Ode to Ten Thousand Bridges

Ode to Ten Thousand Bridges

Zhang Zhe， Song Xiaoling

Sichuan Literature amp; Art Publishing House

Chongqing Publishing House

April 2024

78.00 (CNY)

Ge Nianjing， a descendant of a family dedicated to bridge construction， was approached by an art dealer to create a series of paintings. To find inspiration for her work， she embarked on a journey across Guizhou. During her travels， she came to understand her family， rediscovered the bonds of family and love， and experienced a spiritual rebirth. The relentless spirit of countless bridge builders deeply moved her， and the real bridges she encountered formed a beautiful rainbow in her heart， allowing her soul to find peace. She passionately painted a hundred-meter-long scroll titled Ten Thousand Bridges: Mountains and Rivers， which she later donated to the Bridge Museum.

Zhang Zhe

Zhang Zhe graduated from Peking University and is the recipient of the 8th Lu Xun Literary Prize. He is a member of the Fiction Committee of the China Writers Association， vice chairman of the Chongqing Writers Association， a first-class writer， and a specially invited writer at the Chengdu Literary Academy.

Song Xiaoling

Song Xiaoling is a member of the China Writers Association， with numerous publications in short stories， novellas， and novels.

Carve roads through mountains， and build bridges over water.

As Ge Nianjing sped down the highway in her old Jeep car， she remembered this phrase her father often said. His bold demeanor and unstoppable spirit immediately flashed before her eyes， giving her a sudden boost of confidence amidst her restless thoughts.

What’s the big deal about quitting a job? What’s the big deal about a breakup? It’s nothing! After all， I’m the 17th generation of the Ge family， destined to overcome any challenge. With this mindset， she saw it all as child’s play， just another necessary step in her journey of leveling up and defeating obstacles.

The highway Ge Nianjing was on was a continuous stretch of bridges and tunnels， with a bridge-to-tunnel ratio of about 70%. She had lost track of how many bridges she had crossed and how many tunnels she had passed through. This experience closely resembled life itself: Passing through a tunnel was like enduring the dark moments of life. But when you muster the strength to break through the darkness， your path suddenly becomes clear. Yet， before you can relax and sing in relief， another tunnel opens its jaws to swallow you.

Ge Nianjing pressed the gas pedal， and the old Jeep sped out of another tunnel， leaving the darkness behind. Not far ahead was the Wujiang Bridge， designed by her father， Ge Xiaotian. A bridge designer， Ge Xiaotian had created many grand bridges， not only in Guizhou but with international acclaim， for in the world of bridges， they say， “If you want to see the best bridges， look at China; if you want to see the best Chinese bridges， look at Guizhou.” Her father was indeed impressive. It was said that he had won many prestigious awards， though Ge Nianjing had never paid much attention to this and couldn’t recall where she had heard it. Perhaps this was what people called “blindness under the lamp.”

In the past， when Ge Nianjing crossed this bridge on her way back to Guiyang from Chongqing， it stirred no particular feelings. But today was different. Even the strongest people have moments when their resolve falters. She felt a bit panicked. No， no more pretense， she admitted she was very panicked， desperately seeking comfort from her parents.

She was， after all， truly trying to escape

The moment she slammed her fist on the vice-principal’s desk， the situation became irreversible. She couldn’t continue at the university anymore. She once thought she could be a university teacher for ten years， dreaming of planting three seeds in her students’ hearts: love， courage， and kindness. She wanted to see these seeds grow into towering trees. But suddenly， her grand dream was shattered by that unforeseen event.

Did she have to bang the vice-principal’s table? Did she have to leave in such an emotional and indignant manner?

Yes， she had to! She must! Even if time turned back to that moment， she would still do the same.

But her heart was filled with too much grievance， too many unresolved feelings， and too much unwillingness to let go.

Finally， there it was， the great bridge came into view. Like a steel giant spanning the cliffs on both sides， its straight towers at the bridgehead were like swords piercing the sky， while the countless white cables were like the giant’s unyielding bones， laying one after another， supporting its majestic body.

Such grandeur and magnificence， such masterful craftsmanship.

Ge Nianjing slowed down， letting the car glide smoothly over the bridge. The friction between the tires and the bridge surface was as smooth as flowing clouds and water. She felt as if she were being lifted， surrounded， and supported by a great force， solid and reassuring.

She sighed softly， “Old Ge， aren’t you capable? But now， your daughter’s bridge has really collapsed， leaving nothing but ruins. Can you help her rebuild it?”

In the evening， Ge Nianjing stopped for gas on the road. Two boys who were also refueling whistled at her with a hint of admiration， perhaps because of her unique style. She wore large sunglasses and a black baseball cap， a black tank top tucked into loose-fitting military green cargo pants， and black leather boots. The way she held the gas pump looked every bit like a female warrior.

After refueling， she suddenly felt playful. She held the gas pump with both hands， deliberately raising the nozzle and pretended to shoot at the boys who had whistled. One of them played along， letting out a mock scream and pretending to be hit， which sparked a burst of cheerful laughter on both sides.

Ge Nianjing tossed her short hair， got into the car， and hit the gas pedal， the Jeep speeding away， leaving the boys with a carefree， untamed silhouette.

See， I’m a flash of lightning in the heavens， a mere passerby in this world.

She had never liked long hair， finding it cumbersome and annoying. She always kept her hair short， clean， and full of spirit. When the breeze swept through her hair， her soul soared.

She remembered， in her third year of university， one morning after washing her hair， she hurried to class. As she walked along， she shook her hair in the sunlight， and the tiny water droplets scattered， sparkling like countless crystals.

Gao Ming said， “It’s truly beautiful!”

It was at that moment on that morning that the boy named Gao Ming was captivated by her. He loved her looks， admired her independence， felt for her stubborn determination to carry everything on her shoulders， and marveled at here unflinching resolve in small matters and calm， composure in big ones. But what did it matter? In the end， all of this boiled down to one phrase: “You lack femininity.”

As the sky darkened， Ge Nianjing raced under the moonlight， thinking about how beauty fades， time flows， and after eight years of love， their parting left them both free but with unresolved emotions.

Who was to blame? Was it Gao Ming for his infidelity? The sensual woman who captivated him? Or herself for her inability to let go?

By the time she reached Guiyang， it was already night. She didn’t go home but headed straight to the lamb rice noodle shop in front of her house and bought a bowl of lamb rice noodles， with an extra portion of lamb. Only after filling her stomach did she feel ready to face her parents.

Ah， her parents， two people who had worked their whole lives in the transportation system. One was a bridge designer， the other an obstetrician at a transportation hospital. To outsiders， they were professionals， with the highest-level certifications in their fields.

But in Ge Nianjing’s eyes， they weren’t competent parents. In this world， every job requires a certificate. Surgeons need a license to operate， teachers need a certificate to teach， chefs need a certificate to cook， and even foot massage therapists need a technician’s certificate. Yet， parenting is the one thing that requires no certificate at all， a short-term impulse， a long-term decision based on mood.