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墨書 Inktalez
The next day, I heard a voice asking, "Are you awake? Do you want to go to Badaguan today? Want to join me?"
Still in a daze, I replied, "Sure."
If you were to ask me about my impressions of Qingdao over the years, they would likely be as varied as the winding paths of the city. I still remember one time during college when I took a bus. The road ahead was almost a vertical incline, and it was extremely narrow. The driver turned without changing his expression, climbing up the slope while passengers in the back leaned back in their seats, hearts racing. Yet, without any surprise, the bus made it up the steep hill—a memory that has stuck with me.
Badaguan was similar; although the path appeared smooth and accessible, walking it required all my strength. He and I walked along a not-so-wide road flanked by typical German-style buildings. The grand People's Bank was embedded in a tower resembling a church steeple. The road alternated between steep inclines and declines. I carried my backpack and was drenched in sweat when he noticed and without hesitation pulled the bag off my shoulder and slung it over his own. I watched him in stunned silence as he continued up the hill as if nothing had happened.
To be honest, I appreciated this gesture—his domineering concern and thoughtful details made me feel like I held significant importance in someone else's heart. I felt like an outcast in this world, a person who existed nowhere in anyone's mind, including my own. I loathed myself, felt disgusted by my existence, yet desperately craved for someone to fill my chest with love in a possessive way to prove that I had left some mark on this world.
I didn’t say much and obediently followed behind him along the tree-lined path where shadows danced across the ground. The trees on either side stood tall and dense; my knowledge of plants was limited to the point where I could hardly distinguish between locust trees and poplars until the locust trees bloomed with white flowers.
We kept walking until we reached one end of Badaguan, where there was a small park or leisure area filled with flowers and tables. He somehow bought an ice-cold cola and placed it in front of me while I was sweating profusely from gripping my collar.
"Thank you," I said gratefully.
I opened the bottle cap as if it were a lifeline, feeling the sharp sensation of bubbles coursing down my throat—refreshing and invigorating enough to make me burp.
After setting down the cola, he promptly handed me a handkerchief. I was surprised by his attentiveness and grateful that he didn’t say any of those annoying phrases like "You should exercise more," or "It's not good to stay cooped up inside." Telling someone who is struggling with their health that they need to run more is incredibly irritating. He simply offered me a handkerchief that carried a faint fragrance.
"There’s another long gentle slope ahead; let’s take a break. I'm feeling a bit worn out too," he suggested.
"Okay," I replied, glancing around. "Do you travel often?"
"Not really tourism; just wandering around here and there. There's an old saying: life is short and bitter, but I don’t want to live it bitterly or briefly. So whenever I have time, I go see different places and immerse myself in my limited life with infinite hobbies."
"We share that sentiment! I also want to travel across mountains and rivers throughout China, but I've never had the chance."
"Maybe you haven't given yourself that opportunity."
I chuckled softly, lowering my head to wipe away beads of sweat from my forehead. "I’ve always been anxious—anxious about not working, anxious about being idle, anxious while scrolling through videos or watching dramas. Every form of entertainment feels like a waste of time to me; I always feel pressed for time and think that only by working hard can I slightly alleviate this anxiety."
"I can’t fully relate, but that feeling must be torturous. Have you considered seeing a psychologist?"
"The field is too mixed; it's hard to know which ones are good or bad. Besides, such expenses feel extravagant for me, so I see a psychiatrist instead."
I thought my bluntness would surprise him, but he simply nodded in understanding without pressing further. His every action and word felt perfectly timed—so much so that it left me wondering if such a person truly existed in this world.
"There was a time when I was quite depressed too—almost to the point of needing MECT—but fortunately, I got through it all. So I can somewhat understand how you feel. I'm lucky; I hope you are too."
I smiled back at him and stood up. "I think we’ve rested enough; let’s get going!"
As we passed by various villas with small gardens, he had his camera hanging around his neck—not posing professionally or trying to capture beautiful photos from specific angles but simply taking pictures as we walked together. After snapping some shots, he came over beside me so our shoulders brushed against each other as he showed me the photos on his small screen.
"How is it?"
"From my humble and untrained perspective—it's beautiful!"
He smiled contentedly, revealing a row of neatly aligned white teeth.
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