In October of 1996, Lin Song and his colleagues went to Zhengzhou on a business trip. The weather was cool and pleasant. After finishing their official duties, they decided to use the spare time before their return journey to visit the Songshan Shaolin Temple. By then, nearly fifteen years had passed since Lin Song, in the prime of his youth, had watched Jet Li’s Shaolin Temple.
Lin Song remembered it was a weekday. Aside from seeing the sign for a martial arts school at the entrance, there weren’t many tourists at the temple. It was a spontaneous trip, so they hadn’t brought a camera. They used their memories of the movie as their travel guide.
Following the film’s narrative thread, they wandered through the temple’s scattered corridors. Past the magnificent Mahavira Hall was the Thousand Buddha Hall, where the warrior monks trained. Lin Song mimicked the monks’ stances from the movie, assuming a solid horse stance in one of the deep hollows on the hall’s floor, said to have been worn down by the monks’ feet. He stomped forcefully a few times, but unlike in the movie, his feet did not kick up any majestic clouds of dust.
At the foot of the mountain outside the temple, the Pagoda Forest was quiet and serene, with almost no visitors. Lin Song muttered to himself, wondering if all the monks who had reached nirvana were resting in peace here. Later, they took a cable car up to Bodhidharma’s Cave on the back mountain but did not find the legendary martial arts master.
In those days, mobile phones were not yet common; the primary means of communication was the pager. They spent half a day touring the temple and returned to downtown Zhengzhou by evening. The trip report would have to wait until they got back to Wuhan; managers didn’t demand instant progress updates from their staff via video call. When leaving, Lin Song bought a hand-drawn Manual of Shaolin Kung Fu from the gift shop. After returning home, he practiced for a while, imitating the monks’ postures in the manual.
Throughout history, many of Shaolin’s enlightened monks have, in times of turmoil, entered the secular world to act, earning them mixed praise and criticism from the public. The temple’s monasteries, in turn, have been destroyed and rebuilt time and again, all due to its disputes with royalty.
Enough, enough. A mere mortal should leap beyond the Three Realms and not enter the Five Elements.
Exiting the elevator, still inside the building’s corridor, he could already feel the searing heatwave of summer. Zhang Lu, a deliveryman for SF Express, came rushing towards him. Seeing Lin Song, he greeted him. “Going out in this heat?” “Yup.” Zhang Lu glanced at the gym bag slung over Lin Song’s right shoulder. “Going for a swim?” Lin Song hesitated for a split second. “Uh, going for a run.” “A run?” “Yeah.” As they passed each other, Lin Song felt a bit awkward; he could feel the other man’s surprise.
Crossing the empty plaza under the blazing sun, his white sneakers reflected the light, making him squint. Tony, working the weekend shift, sat in front of the barber’s mirror watching videos on his phone. The old men cooling off in the mall could always find free tea. Even without getting a haircut, one could sit on the sofa at the “QT Quick Kutz” shop, legs crossed, scrolling through their phone.
Auntie Qin was a retired English teacher from the No. 37 Middle School. During the summer vacation, she would tutor a few children. But more often than not, she was just playing with them. She came prepared with little red flower stickers. For any child who performed well, she’d place one on their arm, an honor they could wear for the entire day.
Xiaoya, Lingxin, and Qiao’er were learning English together. To praise their straight posture, Auntie Qin placed a “like” sticker on each of the three girls’ foreheads. “Let’s read the next word: ‘pig’.” Lingxin pronounced the ‘g’ with a heavy, upward tone. “It’s ‘pig.’ The ‘g’ sound should be light, with a downward inflection.” Lingxin refuted her teacher’s correction. “My mom says ‘pig,’ and her ‘g’ goes up.”
They moved on to the next word, “sister.” Lingxin’s “ter” again ended on a high-pitched note. Before Auntie Qin could correct her, Lingxin made a demand. “I want some water.” She got up to find her grandmother, then turned back to ask Qiao’er, who was still seated, “Qiao’er, do you want some water?” “I want water too.” Qiao’er followed Lingxin to find her grandmother, leaving Xiaoya alone on the bench, reading the words with Auntie Qin. Lingxin took a sip of water, then decided she wanted an Oreo cookie. After finishing one, she took another, twisted it open, and handed the smaller half to Qiao’er.
At five-thirty in the afternoon, a brand-new Toyota Camry was parked in the community’s fire lane. The sanitation worker had already begun clearing the complex’s garbage. He dragged several large trash cans from his vehicle and arranged them neatly at the entrance of the fire lane, completely surrounding the Camry.
Lin Song had developed a new habit: whenever he thought of something he needed to do, he would immediately record it in the Todoist app on his phone. He’d check it from time to time afterward, ensuring nothing was missed. He suddenly remembered that he needed to bring Mr. Zhu two pounds of coffee beans this week. He stopped in his tracks, standing on the pedestrian path, and took out his phone to make a note. The “Old Revolutionary” from downstairs greeted him from behind. “Isn’t it hot, just standing there on the path?” “It is! Just noting something down, afraid I’ll forget in a bit.”
As dinnertime arrived, the “mounts” of the delivery riders had already congested the intersection in front of the mall to a standstill.