Introduction (Part 1)

I first met Guan Gen at a cross-strait (1) tea party held in Xiamen. I’ve completely forgotten the contents of the tea party, but I do remember that it was a forum on jadeite that was very boring.  I wasn’t a very dedicated jadeite enthusiast, and collecting this kind of thing was merely a last minute scheme, so I slipped out during the tea break.  At that time, the number of people sneaking out with me wasn’t small, but he happened to be one of them.

As the two of us were chatting in the lounge outside, we found that we were both writers, but I had already changed my profession and become a publisher, while he was still suffering as a writer.

The reason why we got along so well at that time was probably because we had so many things in common: the same stormy childhood; some of the same helpless experiences… the so-called “two people with the same happiness are not as good as two people with the same suffering” resonated with us, and we soon began to have a heart-to-heart.

Of course, I also couldn’t deny the fact that Guan Gen was very friendly, and it was hard not to be impressed by his every move that was calm and collected. It was a pity I was no longer a little girl. Although this kind of charm made me happy, it couldn’t make me like him any more than that.

After parting, we became good friends. He later went to Taiwan, and like clockwork, he would send me bell cakes every two months. He never got tired of doing it. He asked me to send him Hangzhou mung bean cakes in return, and I sent them with almost the same frequency. We even tried to use different varieties every time, exchanging our experiences with each other.

We maintained this kind of relationship for a year, which I found especially touching. In today’s society, few people were able to do one thing so persistently and for such a long time. I thought this kind of communication could last forever, but at the end of that year, his package didn’t come for the first time.

This surprised me quite a bit. I even suspected that the contact number or name had been put down wrong, which might have caused the EMS courier to be unable to deliver the package. I didn’t know how many trips I made to the post office that month, but I was disappointed every time. I wanted to ask him what had happened, but found that I couldn’t get hold of him either on the internet or on the phone.

I thought he was avoiding the hustle and bustle of city life and the pressure of work, which was a common tactic for modern white-collar workers, but there was still no news after two months. Sometime later, I heard from a friend in Taiwan that he had quit all of his jobs in April of that year, and some people had seen him leave his house and never come back. At that time, he had paid the rent several months in advance, and when his friend finally decided to enter his house, his computer had been on for seven or eight months. But there was no data on it, and the police verified that the computer was almost the same as when he had bought it. Not only the computer, but all of the programs on it had hardly been used.

In other words, people thought he had stayed and lived there, but that wasn’t the case at all.

Then why did he spend so much money renting a house that he didn’t even live in? Where was he living during his stay in Taiwan?

No one knew.

There were no clues to tell where he went. He simply disappeared.

I didn’t know what had happened to him, and I felt worried and helpless. And with my relationship with him, there didn’t seem to be much more I could do either. I simply watched the news and silently prayed for him. After that, I also made inquires with those in the circle and learned that Guan Gen was merely a pseudonym and his real name was unknown.

It really surprised me that after a seemingly simple person disappeared, he didn’t even leave any clues behind.

But I soon forgot all about it, because even if it was strange, this person had little to do with my life.

I thought it might end like this, but I didn’t think that I would suddenly receive a big package from him six months later. It was delivered a few days ago, and there were six big boxes of bell cakes inside, along with a thick stack of notes.

I was overjoyed and immediately called him, only to find that the number had been disconnected.

I found it very strange, and picked up the stack of notes. At this time, fine grains of sand fell down from the gaps in the papers.

This was the first time I had seen “Sand Sea “.

The notes recorded a story about the desert, and it was difficult to determine what genre it belonged to. I read it while leaning up against the package and eating the bell cakes. When I had reached the end, I had already decided that it would be an outstanding adventure story. As soon as I had finally emerged from the pages, I felt extremely thirsty and it even seemed like my nose could smell the desert.

I wanted to ask him if these notes about the desert were really recorded there, or if he really went to the forbidden area of this mysterious desert he had written about. But I was doomed to never get the answer.

So, where did these grains of sand come from? Were they from the place written about in his notes, the yellow sands that raged in that world? I liked to think so.

This was the last time that man named Guan Gen appeared in this world. Since then, that name never appeared again, either beside me or in the circle.

<Vol 9 Tibetan Sea Flower Chapter 95> <Table of Contents><Introduction Part 2>

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TN Notes:

(1) Tiffany says: “Cross-strait” means “Taiwan–China relations”. In this chapter, it meant that people from China and Taiwan could attend this tea party.