Era: Rise from the Wilderness

A surge of emotion, a mixture of immense sorrow and overwhelming joy at regaining what was lost, rushed into my nasal cavity without warning, instantly blurring my vision.

"Old friend...you're still here."

He murmured, his voice trembling uncontrollably.

This "Forever" motorcycle was a "big purchase" that my father bought with the precious industrial voucher issued by the factory, plus money he had saved up by scrimping and saving for almost half a year.

It became his most loyal companion when he was in high school.

The dirt road to school, which stretched for more than ten miles, carried him, his schoolbag, and occasionally fish he caught from the river or borrowed martial arts novels, back and forth without fail, rain or shine.

He had long assumed that it, along with those faded old times, had disappeared into a junkyard or some forgotten corner, eventually turning to dust.

did not expect……

He stepped forward and gripped the handlebars, which were hot to the touch from the sun, tightly with both hands.

The unique hardness of metal penetrates the palm and reaches the tip of the heart; its heavy weight is a weight that memories cannot bear, and it is also an incredibly real presence at this moment.

He carefully lifted the car; the tires were low on air and drooped limply.

But that doesn't matter.

He lifted his leg and awkwardly straddled the hard bicycle seat, which was covered with an old woolen cover.

The distance of more than 20 years had made this action, which should have been ingrained in his bones, incredibly unfamiliar. The car lurched suddenly, and he almost fell to the ground due to loss of balance.

He gripped the handlebars tightly with both hands and stepped onto the smooth pedals, a strange, unfamiliar yet familiar feeling completely enveloping him.

He took a deep breath of the scorching air, and with all his might, he stomped down on the pedal!

"Click..."

The chain groaned dryly and wearily, and the vehicle shook violently, lurching forward in a crooked and erratic motion.

He hurriedly twisted his waist, frantically adjusting his direction, like a fledgling bird that had just hatched and was trying to gain its balance.

The wheels drew distorted "S" shapes on the ground, nearly crashing into the straight poplar trees by the roadside several times, or plunging headfirst into the drainage ditch next to it, causing Ma Xingyuan and his friends, who had not yet dispersed from the school gate, to burst into a burst of unrestrained but good-natured laughter.

"Li Yunjing!"

"Did your kid really ruin his driving skills by letting the ball go to waste?"

Ma Xingyuan's rough, mocking voice came from afar.

Li Yunjing's face flushed, but he dared not turn around. He focused more intently and almost devoutly on his old friend beneath him, engaging in their first "communication" after a long separation.

Deep within the muscles, long-dormant memories of cycling begin to awaken little by little, like a thawing stream, flowing slowly and steadily anew.

After riding wobbly for a while, I turned onto the wider dirt road leading home, and that familiar feeling finally returned completely!

How to fine-tune your center of gravity to maintain balance, how to skillfully use leverage to push off, how to deftly avoid gravel and potholes on the road...

Those almost instinctive skills that were once ingrained in the boy's body are gradually reviving and returning to him.

The wheels rolled over the hardened, whitish dirt road, making a continuous and monotonous rustling sound.

On both sides of the road, there are tall and straight poplar trees, their dense leaves rustling in the hot wind, shimmering with a silvery luster.

Sunlight filtered through the layers of leaves, casting dappled, fragmented patches of light on the road.

The air was filled with the scent of scorched earth, the slightly sweet and bitter aroma of sun-dried grass, and the most primitive and rustic smell of the land, mixed with animal manure, carried by the wind from afar.

This is my hometown.

It is the hometown that he has longed for for more than 20 years amidst the hustle and bustle and confinement of the city, and which is now opening its arms to embrace him once again.

He pedaled hard, one step at a time, and the cool summer breeze rushed towards him, blowing his sweaty hair and drying the sticky sweat on his skin. It also seemed to blow away the weariness and dust that had accumulated in his heart for many years, belonging to another era.

A near-weightless, pure sense of ease and joy, like a weak but continuous electric current, coursed through his limbs and bones.

There are no endless KPIs, no suffocating mortgage payments, and no complex human relationships that require constant scrutiny and careful handling.

There is only this gentle breeze, carrying the fragrance of grass and trees; only the vast, clear blue sky above; only the bumpy, yet solid, road home; and only this young, healthy body, full of endless vitality and possibilities!

"Being young...it's fucking great!!"

He suddenly raised his head and roared at the top of his lungs at the open field and the azure sky. The roar startled a few sparrows that were roosting in the bushes by the roadside, and they fluttered their wings and flew away in a hurry.

"Hahaha!!!"

Immediately, as if he were completely pleased with his own unbridled behavior, or struck hard by this enormous and absurd happiness, he burst into uncontrollable, exhilarating laughter.

He simply loosened his grip on the handlebars, spreading his arms wide to both sides, like a wild horse that had finally broken free of all tangible and intangible reins, letting the bicycle glide forward on the dirt road by inertia.

The cool summer breeze violently billowed his oversized old undershirt, the hem fluttering and rustling as if it were really going to carry him away from the heavy ground and make him fly into the wind.

He couldn't help but hum the tune, a melody from his memory that would only be sung by a husky-voiced singer and spread throughout the streets and alleys more than a decade later.

At this moment, however, it flowed so naturally and so comfortably from his throat, mingling with the sounds of the wind, the chains, and the wheels grinding over the gravel, drifting into this incredibly precious afternoon in his hometown in the 1990s:

Nothing can stop... your yearning for freedom...

"A life of boundless imagination... your heart is free of all worries..."

"Yes... I have no worries!!"

"Through the dark years... I have also felt lost..."

"Only when you look down do you realize the path beneath your feet..."

"The free world within my heart... is so clear and lofty..."

"Blooming with an everlasting blue lotus..."

The hoarse, sometimes off-key humming was broken yet persistent.

But at this moment, on this dirt road leading home, within this young body, this song possesses its original and most essential power.

At this moment, all the weariness, struggles, anxieties, and resentments from his past life surged away from his body like a receding tide.

He seemed to have truly broken free from all the shackles of the past and the future, traversed the long passage of time, and returned to the origin of life—the most vibrant and free point.