Not Saying Bye

Ground Carpeted

with White Frost

Chen Nianxi

Shandong Publishing House of Literature and Art

January 2022

59.00 (CNY)

Chen Nianxi

Chen Nianxi began composing poetry in the year 1990. He then sought employment in 1999， working as a mine blaster for 16 years. In 2016， he accepted invitations to various well-known schools， such as Harvard University， to participate in discussions involving songs and poetry and even obtained the first Worker Poet Laureate Award. A documentary film starring him named Iron Moon also hit the big screens in 2017. In 2020， he was invited to the China Central Television program， The Readers， as a guest. In 2021， he was selected as one of Southern People Weekly’s “100 faces of China”， a list containing the most charming personalities of 2021.

This book includes 47 non-fictional proses written by the author， which outline and record the journeys and lives undertaken by his fellow travelers. Apart from describing life in the mines and roving about in various cities， the author also looks back fondly upon his hometown and his life before entering the mines. He goes into detail about the cruelties and tenderness he experienced during his tough childhood and talks about the love between family members and loved ones， seeking to record the details of life in the countryside with his testimony.

We have all experienced more than a hundred separations in each of our lives， but never do we say bye in any of them.

I first met you during the hungry years of childhood， during the most prosperous period that we had experienced in our village when over 60 people lived there. When summer arrived， the fields were filled with crops. On the threshing field， you were playing around with a bunch of kids， running around the mound of grain wearing pigtails and a small blouse. That day， the weather was extremely hot， and the sounds made by the cicadae up in the trees melded along with the fast-paced sound of the flail threshing the wheat.

I had just come back from school with a bunch of older kids and was standing at the side of the field watching you going crazy with the kids. Going crazy while playing was one of the few true joys of childhood. Among all the kids playing， you had the smallest stature but were the smartest， and like a swallow， you would always run past the kids in front of you. All of a sudden， you slipped， fell， and suffered a scrape to your knee. I lifted you up from the ground and saw a stream of stubborn tears escape your eyes. You then gripped my hair for a second before turning and running back home. I knew that your house was located in another mountain pass， and it was definitely your first time seeing me. You were only five， and we didn’t yet know how to say bye then.

Fast forward to the year 2000， when our son turned one year old， seeking employment became everyone’s main objective， and thus all the able-bodied people of the village went to work in the gold mines in Qinling. This year， we used up all our energy just to be able to fill our stomachs and barely had enough for the baby’s formula.

One day around sunset， I received a message from one of my classmates that the mines were in need of someone to pull the wagons. You packed up my luggage for me. As there wasn’t any form of public transport there at all then， we both had to make our way to the area where the mineworkers gathered through the night. It was during the frigid winters of the twelfth lunar month， and the ground was covered by a fresh layer of snow. We each had a flashlight in our hands and didn’t talk at all the entire way. You were walking in front， making new prints in the snow. New snow then fell and quickly covered those prints over.

At the base of a mountain covered in thick snow， I turned around and saw the surrounding trees， which had become extremely heavy after taking on all the extra weight from the snow. There was a figure staying in the same spot， holding a lit flashlight and watching as another person passed through the mountain pass. About to be separated by an unimaginable distance， neither person said bye. It was just two beams of light moving in the air.

On 15 April 2015， the sophora flowers in Xi’an were blooming and looked like brocade. At the First Affiliated Hospital of Xi’an Jiaotong University， a petite nurse said with a little booklet in her hand， “Give the patient a shower. There is a surgery scheduled for today.”

The restroom served as the shower as well， and there was a rectangular-shaped mirror on the wall. The water pressure of the shower head was very weak， and very little water was flowing out. You soaped my head and my body， your hands slow but strong. This pair of hands had been handling a hoe for 30 years， for an uncountable number of days and a large proportion of your life. They had once been gripped strongly by life， but you had since been able to slip through that grip. The prettiest time of a woman’s life， her youth， had been scattered into nothingness by this pair of hands， blown away by the wind. In the mirror， I saw the seriousness on your face， as you seemed to treat me like an object， washing every area of me before soaping me up yet again.

The time was up. I held the bag containing my information and walked towards a white door. Through the door， shadows zoomed past me rapidly， with a corridor to both my left and right， each so long that they seemed to have no end. I knew that these corridors led to resurrection， but also led to death; to hope， but also to disappointment.

The door was shut silently， and right at that moment， I turned around and waved to everyone standing outside. They did not know me， but I knew that they would pray for me.

An extremely long journey lay ahead， which would bring me to places very far away. I did not know if I would be able to return， but I knew that there would be someone always floating around outside that door， like a thin trail of smoke.

Last night， you gave me a call and told me that our hometown was about to be demolished. You said that you had used your phone to take over a hundred photos of the place， both as a form of commemoration and goodbye. Gaoyuan， the smallest village on the banks of the river， a village that had a history of only about two hundred years， was about to disappear from maps of the area. This was the end of the line， and we were about to lose our hometown and former home.

In life， we never say bye to various things， our family， the past， and the future， as saying bye in our consciousness sometimes signifies never seeing something again. When we put down the phone， we didn’t say anything more， as this signified that there was no actual parting; we would always see each other. As for the disappearing hometown， the reunion is， of course， an eventuality， just that it will occur on the other side of time.

Never say bye!

November 1， 2019