Each morning, as I wake, I naturally carry a heart filled with joy and look out the window to greet the breaking dawn. Today is bound to be another beautiful day! What's precious is not having a high-paying job in the city but the ability to smile brightly amidst this rural haven. Strolling through the countryside, the familiar scent of rice fields fills the air. A gentle breeze carries the melody of Monica's harmonica from my pocket, blending with the golden rays of sunlight illuminating everything that lay asleep. Soon, people rush to prepare and head to the fields.
"Hard work brings the harvest," they say.
Monica's harmonica tunes chase away the monotony of labor. Together, we hum rustic songs that echo across the countryside paths. Feeling moved, I take out Monica's harmonica and play as I walk alone down the rural trails, the smile on my face a reflection of inner peace. Wandering into a bamboo grove, I come upon a small pond. The sunlight streaming through the leaves makes it uniquely beautiful. Tiny fish swim freely in the clear waters, stirring ripples that mirror a sense of liberty—who wouldn't long for such freedom?
I gently place the harmonica back in my pocket, but the wind seems to resist, prompting me to play again. The sound of Monica's harmonica brings the bamboo grove alive, traveling through the fields, crossing tiny streams, and finally returning softly to my ears. The burdens of past years in the city fade away, along with all the grievances I once bore. This, I think, must be the feeling of freedom. Though city life offered prosperity, I find myself cherishing the serenity of this countryside more. Laying the harmonica beside me, I silently enjoy this rare moment of tranquility.
While immersed in the comfort of the grove, I suddenly hear a sound—a voice as bright as a pastoral Suona horn and yet as poised as a shepherd's melody. Having lived here for some time, I recall the elders' warnings: "If you hear strange sounds in the grove, return quickly!" But skepticism leads me forward. I rise, take the harmonica from my side, and follow the sound.
Ahead, a grassy field bursts with blooming flowers competing for beauty. Beside them winds a narrow path leading up a hill. On the hill stands a small house, and in front of it, the faint figure of a young woman. Curious, I walk toward the hill. As I approach, the figure becomes clearer—a graceful woman with flowing hair that catches the fiery hues of the sunset, transforming her black locks into golden strands. Her dress complements her enchanting eyes, which reflect a hint of exotic charm. Though she exudes the simplicity of a village girl, her beauty is captivating. She seems so absorbed in her music that she doesn't notice me standing nearby. Upon closer inspection, I see she holds a Scottish bagpipe on her shoulder.
"Sir, may I ask where you come from?"
"I'm from the bamboo grove beyond," I reply.
Fatigued, I sit on the hill and gaze at the breathtaking view. It is not merely pleasant but carries a sense of unrestrained freedom. Glancing back, I see the girl sitting beside me, describing the scenery. To my surprise, she mentions that no one has ever visited this place before—I am the first. Her words hint at a life of hardship. Then, she begins playing the bagpipe again. Each note seems to convey her story, her struggles.
As the sun sets, painting the sky with layers of crimson and violet, tears glisten in her eyes—tears of helplessness mixed with silent wishes. Unsure of what to say, I simply place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Sometimes, silence speaks more than words. I turn to leave, walking back toward the grove.
"Sir, may I know your name?"
Turning back, I see her tears have streamed down her cheeks, yet she maintains a heartwarming smile—a sight that pierces my heart. Lowering my head, I whisper my name before hastily crossing the hill and heading home. My thoughts remain fixed on her face. As I emerge from the grove, the night deepens, and the cold night wind chills me. The road ahead is dimly lit by the flickering flames of torches. I find my way home, push open the wooden door, and collapse onto the modest bamboo bed, drifting into dreams.
When I awake, the sun is already high. Stretching lazily, I feel the warmth of a beautiful morning. I step outside to see men plowing fields, women weaving, and children playing along muddy paths. Grabbing a hoe, I join the men in their work. Singing together, our spirits soar. Time flies, and soon it is afternoon. Taking a break, I run back to the bamboo grove.
"Be careful in the grove!" the villagers call out.
"I know!" I reply, laughing.
The sound of my hurried steps echoes through the grove. Passing the familiar pond, I press forward, eventually reaching the hill with blooming flowers. Something has changed—a willow tree now stands on the hill, and the girl is beside it. She waves as I approach.
Climbing the newly added steps to the hill, she invites me to admire the willow tree. Its branches sway gracefully in the breeze, mesmerizing me. She takes my hand and leads me to the back of the house.
"What is this…a paradise on earth?" I exclaim.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she replies.
Below the hill stretches a vast field of rice, the seedlings swaying like waves in the wind. Turning to her, I see her eyes closed, arms outstretched, savoring the breeze. I take out the harmonica and play, bringing life to this serene haven.
Glancing at her, I catch her smiling faintly at me. When I turn to face her, she quickly averts her gaze. Suddenly, she retreats indoors, leaving me to marvel at the scenery. From the house emerges her figure dressed in traditional Scottish attire, a striking hat atop her head. She looks ethereal.
"Do I…look beautiful?" she asks shyly.
"You look like an angel," I stammer.
I am captivated. She begins playing the bagpipe, transporting me to a tranquil grassland where antelopes graze and rivers flow. I lose myself in the melody until I notice the sky darkening. Raindrops begin to fall, soaking my clothes.
"Come inside! You'll catch a cold!" she calls, handing me an umbrella.
Before I can thank her, she embraces me tightly, her clothes dampening from my own. Embarrassed, I step back, refusing her gesture.
"Your clothes…they'll get wet," I mutter awkwardly.
Hurt flickers in her eyes, but she silently leads me indoors. Inside, she offers me dry clothes, turning away as I change. Once dressed, I see her through the curtain, her silhouette delicate and shy.
"You can look now," she says softly.
When I turn, she is draped in sheer silk, her cheeks rosy. Her beauty is overwhelming, yet I wonder why she does this. The rain outside intensifies, making departure impossible.
"If I said I wanted to leave with you the moment I saw you, would you agree?" she asks, trembling.
Blushing, I hesitate. "Perhaps…it's too soon."
Disappointment shadows her face. Guilt stirs within me. I wrap a cloak around her and reassure her softly, "If you're willing to wait…"
Her tears reflect relief and hope. As the rain clears, a rainbow graces the sky. I step outside, captivated by the renewed beauty of the land. Plucking flowers, I weave a crown and place it on her head. Then, I bid her farewell, walking back toward the bamboo grove.
The setting sun casts a fiery glow as I return. Beneath the quiet night sky, I reflect on the day, unable to find solace. Reaching home, I lie awake, unable to escape thoughts of her.