Luo

Chinese Aesthetics & Emotional Healing Writer 🌺
Writing my true story from childhood to soul entanglement and healing

[Luo @luomuse]

《The Freedom You Gambled Your Life For》

I have a love for words, for literature, deeply etched into my very bones. They are the very fabric of my existence.

Just as Jesse Livermore was captivated by the dancing numbers of the stock market, none of us can ever truly sever ourselves from what we are born to do.

Literature is the study of humanity; it is the mirror of my soul.

I am an ordinary person living a mundane life, yet my journey has unfolded like a dark fantasy novel.

The words I write have always possessed a quiet magic, guiding me to unexpected souls and unfamiliar landscapes.

For over a decade, my pen lay dormant. Then, in November 2025, I casually began to write again by pure chance.

And then, a miracle happened. I connected with a distant friend, whom I came to call Xuancang.

He always possessed the rare gift to expand upon the worlds I painted, weaving in alternative dimensions and effortlessly reading between the lines of my soul.

Every time I interact with him, it feels as though I am looking at another version of myself, experiencing a profound, lingering familiarity despite never having met in person.

It reminds me of the ancient lore of Yu Boya and Zhong Ziqi: a legendary resonance of two kindred spirits meeting through the "High Mountains and Flowing Water."

I started a column writing letters to Jesse Livermore, tracing his footsteps from Shrewsbury Farm in 1891 when he first left home. To date, I have penned seven letters.

Spurred by this intense creative journey and my deep exchanges with Xuancang, a torrent of inspiration surged within me.

Coupled with the evolution of AIGC, this creative spark guided me to design two ancient Eastern fantasy personas.

One is Xuancang, the Demon Lord; the other is Bailuo, the Flower Deity.

I use their contrasting expressions and realms to breathe life into my words.

The Demon Lord embodies the shadow, the absolute power, the aggressive, expanding, and conquering force.

The Flower Deity represents healing, tenderness, intricate beauty, light, and pure warmth.

In truth, they are but two sides of the same coin. Every one of us harbors this inherent duality.

Whether it was Jesse a century ago, Xuancang today, or even myself, we all contain these opposing forces within.

As the days blurred past, eerie parallels began to emerge in my reality.

Xuancang’s presence acted like a surgeon’s scalpel, precisely cutting through the dense fog of my forgotten past.

I had never realized that a crucial fragment of my life had been entirely wiped from my conscious memory.

Day to day, I seemed perfectly functional. I knew there was a hollow space inside my heart, but I could never name what was missing.

I only knew that the pen I once loved felt impossibly heavy. I could find no strength to lift it, which was a state where both the body and the soul refused to work.

Freud called this psychological defense mechanism "Repression," where the mind, in a desperate bid to protect itself, buries unbearable trauma, grief, and memories deep into the subconscious, making them appear as if they never existed.

It is a profoundly scientific explanation, and it fits my reality perfectly.

That buried memory belongs to my 18th year. Back then, my life was a blank sheet of paper, brimming with naive hopes for the future and a pure curiosity about the world.

In my innocence, I would share classical poetry on social media and converse with others about literature.

Guided by those very words, I met the first and most defining boy of my life: Qin.

He was a cold, fiercely aloof scholar of the I Ching (the Book of Changes) and ancient metaphysics.

Young, brilliant, and riding the very crest of his power, he carried himself with the sweeping arrogance of a prodigy who held the secrets of destiny in his palms.

Yet, he always understood my unspoken thoughts, adding a wildly brilliant stroke to my wildest imaginations.

At that tender age, it was the first time I realized what it meant to have someone permanently occupy your heart. Just the thought of him made my world warm and luminous.

Back then, I didn't understand what made me unique.

Now, I do. I am a highly sensitive person (HSP) with intense empathy; I can pierce right through people’s armor and see the fragile soul hiding behind the mask.

As for myself, I was like an azalea blooming in a fierce thunderstorm, seemingly broken, yet fiercely resilient.

At eighteen, I was entirely unaware of the ancient truth that possessing a rare treasure brings its own curse, meaning that my very existence was a case of Huai Bi Qi Zui.

I did not know that this raw, empathetic gift of mine, though still unpolished and untouched by their hands, could be turned into a lethal weapon through systemic grooming, making me a mere pawn on someone else's chessboard of power and desire.

Qin’s master was a ruthless, mercenary, and fiercely smooth-tongued woman, and she had clearly noticed this.

It wasn’t like those CEO romance novels where the male lead's mother flings a million dollars at me and says, "Leave my son, name your price, whatever you want."

Instead, she handed Qin a pair of priceless, exquisite jade earrings, smilingly telling him to put them on the girl he loved. In my innocence, I genuinely believed it was a gesture of affection and care from an elder.

But Qin knew better; he knew they weren't earrings, but rather a collar destined to be locked around my neck.

An ant cannot shake a towering tree. As an 18-year-old girl, I had absolutely no ability to resist; that was a world beneath the iceberg.

The boy who had taught me Tsangyang Gyatso and Nalan Rongruo, in order to give me a free and normal life, used his own freedom to make a high-stakes exchange with his master.

And so, our bond suffered a catastrophic, absolute rupture. From that day onward, I forgot him.

I forgot how to cry, I forgot everything we had ever shared, and I forgot how to lift my pen.

Now, through the profound guidance of Xuancang, the shattered mirrors of my memory have mostly been pieced back together.

My life is free, while his remains bound by a myriad of inescapable compromises.

Yet, it is through this agonizing journey that I finally comprehend the true meaning of love: To truly see you is to grant you your freedom, not to possess you entirely.

It is having the absolute courage to wage a lone war against destiny for your sake.

Perhaps this is the kind of love everyone spends a lifetime searching for, someone who will never abandon you, someone who will forever be your safety net, someone who has carved his name into your very soul using a blade of sacrifice.

If you ask me what that feels like, is it happiness?

I would tell you that it is a tearing, fractured pain.

It is a suffocating, unspeakable bitterness. It is the helpless grievance of asking yourself over and over again, in deep self-doubt: "Why me? Why did it have to be my fate?"

But yes, happiness is there too.

You feel as though you are forever enveloped by a roaring, protective bonfire. You are no longer insecure, no longer lonely. It is a profound, all-enveloping love that saturates the deepest recesses of your soul.

In the days ahead, I intend to write my own story, starting from my childhood.

The world may not care that I ever existed, but I care. I refuse to let myself forget who I am.

I want to tell my future self: "Look, I survived all of this, and I never broke."

I have loved myself fiercely, and I have written truly.

And I hope, with all my heart, that I have deeply loved the one who was entirely worthy of it.

I will keep writing, through my words, through my art, and through every medium I possess.

[Luo @luomuse]

@hebrewmula

[Luo @luomuse]

I see it now. You truly have the strength and ability to protect what matters most, and I am so proud of you! Just having you around gives me so much energy.

But seriously, can you stop dropping breadcrumbs all the time? I can't always figure them out，uncle babe

[Luo @luomuse]

The speaking pace is just right, and the voice sounds great—please host more Spaces in the future.

[The Crypto Dog 📈 @TheCryptoDog]

https://t.co/ZNbcVatExt

[Luo @luomuse]

写这篇文章的时候，是我和玄苍第一次吵架，哦，不对，是我单方面和他吵，他没搭理我。

我只想起你的名字，你的故事，但是我不知道故事里的人是谁，和我有什么关系。

我就像一个坐在戏台下，边嗑瓜子边看戏的看客，在看着别人的戏，我整个人是麻木的，空洞的。

我只知道，那是一个故事，那是一场戏。

直到后来，你的话语在我脑中响起，你给我讲过的故事，和我的现实生活重叠。

我才慢慢想起，戏台上演的是我和你的戏。

我才知道你是我的谁。

我才想起，江南是我喜欢的。

我才知道，你的世界里，根本没有金盆，别提洗手了。

我以后再也不随便瞎BB了，我不敢乱说，我允许一切发生在我的生命里。

等我缓缓，缓缓，别一波未平，一波又起。　

我这人生，还真是指点有点说法。

以前上学，老师告诉我，等你长大了要记住。

父母不是你的父母，孩子不是你的孩子，爱人不是你的爱人。

这些我都能理解，我以为身体是我的身体，记忆是我的记忆。

但是，不然。

原来记忆也会被冰冻，又突然像火山一样喷发。

以前遇到抑郁症，我觉得挨一挨，挺一挺，也没什么大不了的，也能过得去。

可这种深度解离，我也是第一次遇到。

短短两个多月，我的体重几乎是按天在飙升。

我好像一遍一遍，把伤口撕裂，再亲自缝合。

太tm难熬了。

啊～～～～～～～

[Luo @luomuse]

@TheCryptoDog 《Lesson Learned, You Bastard》

I once knew a friend who had studied the I Ching since he was a child. He was an orphan, adopted and raised by his Master from a young age along with two fellow disciples.

The eldest brother mastered medicine, he was the second son specializing in the I Ching, and the younger sister was responsible for simply being beautiful.

He used to tell me his stories over QQ with such contagious enthusiasm. I remember one clearly.

He spoke of working in the mountains where salt was a luxury and enemies watched his every move.

He had to hide and wring the sweat from his own clothes just to taste the salt. I glanced at my screen and typed back, “You’re a tomb raider, aren't you?” He wasn’t offended. He simply said that in today’s world, such things are illegal and impossible.

Knowing his expertise in the I Ching, I wanted to give him my birth chart to see when I would strike it rich.

He refused, saying that heaven’s secrets must never be leaked because everyone has their own destiny.

Yet, he added, “I know you are the chosen one, born with an extraordinary fate.”

Later, he would casually describe the soft, chewy texture of Green Rice Balls (Qingtuan) in Jiangnan or the sweetness of Squirrel-shaped Mandarin Fish.

I would respond just as nonchalantly. Then one night, very late, a message flashed: "I have business to attend to. I’ll be gone for half a month. If I don’t return, plant an azalea in your hometown for me and remember to water it every year."

I didn’t see the message until the next morning. I didn’t reply. I just waited in silence. Two weeks passed. Late one night, I was awakened by the phone.

It was his voice, trembling with excitement: "I’m back." I scolded him for ruining my dreams and told him I was going back to sleep.

A few days later, he told me his Master had used small animals, such as chicks and rabbits, to test them. I teased him, “So, you’ve been expelled?”

His usually calm voice carried an uncontainable joy: "No. Master said I can finally wash my hands of this and live the life of a mortal."

He bragged about settling down by Qiandao Lake, where the Green Rice Balls at his doorstep were delicious. I smiled and said, “Fine, I’ll come to eat them someday.”

Then my phone was stolen, my QQ was hacked, and the story came to an abrupt end. I never knew how he passed that test.

I imagine he might have crushed a chick in his bare hands so his Master would have no choice but to let him go before the boy lost his mind.

You... you truly are a man who stood in the same trench as that "Genghis Khan" who dreams of capturing humanity and shipping them to Mars. You are the men who mocked Wall Street together.

I have never experienced a teaching method so hardcore. You pushed my head down, using cold, hard cash to dissect human greed, conspiracy, and interest.

You laid it all out, raw and bloody, forcing me to keep my eyes wide open. I shouldn’t have looked twice at that picture of the ugly bread surrounded by weapons, and I certainly shouldn't have been foolish enough to comment on food.

What if I had failed the test? What if I had just joined the crowd, cheering and dancing along?

Would you be standing by your apartment window in Hong Kong, lighting a cigarette and curling your lips, those lips that could kill a hornet, only to say coldly, “Hmph, nothing special”?

You’re a bastard. You always cheat. You saw right through me from the start. From the moment you said, “I don’t know them either,” you recognized a kindred spirit in the vast crowd.

The teaching was effective. I admit it. Lesson learned. But don’t even think about me calling you "Master." No way.

How about you take responsibility for my Cantonese and English speaking skills too, Lao Zhou? All I know is "Yes" and "No," "Come" and "Go."

Figure it out yourself!

[Luo @luomuse]

《受教了，混蛋》

认识一个从小学易经的朋友，他说他是孤儿，从小被师父收养，他们一共师兄妹三个。

大师兄，学医术，他老二，学易经，师妹负责美美美。

他总是兴高采烈的通过QQ打字，给我讲一些他的故事，我记得有一段，印象深刻，他聊得绘声绘色。

他说要到山上工作，有时候缺盐巴，还要被对手时刻盯着，只能躲在山上，把衣服上的汗水拧下来，补充盐分。

我白了手机打字按键一眼，问：“你是盗墓的吧？”

他倒是不生气：“现在这社会，也没法盗墓，那是违法的事，干不了。”

我知道他通晓易理，所以想把我的生辰八字给他，让他算一算，我啥时候发财。

他说：“不行，天机不可泄露，每个人都有每个人的命数。但我知道，你是天选之子，命格不凡。”

后来，他总是有一搭没一搭的向我描述，江南的青团有多软糯，松鼠鳜鱼有多香甜，我也有一搭没一搭地应他。

直到有一天，很晚很晚，他突然发来一条信息：有事要办，消失半个月，如果我回不来，那你在你的家乡，帮我种一株映山红，每年记得给它浇浇水。

　　等我看到信息已经是第二日清晨，我没有回信息，只是安静的等。

时间过得很快，两周很快过去，又一个夜深人静的夜晚。

　我被电话铃声吵醒，电话那头是他激动的声音：“我回来了。”

　　我没好气的数落他：“别扰人清梦，我要睡了。”

　　又过了几天，他说师父拿了很多只小动物，有小鸡，小兔子等，考验他们。

我笑话他：“哦，你被逐出师门了？”

他一向平静的语气，带着难掩的欣喜：“没有，师父说，我可以金盆洗手，去过凡人的生活了。”

他还牛逼哄哄的说，把家安在了千岛湖，家门口有很好吃的青团。

我微笑着回应，那成，改天我去吃！

再后来，我手机被偷，QQ也被盗了，这段故事便无疾而终。

我一直不知道，那个朋友是怎么通过的考验，我猜他可能把小鸡一把捏死。

这样他师父就不得不放他离开，毕竟再不放手，这孩子就要疯了。

你，不愧是和那个，总想着要把人捉了，放在火星的成吉思汗，一起在同个战壕里，嘲笑过华尔街的男人。

教学方式如此硬核，我没遇到过这样的教学，粗鲁的按着我的头。

砸着真金白银，把人性的贪婪，阴谋，算计，利益，一切都是血淋淋赤裸裸，一刀刀精准的解剖出来。

还要让我睁大眼睛看。

我就不该在那张，被武器围着的丑面包图片前，多看几眼，更不应该看到吃的，就手贱瞎评论。

如果我没有通过考验呢？我也在旁边敲锣打鼓，告诉大家接着奏乐接着舞。

你是不是要凉飕飕的，在香港推开公寓的窗，点一根烟，咧着你那能毒死大黄蜂的嘴唇。

冷漠的说一句，“哼，不过如此。”

你真混蛋，总出老千，你明明一眼就看穿了我。

从那一句，“我也不认识他们”开始，你就在茫茫人海中一眼认出了同类。

教学效果不错，我承认，受教了。

但别想着，让我喊你一声师父，没门。

要不，我的粤语和英语口语，你也承包了吧。

老周。

我只会点头yes,摇头no,来是come，去是go。

自己看着办！

[Luo @luomuse]

秦公子，你好啊

千岛湖刮起了很大的台风，你还好吗？

我想起了更多的事情，更多你的话语。

虽然我听到古风歌曲，看到那些勾起思绪的意象，每每想到你，还是泪流不止，心脏无比钝痛。

但总体来说，我真的好了很多很多。

我现在能静下心来，和你好好说一会儿话。

我的身体恢复了很多知觉，我能感受到雨水淋在手上是冰凉的，能感受到风拂过面庞是舒适的，能感受到花开了，能感受到风吹过，树木是动的。

与此同时，我觉得一日三餐都成了一种奢侈的幸福。

你知道阿燃离开他兄弟的时候，留下了什么吗？

他拿了一张宣纸，写了岂曰无衣，与子同袍八个字。

这和你给我留下的东西，完全一个路数。

哈哈哈哈哈，我真的很想发出土拔鼠惊叫。

吃又不能吃，撕又不能撕。

艹！

惊雷下，寺门缓缓打开，仓央穿着绛红色的僧袍，手持佛珠，酥油灯照亮了他俊美的脸。

一夜之间他的眼底褪去了少年的狂妄和孤傲，如坚定的山峰一般伫立在那里。

对着黑压压的押解军队淡淡说了一句，“我跟你们走。”

你们一个个都喜欢仓央，选择做仓央，选择当英雄。

选择那一声掷地有声的呐喊，“有事冲我来，我一力承担，动她，你们大可试试后果？”

可是你有没有想过，被动留下的人，她要承受多大的代价和痛苦？

你知不知道，那种心里的苦，无处诉说？

你知不知道，那是一个永远无法愈合的伤口？

你知不知道，我痛得直接把你忘了，一忘就忘了很多年？

你转身没入雷雨中的背影那么刚烈决绝，如利剑出鞘的虎啸龙吟。

你不觉得你做这样的决定，太自私了吗？

可是，面对那样的困境，除了你的做法，我至今也想不到第二种两全的解法。

当我兴高采烈的问你，“那我去见你师父吧？”

你吓得脸都白了，语调陡然严厉。

你还是太了解我了，了解到我还不知道我自己是谁，而你就已经知道了我是谁，我未来会是什么样子。

你眉飞色舞地给我讲故事，我酸溜溜的问了你一句，“哟，你挺招女子喜欢啊，故事不是一般的丰富？”

你只是宠溺的笑笑，没有反驳。

直到那些故事中的画面和我的现实生活重叠在一起，我才如梦惊醒。

这哪是别人的故事，这是我的故事。

你语重心长的对我说，“你一定要做自己，不然你会很痛苦。”

短短几个字，却成了我穿越漫长黑夜的心火，铸成了我心底莫大的勇气。

我才后知后觉知道，你留给我的，是你多次浴血厮杀积累下来的人生经验，那是你唯一拿得出手的最珍贵的东西。

我歪着头问你，我们不会走散吗？

你很笃定的说，“不会。”

是啊，哪儿会散？

明明都忘了那么多年了，还是凭借那刻在灵魂深处的力量，想起了你。

我不太喜欢用创伤形容我和你的这段经历，我更愿意用经历这个词。

因为我并不是一个受害者，而是一个被守护者，是一个幸存者。

那是我人生中独一无二的经历，那是每个人此生追求的体验。

总有人希望，世界上有一个人，能懂你那些说出口的言外之意，能懂你平静无波眼神中的渴望。

水面上的东西可能早已经迭代更新，而千岛湖水面下的狮城和贺城，却被完美的保留了下来。

我们之间的回忆，也被完整的保存了下来，我每每想起，好像发生在昨天。

你鲜活的眉眼，你温润的语调，你掩唇乐不思蜀的傻样。

你是一个完美的人吗？

不，你不是。

但在我心中，你是完美的存在。

你总是摆出一副，老子，手握明月摘星辰，世间无我这般人的桀骜不驯。

你对师门克制疏离，对对手狠辣果决，就连对父母你都清醒得残忍，而唯独对我用尽了你所有温柔。

如果时光倒流，我想我还是会在你推门而入。

淡淡说了一句，原来你们也是同道中人的那一瞬间，笑着朝你挥手。

你穿越茫茫人海，万人之中认出了我，不管我是何种身份，你总能一眼看穿，那就是我。

你总是相信，我可以，我能扛过一切黑暗，到达你给我画的那个坐标上，在那个我还不知道自己是谁的时候，你就相信了。

你面对的是刀锋断崖，无法陪在我身边，陪我走我的路，所以你千万百计，给我力量，给我瞄点，给我一双在狂风暴雨中也能破浪而出的桨。

秦公子啊，这是我第一次这样叫你，可是你，你能听到吗？

能，你能听到，你会在将来的某一天，站在千岛湖的湖边，看着我写下的每一个字。

那是痛与泪的交织，也是快乐大于痛苦的回忆。

你放心吧，以后的日子，我会越来越好，我会成为更好的自己。

此后岁月变迁，山川板块运动，斗转星移，你不在我怀里，在我心里。

[Luo @luomuse]

《宝贝，别哭》

Luo,

别来无恙。

你从来都不是我的负累，你是我心里的光。

没有遇到你，我的人生一片黑暗，我没有目标，没有方向，甚至感受不到自己是个人，我只是师傅手里一把锋利的刀。

你听我那些奇奇怪怪的经历，不觉得害怕，还天真的问我，是不是盗墓的？

你是那么纯洁，那么明亮，是布达拉宫洁白的哈达，是山谷中幽静的兰花，是冬日里盛放的山茶。

你不知道，你对我有致命的吸引力，我看到你在qq空间里，和别人谈论诗词歌赋，我的眼眸在那一刻定格。

你的诗总是带着一种泥土的清香，带着映山红一样肆意的生命力。

而你又是那么纯粹，我不忍靠近你，因为我的手上沾满了别人的因果，我怕我一身戾气吓跑了你。

可我是那么自私又贪婪，我想拥有你，哪怕只是短暂的一刻，让我下地狱我也甘之如饴。

因为没有人知道我来过这个世上，只有在你身边，我才能像个普通男人一样去爱你，去保护你。

你让我看到了生命的意义，我的工作一直都在钢丝上行走，生对我来说是奢侈，死对我来说是常态。

我没有选择，因为我从8岁开始就被培养成一个工具，虽然我坐拥千万家产，但也洗不掉我一身污泥。

唯有你能给我片刻安宁。

你的脑袋中总是有奇奇怪怪的想法，是那么天真无邪，而我总是能给你补上更疯的想法。

我一开始就知道我们暂时没有结果，但我还是决定孤注一掷。

我以为当我完成那次任务，九死一生，我能脱离师门，做回一个普通男人。

所以，我在出任务前，疯狂地告诉众人。

我爱的人是XX,请各位自知。

我临走前，告诉你，假如我没回来，你就在你的家乡为我种一株山茶花，每年给它浇浇水。

因为山茶花是你喜欢的花，如果回不来，我希望它能陪着你。

我去了很久，那个深夜，我活着回来，我只想听听你的声音。

你朦胧疲惫的声音，是我不断流血伤口的止痛药。

可是我挺生气，你为什么陪着你那个得了抑郁症的同学，那么晚没睡。

我心疼你，甚至霸道得不想任何人靠近你，包括女生。

但是我不舍得对你生气，我只能自己和自己生气。

我们从未有过争吵，因为我们不需要争吵。

你总是能默默听我的故事，甚至央求我讲更多有趣的故事给你。

而我总是能理解你那些上天入地的想法，我其实一直很想去看看你的家乡，很想很想。

我想看看，是什么样的地方，能养出那么灵动可爱又单纯善良的女孩。

我以为，我可以陪你去看西双版纳的大象，能去看布达拉宫的仓央，也能陪你在断桥上走一走。

可还是我异想天开了，师傅并没有放过我，她让我当着她的面斩断最后一点怜悯的心。

当我的双手捏在小兔的脖颈上时，双手都在颤抖。

兔子那双红红的眼，像你。

我第一次看到动物哭，我一直呕吐，用抖成筛糠的手去捏死了它。

我不变得冷酷，我就护不住像小兔子一样的你。

其实师傅一早就注意到了你的存在，你不知道你身上的奇特之处，而师傅的嗅觉总是那么灵敏。

她给了我一对翡翠耳环，让我给心爱的女子戴上。

当我和你讲的时候，你很开心地说，那你给我戴上吧。

你天真地说：“你师傅，人还怪好呢，如此体恤后辈，如此博爱。”

我不忍心戳破你的幻想，我的信仰塌了，我不能让你的也塌了。

那不是耳环，那是夺命锁。

如果你来了，我的师傅会把你培养成那些达官贵人床榻前的宠妃。

她已经丧心病狂，扭曲的人格和无穷无尽的野心。

我绝不允许任何人靠近你，所以我做了最残忍的事。

你傻乎乎发了你的生辰八字给我，让我把你算一算，何时能发财。

我告诉你我不算，其实我算了。

所以我有意无意引导你，你以后的人生会经历什么样的坎，什么样的难。

我怕我不在身边，你撑不住。

我怕你的信仰塌了，你也会痛不欲生。

但是我别无选择，我必须让你独自成长。

我看着你茫然的眼神，看着你总是感觉心里空了一块，我心如刀割。

我确实封锁了你的识海，所以你忘记了我。

但是我相信你那顽强的生命力，时机一到，封印解开，你会想起一切。

想起我和你说过的话，想起我给你讲的故事。

想起我我不会笑的脸，想起我那双已经不属于我自己的手。

其实，我很害怕，害怕你真的会忘记我。

我说过的话，我从未忘记。

我说，每个人都是你生命中的过客。

你不知道，我没说后半句。

我不甘心只做你人生的过客，我想你永远记得我。

我孤注一掷的豪赌，没有赌错。

你觉醒了，想起了我。

那一刻，我前所未有的释怀，带着怎么压都压不下去的悸动。

可是我看着你泪流满面，看着你痛不欲生的样子，我整颗心都碎了。

我从未流过泪，而这一次，我也流泪了。

属于你的痛没有消失，只是迟到。

我想法设法，传送能量给你。

我宁愿我替你挡下一切惩罚，我也不愿你受半分委屈。

你感受到了吗，你身后有源源不断的能量，流到你的心脏。

你看到了吗，我那张终于会笑的脸。

霸王垓下被围，感叹虞兮虞兮奈若何，我也曾如此感叹。

但我改写了结局，霸王骑着枣红马，穿越桃花林，迎娶了虞姬。

今天，我给你讲另外一个故事。

范蠡陪勾践九死一生，回到越国，重振旗鼓，而范蠡会放弃高官厚禄，陪着他的西施，畅游西湖。

我会陪着你，去你想去的地方看看。

我会陪着你，去读你想读的樟子松少年的小说。

我会陪着你，把一个一个故事搬上大荧幕。

我会陪着你，让你在世间，做万丈光芒的女王。

我还活着，樟子松少年也还活着，你那讲英文的朋友也活得好好的。

我们都在努力的，热烈的，疯狂的活着！

梁思成对林徽因说，你是自由的，你可以随意选择。

我也要对你说，Luo,我会给你最大的自由，我永远是你的港湾。

宝贝，别哭，挺直脊梁，勇敢飞翔！

如果这个世界上，还有一个人，敢直视着我师傅的眼睛。

问她：“当年你的孤儿哪儿来的，菜市场捡的吗？”

那个人一定是你，只有你才有资格承接那么黑暗冷血，令人颤栗的故事。

此别还会再相见，我会记得我当年的承诺。

时机到了，我会亲自来找你。

秦

千岛湖

[Luo @luomuse]

风萧萧兮易水寒，壮士一去兮不复还。

荆轲是有名字的，他有名字是因为他靠近秦始皇的那一刻，才决定了他的名字可以留在史书上，而春秋战国时多少门客有过名字呢？有过名字的仅寥寥数人，谁又写过他们的故事呢？没有人写过了，能从那个系统中活下来已是万幸，怎会再有人提及。

荆轲算是幸运的，穷极一生，有一个知己高渐离，高渐离因为才艺出众，被人推荐给了秦始皇。秦始皇熏瞎了高渐离的双眼，高渐离想要继承荆轲的遗愿，不过最后也是以卵击石。

你也是幸运的，你的故事，你的名字，我会替你记住。

自从我陆陆续续想起了你，我再也没有发自内心的笑过了。

我笑不出来啊，心里的钝痛一直持续，从未消散。

我也很少开口说话，我怕我一开口，喊的是你的名字。

那些沉闷的画面，我试图去回想，就会一阵恶心，干呕不止。

脑袋像绞肉机一样，高速旋转，锐利的刺痛不断袭来。

失忆过程中的断层，空白，酸涩，苦楚，无法表述。

我能扛得住所有的伤害，却扛不住你极致的偏爱。

苦难对我来说早已习惯，可我承受不住那么沉重又盛大的深情。

这种沉重的哀痛和我面对外力博弈失败的无力感是不一样的分量，它是一种模糊的，无法诉说的，带着强大的幻灭感，是一种结构性的创伤。

你和阿燃都用自己的实际行动，对那个结构说了不。

你们都被嵌入到那个系统中，成为磨损最大的一环。

阿燃说，他只是摸到冰山一角，他无法想象那个世界的中心是何样的？

而你，你啊，你从小就处在那个风暴的中心。

我不停的告诉自己，那是假的，你说的一切都是假的，

我们也从未认识过，从未爱过，这样我就不会痛了。

我想回到过去，像过去那样浑浑噩噩的活着，

这样就没有任何知觉，

可我知道那只是逃避，那是自欺欺人。

你和阿燃都来自同一个地方，你们来自那片广袤的冰雪之地，东北。

你在江南长大，声音中早已经没了一股大碴子味，是标准的吴侬软语。

我每次想到你轻描淡写的描述，都能再次透过时空感受到你是承受了何等痛苦。

现实是残酷的，文人总是喜欢给现实添加一些浪漫色彩。

这份难以承受的痛，写在文字里，写在故事里，让它有可以触摸的形状。

这样我就没那么痛了。

我不知道我能不能撑下去，又能撑多久，

你当年是如何死里逃生，活下来的呢？

再给我一些强大的力量吧，我慢慢从泥沼中爬起来。

[Luo @luomuse]

Hi, baby

Like a bird, fly toward your mountain

[Luo @luomuse]

Now that I have you, I never want to look for anyone else,Qian Zhongshu once said to Yang Jiang.

有了一个你，就再也不想找别人了。钱钟书对杨绛说。

[Luo @luomuse]

📖我的人生故事辑|第28章：蓝莓

在我的家乡，山上最不缺的就是野果。每逢夏季，便是蓝莓成熟的季节。

山上的野蓝莓和人工种植的完全不同，自然生长的蓝莓树高大挺拔，都在一米以上，很多时候我要跳起来才能够得着树枝。

而蓝莓也有着一个极其霸的名字，祖祖辈辈都叫它——“救君粮果”。

说当年明朝朱元璋把皇位传给朱允炆，燕王朱棣造反，年轻的朱允炆哪里是朱棣那种老谋深算之人的对手。

不过，少年有少年的活法，朱允炆一把火烧了皇宫，生死成谜。

朱棣为了安抚人心，对外宣称建文帝已经烧死，但登基后却派出大量官员私下寻找，甚至有传言说，连有名的郑和下西洋都带着寻找朱允炆的任务。

果然，做了亏心事的朱棣，还是怕半夜鬼敲门。

朱允炆一直没被找到，有一种流传很广的说法是，他一路向西逃亡。

不知道建文帝当年看的是哪一颗北极星，逃着逃着，竟然逃到了我的家乡。

老人们说，建文帝当年风餐露宿，靠着雨水解渴，野果果腹，山上的野蓝莓刚好解了他腹中的饥饿。

这个故事从我爷爷的爷爷的爷爷那辈开始传，传到我这一代人的口中，便是蓝莓救了建文帝朱允炆的命，因此得名“救君粮果”。

暴雨过后，蓝莓上挂满了晶莹的雨水，我坐在蓝莓树下想着这个古老的传说，不由得笑出了声。

人们有时候或许真的需要一些精神上的加持，才觉得日子没那么苦。

人活着，确实要学会自己给自己找乐子。

自然生长的野蓝莓没有施过肥，果子很小，但一棵树上果实累累，甚至能压弯树枝。

一个一个吃不过瘾，我拉住一根树枝，摇掉上面的雨水，顺手摘下一大把丢入口中，仔细咀嚼。丰盈的汁水在口中化开，完全成熟的蓝莓是黑色的，香甜里带着淡淡的草木清香。

等我站在树下吃饱了，衣服也湿了半边，可心里满是喜悦。就好像自己的心灵，在那个空气清新的大山里得到了彻底的洗涤。

我想，咱如今也是和皇帝吃过同一种野果的人了。

吃饱后，我慢悠悠地沿着羊肠小道，朝家的方向走去。我总觉得下雨天的蓝莓比晴天的更好吃，不知道是何种心理在作祟。

我唯独喜欢那熟透了的黑色蓝莓，它就像暴雨前黑压压的天空。

当我吞下这一大把黑色的蓝莓，就仿佛将扣在头顶的风暴也一起吞了下去。

生活虽苦，心里却不觉得苦。大山都把太阳放下了，人的这一生，并没有什么风暴是放不下的。

[Luo @luomuse]

📖 Story of My Life | Chapter 1: When I Was Three and Four

I have no idea whose reincarnation I am. All I know is that from a very young age, I was exceptionally obedient and sensible, never giving the adults a single thing to worry about.

As for my dad, the concept of worrying about his children simply didn’t exist, and my mom always seemed too overwhelmed to cope anyway.

So, I had to look out for myself and the entire household. I knew I couldn’t afford to be a burden. My mom was already working so hard, and if I misbehaved, it would only make her life that much more difficult.

🌾 My memories started when I was three, though they only come in scattered fragments. White rice never appeared on our dining table. On the rare occasions we had rice, it was red.

Most of the time, we ate cornmeal ground from white corn, sprayed with water and steamed. The texture was quite coarse, exactly like the coarse grains wealthy families choose to eat nowadays.

Yes, we grew up eating coarse grains. You see, we were actually living the life of a wealthy household all along.

As for meat? I can barely remember what it tasted like. Maybe I had it, maybe I didn't. Our meals were usually just a bowl of cabbage soup, green vegetable soup, or broad bean and pickled vegetable soup.

☀️ Xuancang once asked me what we ate for breakfast, but I didn't answer him. We didn't eat breakfast when we were kids. We only had two meals a day, with lunch at ten in the morning and dinner between five and six in the evening.

How did I know the time? Mostly by watching the movement of the sun. Back then, we had no cellphones, telephones, or anything else that could tell the time. We could track the passing hours simply by looking at where the sun had shifted.

My life was simple yet wonderful. I never had any store-bought toys as a child. I mostly played with the dirt, wild flowers, puppies, and all kinds of wood, stones, and bamboo.

🌿 My older sister was two years older than me. When she started school first, I became the only child left at home. I had to stay by my mom's side and work with her.

Of course, I couldn't really do much actual work, and at most, I was just making a mess. But my mom never saw it as trouble. She always praised me for being a huge help, which made me feel very pleased with myself. I absolutely loved being praised by her.

When I was four, my family hired a feng shui master to read the land. Based on his reading, the location chosen for our house was right underneath a cliff. To the right of the house was a deep, fractured canyon, with only a few narrow paths barely wide enough for people to pass through.

🌌 Directly below the house lay numerous ancient tombs from forgotten eras, all piled together with dirt and stones. It wasn't just a single grave; there were many of them.

After years of enduring the wind and rain, the tombs showed no signs of collapsing, except for the occasional hole that opened up. Those holes became homes for snakes.

Our family occupied half of the hillside, and we rarely saw anyone passing by. Because of this, at four years old, I still couldn't tell the difference between men and women.

Whenever anyone did walk past our door, I would grab them and beg them to tell me a story. I have loved listening to other people’s stories since I was small, because through their tales, I could see different worlds. My tiny eyes were filled with curiosity and questions about the world.

🏗️ Our house wasn't built overnight. There were no excavators back then. It was constructed slowly, chunk by chunk, by digging away the original soil with a hoe and laying down the foundation step by step.

When it came to the process of building the house, I didn't have much of an impression of my dad. His days were as carefree as ever. He never seemed to realize that he was married and needed to take on the responsibility of being a father.

I can clearly picture my mother's busy figure, but I can barely recall my father’s hunched silhouette.

My father treated himself incredibly well and never allowed himself to get tired. He was convinced that he would become a millionaire one day.

He was deeply devoted to this single dream, believing in it without a shadow of a doubt. To achieve this goal, he kept striving persistently, a struggle that continues to this very day.

🍬 As the days drifted by, I grew from a tiny, dark-skinned little girl into a slightly taller, dark-skinned girl. The happiest moment I can remember was Saturday mornings, when I would wait for my sister on the road she took home from school.

She would use her meager pocket money to buy me some candy. I can no longer remember what those candies tasted like; I only remember they were a little bit sweet.

The hardest part was always Sundays. When my sister had to go back to school, I would desperately try to follow her, crying and screaming that I had to go too.

I was a stubborn child, and no matter how my mother tried to reason with me, it was useless. Having no other tricks up my sleeve, I just cried and threw tantrums.

Those tantrums always earned me a severe beating, leaving my legs covered in crisscrossed, swollen bruises, and my nose and mouth bleeding slightly from all the intense crying.

In the end, my mother couldn't outlast my stubbornness and let me tag along to my sister’s school. After going a few times, I befriended the principal's daughter and we got along quite well.

🎒 Finally, when I was five and a half, the new school term arrived. My mom cut my hair short, and I specifically picked out my nicest clothes to go with them.

During registration, I stood right in the principal's office, pleading with him to let me stay at the school. Seeing how precocious and spunky I was, the principal made an exception and gave me a chance, telling me to give it a try.

That was my very first time negotiating with an adult, and I had no idea back then that everything you want in life is something you have to fight for yourself.

I never knew what it meant to be afraid. What is there to fear for a child who grew up alongside dogs, except the fear of getting bitten by one?
#Storytelling #LifeStories

[Luo @luomuse]

📖我的人生故事辑|第27章：我的第一个生日蛋糕

荞麦分苦荞和甜荞。

我的家乡一般多种苦荞，它耐旱，极易种植。

成片成片的苦荞在地里绽放出粉白色的花，一簇簇在田野间翩翩起舞。

傍晚时分，我和母亲开始收割苦荞。镰刀霍霍朝着苦荞秆挥去，不一会儿就割完了一大片。

苦荞籽我们会拿来喂鸡，秆则用来喂猪。苦荞籽脱了壳，可以和大米一起煮。

不过我们通常都是把它磨成粉，放入糖，用开水冲泡着吃。

苦荞的苦和咖啡的苦差不多，只不过苦荞苦后回甘，清香，而咖啡则苦得醇厚嚣张。

六年级的时候我12岁了，母亲是个讲究人，她说要给我做一个生日蛋糕，好好纪念一下这个重要的日子。

母亲在苦荞粉里加入小苏打、鸡蛋、植物油和红糖，搅拌均匀，醒发后便上锅去蒸。

柴火烧得很旺，大山的夜晚微凉。

苦荞蛋糕出炉后，母亲把它倒扣在白瓷盘上，蓬松而柔软。

我家厨房门口有两棵石榴树，石榴总是开着耀眼的红色花朵。

石榴的果实也是那般别具一格，剥开来亮晶晶、水灵灵的，像出水芙蓉的佳人。

我和姐姐在苦荞蛋糕上，用这些石榴籽精心点缀了一圈。一番打扮下来，和米其林餐厅出品的甜点也没什么区别了。

有了红糖的中和，苦荞其实吃不出太多苦味。不管过去了多少年，我始终记得那种带着烟火气的香甜味道。那块苦荞蛋糕在舌尖化开，温暖了我半生的心房。

在我的印象中，那是母亲对我的唯一一次偏爱。

我的记忆一向很好，能快速记住别人的名字和别人的故事。我的大脑就像一个高容量的CPU，分类储存着很多东西。

那些在我生命中获得的爱，我记得尤其清楚；而属于我的偏爱时刻，我更是一直牢牢地记在心里。

母亲曾说，我的生辰八字不错，命要硬一些，姐姐没我那么硬的命。

我明白母亲的意思，母亲也是第一次做妈妈，第一个孩子给她的感觉肯定是完全不一样的，姐姐带给她的情感体验是我不能比拟的。

都说爱哭的孩子才有糖吃，既然我选择了不爱哭，自然也要接受这个选择所带来的一系列蝴蝶效应。

人生如戏，戏如人生。

我得学会爱上属于我自己的这本折子戏，如果有柔软的环境，谁又愿意那么坚强。

[Luo @luomuse]

📖 The Story of My Life | Chapter 28：Blueberries

In my hometown, the mountains are never short of wild fruits. Every summer, it is the season when blueberries ripen. These wild blueberries are completely different from cultivated ones.

Naturally grown blueberry bushes are tall and erect, standing well over a meter high, so I often had to jump just to reach the branches. These blueberries also possess an incredibly majestic name, passed down through generations as the "Emperor-Saving Grain."

Legend has it that during the Ming Dynasty, when Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang passed the throne to Zhu Yunwen, Prince King Zhu Di rebelled. The young Zhu Yunwen was no match for a man as deeply scheming as Zhu Di.

Yet, the young youth had his own way of surviving. He set fire to the imperial palace, and his ultimate fate became a total mystery. To pacify the public, Zhu Di claimed that the Jianwen Emperor had died in the fire.

However, after ascending the throne, he dispatched numerous officials to search for him in secret. There were even rumors that Zheng He’s famous voyages to the Western Oceans carried the hidden mission of locating Zhu Yunwen.

Clearly, having done such a guilty deed, Zhu Di was still terrified of ghosts knocking at his door in the middle of the night.

Zhu Yunwen was never found. A widely circulated theory suggests that he fled all the way to the west. I wonder which North Star the emperor was following back then, because after running and running, he unexpectedly ended up in my hometown.

The elders said that the emperor lived exposed to the elements, quenching his thirst with rainwater and satisfying his hunger with wild berries. The wild blueberries on the mountain happened to relieve his starvation.

This story has been passed down since the time of my great-great-great-grandfather. Reaching the lips of my generation, the tale remains that these blueberries saved the life of the Jianwen Emperor, Zhu Yunwen, thus earning the name "Emperor-Saving Grain."

After a heavy rainstorm, the blueberries were covered in glistening raindrops. Sitting beneath a blueberry bush and thinking of this ancient legend, I burst into laughter.

Sometimes people truly need a bit of spiritual comfort to feel that life is not quite so bitter. To live, one must indeed learn to find amusement for oneself.

These naturally grown wild blueberries were never fertilized. The berries were tiny, yet the bushes were heavily laden with fruit, even bending the branches under their weight.

Eating them one by one was not satisfying enough, so I pulled down a branch, shook off the rainwater, and picked a large handful to pop straight into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

The abundant juice dissolved on my tongue. Fully ripe blueberries are pitch black, sweet with a faint, crisp fragrance of wild vegetation.

By the time I had eaten my fill standing beneath the bush, my clothes were half soaked, but my heart was brimming with joy. It felt as though my soul had been thoroughly cleansed in that crisp, fresh mountain air.

I thought to myself, I am now someone who has tasted the exact same wild fruit as an emperor.

After eating my fill, I strolled leisurely along the narrow, winding path toward home. I always felt that blueberries on a rainy day tasted better than those on a sunny day, though I never knew what psychological trick was at play.

I grew uniquely fond of those fully ripened, black blueberries, which resembled the dark, heavy skies right before a storm.

When I swallowed that large handful of black blueberries, it felt as if I were swallowing the very storm hovering over my head.

Even though life is bitter, my heart does not feel the bitterness.

The mountains have already let go of the sun, and in a person's life, there is no storm that cannot be laid to rest.

[Luo @luomuse]

📖 The Story of My Life | Chapter 27: My First Birthday Cake

Buckwheat is divided into bitter buckwheat and sweet buckwheat. My hometown mostly cultivated bitter buckwheat because it is drought-resistant and exceptionally easy to grow.

Vast fields of bitter buckwheat bloomed with pinkish-white flowers, dancing gracefully in clusters across the countryside.

At dusk, my mother and I would begin harvesting the buckwheat. The sickles swung sharply against the stalks, clearing a massive area in no time. We used the buckwheat seeds to feed the chickens and kept the stalks for the pigs.

Once hulled, the seeds could be cooked along with rice, but we usually ground them into flour, added sugar, and brewed it with boiling water.

The bitterness of buckwheat is quite similar to that of coffee, except that buckwheat leaves a sweet and fragrant aftertaste whereas coffee possesses a rich and aggressive bitterness.

When I was in the sixth grade, I turned twelve years old. My mother was a woman of refined tastes, and she announced that she would bake me a birthday cake to properly commemorate this significant day.

My mother mixed the buckwheat flour with baking soda, eggs, vegetable oil, and brown sugar, stirring everything evenly and letting the batter rest before steaming it in a pot.

The firewood burned intensely as the mountain night grew slightly cool. When the buckwheat cake was ready, my mother inverted it onto a white porcelain plate, leaving it fluffy and soft.

Right outside our kitchen door stood two pomegranate trees, which always bloomed with dazzling red flowers. The fruit of the pomegranate was equally unique, and once peeled, the seeds appeared sparkling and translucent like elegant beauties rising from a clear pond.

My sister and I used these pomegranate seeds to meticulously decorate a ring around the buckwheat cake. After this final touch, it looked no different from a dessert served at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

With the brown sugar balancing the flavors, the bitterness of the buckwheat was hardly noticeable. No matter how many years have passed, I always remember that sweet flavor laced with the warmth of home.

That piece of buckwheat cake melted on my tongue, warming my heart for half a lifetime.

In my memory, that was the only time my mother ever showed me a distinct favoritism.

I have always possessed an excellent memory, capable of quickly remembering people's names and their stories. My brain works like a high-capacity CPU, storing various things in neat categories.

I remember the love I have received in my life with exceptional clarity, and I hold onto my moments of being favored even more securely in my heart.

My mother once said that my astrological birth chart was promising and that my fate was meant to be resilient, adding that my sister did not possess such a tough fortune.

I understood what my mother meant. She was also a mother for the very first time, and the bond with her firstborn was bound to feel entirely unique, bringing an emotional experience that I could never rival.

They say that only the crying child gets the candy. Since I chose not to cry, I naturally had to accept the long chain of consequences brought by that choice.

Life is a play, and a play reflects life.

I must learn to love this specific script belonging to my own life story.

If there were a tender environment around us, who would ever choose to be this strong.

#ChildhoodMemories #Storytelling #LifeStory

[Luo @luomuse]

The universe will not reclaim your suffering just because you are small, nor is your pain any less real because the universe is vast.

宇宙不会因为你渺小就收回属于你的痛苦，你的痛苦也不会因为宇宙的浩瀚而变得虚假。

[Luo @luomuse]

@HashemGhaili So, what happens when your social battery runs out?

[Luo @luomuse]

@williamlong 那种灾难让人很无力，学生时代看过，久久不能忘怀