang). This typhoon should be Category 17, with an overall diameter of roughly 1,000 km, and the winds reaching Shanghai will be around Category 12. I haven’t made the final decision yet; everything depends on the situation that day. But I must say, at this moment my heart is excited, yet also a bit nervous and afraid. Knowing that a powerful presence is about to enter your life—I think everyone more or less feels this way.

I will use my camera to record the moment the typhoon arrives.

July 9

Breeze and Sunset Glow

You would hardly believe how calm the sky is on the eve of a violent storm. The sunset glow hangs in the distance, a gentle breeze brushes against your face, and the azure sky is dotted with scattered stars. I have never seen such a tranquil sky in Shanghai, or rather in East China—it is truly astonishing. But do not be deceived by this surface calm. This is the subtropical high-pressure phenomenon before the typhoon; the real storm is coming.

Last night, I chatted with a friend I hadn’t been in touch with for a long time, learning about their recent situation and the trivial matters they had encountered in life. This mindset of maintaining concern for others still makes me feel very comfortable, even though I have always been reluctant to do so. Why not? Is maintaining concern for others not the foundation of human interaction? Should it not be as simple as eating and drinking? Perhaps so, but I am generally unwilling to immerse myself with others… Yet occasionally, it doesn’t hurt to ask certain friends, “Is life pleasant?” My friend seems to have encountered some problems in life, some of which would indeed leave one at a loss. But I think the problems are not too severe. As long as they are not unsolvable difficulties, all problems will eventually be resolved. And those problems that cannot be solved are simply not worth solving at all; there is no need to worry excessively.

All the trivialities of life will eventually return to calm. We who dwell beneath this night should begin to slowly shift the focus of life onto our inner feelings. I think there should be a new goal in my heart now: to learn to feel life. To “feel” life, not to “live” life—like an impressionistic landscape painting focused on colors and patterns, rather than a giant anatomical drawing of the human body rendered with the most painstaking technique. What I want to feel is the pattern of life, something more authentic hidden within concrete affairs, something indescribable in words yet a universal language of the cosmos, a spirit, something not like a physical object. Perhaps it is a fragment of memory that remains deep within the heart and is suddenly awakened years later. If I can receive these, then my goal will be achieved. Slowly, you will discover that whether it is the monotonous daily routine of work, socializing in bustling places, or traveling far to mountains and rivers, walking between rivers—if these fragments are not collected, all of it seems utterly meaningless.

July 11

Rolling Thunder

Stepping outside today, I somehow felt that the weather in Shanghai had actually turned cooler, which was a bit unexpected. The sweltering heat of the past few days was simply unbearable, but it seems the humidity has finally dropped.

If a person devotes all their time to work, with no time left to do what they truly want to do, no opportunity to explore the outside world, is such a life truly meaningful? Is such a life worth continuing? I want to escape; I urgently need a new way of living.

This is not what I want—a gray, lifeless expanse. I need to explore new paths, must explore, absolutely must! But in my current state, I must remain cautious and prudent, and keep accumulating.

The sunset glow is truly beautiful, tinged with blue hues, yet in the distance dark clouds gather densely, with silver snakes darting about.

August 6