A furnace of snow

 　　In August 2010, I received the assignment to write "The Biography of Pei Yanling."

　　That August, life seemed to have sunk to its lowest point; the time I held in my hands felt like fragments, each one capable of piercing my heart with pain.

　　For a long time, I isolated myself from the world, ceasing to write a single word. I contacted no one. Every day, I rode my bicycle aimlessly around the city, from dawn till dusk. I didn't know where to go, nor who to talk to, and the true pain—who could I even confide in? Some resolves are known only to myself, some pains can only be buried deep in my heart.

　　At this time, the Provincial Propaganda Department and the Provincial Writers Association decided to have me write "The Biography of Pei Yanling.

　　" I hesitated. Upon receiving the call, I refused: "I won't write it..." Firstly, I feared I wouldn't do a good job. Ms. Pei was a grandmaster, a leading figure in the world of Peking Opera, proficient in all styles, a resounding rose in the opera world. Secondly, my mood was extremely low; I just wanted to stay quiet, even contemplating a secluded retreat to a remote mountain temple. I was utterly weary of interacting with people… But a few days later, I accepted the assignment—I love opera, I've been an opera enthusiast since childhood, and I have a deep connection to it. My hometown, Bazhou, is also a center of opera, and I even practice the Cheng School style. Being able to write a biography for Mr. Pei is a blessing.

　　I came to Mr. Pei's side and stayed for three years. Those three years, like the morning glow shrouding the clouds, are like pearls and dewdrops in my memory. Unconsciously, I have been imbued with an air of pride and elegance, yet I also understand the beauty of humility and modesty. Sun Guoting wrote in his "Treatise on Calligraphy": "At the point of mastery, both the person and the calligraphy mature." Three years have passed, and I suddenly realize that these eight words reflect every single moment. Even more so, they illuminate every inch of my life afterward.

　　I accompanied Mr. Pei to performances, to Hong Kong, Taiwan, and every city… Everywhere we went, there was a cacophony of voices, flowers, and applause. The gentleman remained calm. I had to perform every play well; the play was my destiny, my root, my soul. I saw him portray those heroic men: Zhong Kui, Lin Chong, Wu Song… full of heroic spirit, sorrow, indignation, and pride. I also ate and chatted with him. Such a great man, dressed in simple clothes, ate simple food, a few cloves of garlic being his favorite, discussing only art in his simple life.

　　Once, late at night, we talked about setbacks and hurts. He said he was isolated; dozens of people had bought plane tickets to perform in Taiwan, but suddenly they all stopped going… leaving only him. It was already three or four in the morning, and his cup of Pu'er tea had gone cold. He calmly said, and I felt my ears burn and my heart ache, tears welling up in my eyes… but she said it was as clear as a breeze passing by, simply saying that it was all in the past, that there was no hurdle that couldn't be overcome, that the attacks were because he was excellent… the key is how you turn setbacks and hurts into a small flower and then pin it to your lapel.

　　That late night, it was just her and me. And then there's the lonely wind outside the window… and at our feet lie her five or six little dogs. Sometimes we glance at each other, and in that instant our eyes meet, everything becomes clear—everyone is a person in the midst of a snowstorm in the dark night, everyone lives without their own kind, yet strives to find theirs. That process is compassion, is time and life itself.

　　It was an unforgettable conversation. The lady asked me nothing, and I said nothing. She only said one sentence: "Smooth sailing is never life. If you run too fast, you won't even hear the wind, let alone the gossip. A person is like a furnace of snow; it needs wind and snow to blow, only then will the snow reveal its true character. Little girl, life is long. Write your words well. Art is always a person's soul. Even if the whole world abandons you, art will still follow you. As long as you want it, it will always cling to you… You must refine this furnace of snow into the purest, most crystalline snow, and use it to brew tea. You can call it Snow Tea. When you drink your own little Zen tea, you will have achieved enlightenment!"

　　Countless nights were spent talking with my husband by candlelight; countless days were spent chatting, eating simple meals, walking his dogs, and drinking his Pu'er, Tieguanyin, and Da Hong Pao teas… Good times are woven with golden threads; heaven and earth are righteous, and people are affectionate.

　　I learned to drink tea, and I also learned to slow down and savor everything that time has bestowed upon me. Seeing her, almost 70 years old, still like a young woman, without gender or age, living with vibrant spirit, living her own unique life as Pei Yanling.

　　I started writing calligraphy again. Because of my poor eyesight and sensitivity to light, I used a brush to write on Xuan paper, putting away my youthful calligraphy. At first, I felt it was too slow to leave. But as time went on, I actually felt it was a form of spiritual practice—how beautifully Xue Xiangling sang in *The Story of the Jade Bracelet*: "He told me to suppress my lingering resentment and temper, to reform my nature, to stop clinging to the past, and to awaken to the true meaning of life." When will I awaken to this true meaning? That truly depends on fate. Because of writing "The Biography of Pei Yanling," I was fortunate enough to teach at the National Academy of Chinese Theatre Arts. Then came the publication of "The Biography of Pei Yanling," which was simultaneously serialized in dozens of newspapers nationwide, broadcast on radio, won awards, and was surrounded by crowds… Many friends told me, "The Biography of Pei Yanling is well-written, Xiao Chan, you're different from before…"

　　After that, my articles continued to win awards, my new book topped various bestseller lists, and invitations to give university lectures poured in… At this time, however, I maintained an excessive level of clarity and composure. Every morning, I still wrote at least a thousand words by hand. Then I cooked a pot of soup, cleaned my room, organized old manuscripts, went to the market to buy groceries, and ate simple food. I felt a slight sense of self-satisfaction and introspection, remembering to always remain humble and simple, and to maintain respect for sentiments, compassion, joy, and equanimity, smiling like a lotus flower.

　　A close friend suffered business failure, going from tens of millions to nothing, and then got divorced. She contemplated suicide more than once. Many late nights, I told her about Pei Yanling, opera, flowers, interesting people and events, and amusing stories from my university lectures, including the tale of "A Furnace of Snow"... I told her that even the darkest night must end, and flowers will bloom again after they wither.

　　A year later, she remarried, opened a flower shop, and lived a simple yet happy life. She told me that she had become that irreplaceable "A Furnace of Snow," boasting about brewing tea by the fire at night, having already turned her life into poetry. In spring, she gave me a large bouquet of white roses, white roses more beautiful than snow, exquisitely beautiful.

　　In the winter of 2014, I saw Ms. Pei perform "Night Flight" again. Watching Lin Chong's sorrowful and indignant flight, Ms. Pei wasn't just playing Lin Chong; she herself was Lin Chong, running towards her dreams, her ideals, and her compassion amidst the swirling snow. Tears welled in her eyes on stage, and I, in the audience, wept uncontrollably.

　　A person without peers. Yet, what need is there for peers?

　　I seem to see myself brewing snow, simmering between heaven and earth, conversing with time, with heaven and earth, with myself, with the deep affection of plants and trees, with a cup of tea and a meal… In my own Zen garden, I listen to the snow. In the best of times, I stubbornly strive to be the best version of myself, turning conflict into harmony with time, writing word by word, and then inviting time and you to listen. Come! Listen, listen!