I traveled far away when I was eighteen.

 　　That year, I was eighteen. Senior year of high school, a dark July.

　　I failed the exam, and then the rainy season began.

　　It seemed endless; the rain kept falling. I was only three points short of passing. My teacher said I'd have no problem getting into a top school, but I failed.

　　I knew why I failed.

　　During my senior year, I became obsessed with writing novels. I started publishing my work, and all my classmates knew there was a girl who wrote exceptionally well. I became arrogant.

　　There were so many mimosa trees in the courtyard of Bazhou No. 1 High School. Later, they became a part of my youthful obsession. I mentioned mimosa trees in many of my novels—trees full of pink, umbrella-shaped blossoms, especially fragrant in June and July.

　　The melancholy girl under those trees began publishing scattered pieces in newspapers, in that year's *Hebei Literature*, a perfect image of a literary young woman.

　　I was a celebrity at school, because people would call me by my pen name, and my grades were good; the teachers had high hopes for me.

　　But I failed the exam.

　　Going to university seemed like a distant dream.

　　Despair and despondency nearly drove me to the brink of collapse; I'd lost over ten pounds in just a few days!

　　That day, it was still raining. My parents were at work. Suddenly, a thought struck me: I had to leave this place, as far away as possible. I couldn't stay here any longer!

　　And I did it! I grabbed a few clothes and emptied my mother's wallet—about seventy or eighty yuan. I left them a note: "I'm going to clear my head. Don't look for me. I'll be fine and come back."

　　I hopped on my bicycle and left. I'd decided: I was going to Beidaihe. I was going to see the sea!

　　I'd decided that at eighteen, I would see the sea.

　　My heart was still heavy, my vision blurred. I felt a pang of sadness, yet also a sense of freedom. Finally, no one was asking me about my breakup, no one was asking if I'd gotten into university. I

　　kept heading east. My legs started to feel heavy, my mouth dry, but I persevered. The sun came out, a scorching sun. I was the only one on the road, heading east, ever east.

　　Back then, there were very few places to buy water on the road, and almost no cyclists like me. The only vehicles passing by were large trucks. I rode on, not knowing where it would end.

　　That night, after I got off, I almost collapsed. I arrived in Tianjin and ran to a small hotel called Jianhua, where a night's stay cost only five yuan. The next morning, the owner said, "Silly boy, where are you going? Look, all your tires are flat, and the wheel is about to break."

　　I gave him three yuan, and he had someone repair my bicycle. Then he said, "Take a bottle of water with you." I couldn't bear to spend money, so he gave me a bottle of cooled boiled water and told me to be careful on the road.

　　I arrived at Shanhaiguan two days later.

　　When I saw the words "The First Pass Under Heaven," I lifted my old bicycle above my head. How energetic and passionate I was in my youth!

　　I saw the sea!

　　A person who had never seen the sea finally saw the sea!

　　If one only imagines the sea, then it is vast and blue. But when you actually see the sea, you realize it's not like that at all.

　　The sea, more like a giant tear, fell upon the earth.

　　I was on the beach when I suddenly felt something warm flowing into my ears. At first, I just silently shed tears, but then I burst into loud sobs. My cries were quickly drowned out by the roaring waves; compared to them, my cries were so small, even insignificant.

　　It's hard to describe the state of mind I felt. In that instant, like a young monk attaining enlightenment, my heart suddenly cleared. "Facing the sea, with spring flowers blooming." I was reading Hai Zi's poem then, a line that later became widely misused, but that year, no one understood its true meaning better than me.

　　I stayed on the beach for three days, spending almost all my money, buying many pearl necklaces, collecting countless seashells. I was utterly captivated by the sea, watching the waves recede and rise. I understood; life is like that too, progress and regression, it's impossible to always move forward. I decided to go back and repeat my senior year! Even though I so, so unwilling to go through a fourth year of high school! Although I had to endure it for a year, I really wanted to go to university!

　　When I rode my bike home, my parents cried.

　　They didn't hit me, but my mother's hair had turned much whiter, and my father had lost over ten pounds. They put up missing person ads and searched everywhere for me. My mother hugged me and cried, but I just smiled foolishly and handed her the pearl necklace I had bought for a few yuan in Beidaihe. I said, "Mom, wear this, it'll look good."

　　The following July, I passed the university entrance exam. For a whole year, I didn't write any novels; I was a bookworm. I understood after watching "The Waves" that life requires both advancement and retreat.

　　After entering university, I returned to my old profession, writing novels, and became devoted to words. Years later, I published more than 40 books, many of which were translated abroad, and some even made it onto bestseller lists. Later, I taught at the National Academy of Chinese Theatre Arts. Someone asked me, "Have you always been this persistent?"

　　I smiled and told her, "I gave up before, because giving up was for the sake of moving forward better."

　　I'm grateful for that journey I took at eighteen; it taught me that some things in life inevitably involve setbacks, and some flowers must wait for spring. Although spring comes later for some flowers, every flower has its own unique way of blooming.