ending
On a cold Icelandic night, the aurora borealis swirled across the sky, like the silent sigh of the universe. A device perched on a black basalt base transformed the deep pulsation of the earth's veins into a low hum, rising and falling in sync with the faint glow within the stone base. I stood nearby, wrapped tightly in my down jacket, feeling the almost imperceptible vibrations beneath my feet.
The vibrations traveled through the thick soles of his boots, along his leg bones, subtle yet persistent, and finally gently struck his chest. A strange sense of connection arose—not through his mind, but through this flesh, connecting him to the ancient earth beneath his feet and the brilliant yet cold cosmic energy above him.
The joy of success was genuine. Seeing the expressions of profound emotion, almost awe, on the faces of the other artists and local collaborators, I knew this attempt had touched something essential. It had translated the invisible rhythms of the planet into a bodily, intimate, and powerful experience.
The clamor faded, and everyone retreated to the warmth of the room, leaving Eleanor and me to conduct a final check. The moment the device was powered off, the low hum and the halo of light within the stone pedestal suddenly vanished, as if everything had just been a collective hallucination. Only the sound of wind and waves once again took over, leaving the room feeling eerily empty and silent.
“Very successful, Zhang.” Eleanor patted my shoulder, her face bathed in the headlights, her breath white. “You made this land… speak.”
I nodded, my throat tightening. The warmth of success was still there, but a deeper, unspoken emotion was quietly seeping out from under it.
I returned alone to the empty warehouse studio, the arctic wind seeming to creep in. After shedding my heavy gear, my body shivered slightly from the cold and intense concentration. I poured myself a cup of hot water, crammed it between my hands, and absorbed the meager warmth.
On the table in my studio, a sketchbook lies open, filled with sketches of data flows, structural forces, and field energy. Next to it, a laptop screen is still displaying a real-time environmental data monitoring interface. All of this ties into the larger themes I'm exploring.
My eyes involuntarily fell on the mobile phone lying quietly beside me.
For some strange reason, I clicked on that familiar, pinned chat box. Inside were countless sent, unanswered messages. The latest one was a photo of a black sand beach I'd posted the day I arrived in Iceland, captioned: "Here we are. It's like being on another planet."
Turning the page further up, there are various business communications with Assistant Lin, Wang Rui, and Chen Hui before the trip.
The finger continued to slide upwards, passing through countless daily sharing, work discussions, occasional emotional expressions... all the way to the top.
There, lies the earliest information.
"Zhou Yu, I'm at the dormitory. How about you?"
"What time will we meet at the library tomorrow morning?"
"I ruined this painting. I'm so sad."
"Happy birthday! Do you like the gift?"
"...Spring will expire..."
Those words, with the unguarded intimacy and dependence unique to youth, are like time capsules, preserving the initial heartbeat and deepest pain.
I thought I had traveled far. Far enough to cross continents, find myself in a corner of the earth, and converse with the pulse of the planet. Far enough to interpret the world of sensibility with rational codes, and capture passionate emotions with cold equipment.
I thought the sadness had been tempered by time, diluted by new explorations, and transformed into the quiet driving force behind creation.
But on this night when I successfully captured the planet's "grammar," in this polar wilderness far from any familiar coordinates, when all around me was silent, with only the sound of the wind and my own heartbeat remaining...
That name, that face, that love and loss that penetrates deep into the bone marrow, are still so clear and vivid, occupying the most central and softest place in my heart.
I didn't "come out".
I just learned to walk, explore and create with this weight.
What I love is perhaps no longer solely the specific person in my memory. It's the time that became different because of him, the person who, because of him, dared to be vulnerable and ultimately learned to be resilient. It's the indelible mark of "irrationality" and "love" that he carved deep in my soul with his life.
This love has not faded with time, nor with new achievements. It has settled, like the ancient glaciers of Iceland, whose surface is covered with new snow and the footprints of exploration, but whose interior is still the indestructible blue ice formed thousands of years ago.
It is the most primitive and overwhelming irrational driving force behind all my rational explorations.
It is the source of energy that gives me the courage to venture into the unknown alone.
When I try to use art to interpret the "grammar" of the universe, it is the eternal mystery and answer in the deepest part of my heart about why "human emotions" exist.
I picked up my phone, opened the camera, and pointed it at the aurora that was still faintly dancing outside the window.
Then, switch to that dialog box.
Press the record button.
The camera was a little shaky, recording the green-purple, ever-changing curtain of light and the rough wooden frames of the warehouse windows.
I didn't speak.
Just recorded quietly for more than ten seconds.
Then, tap Send.
No caption.
I know he can't receive it.
But it no longer matters.
What’s important is that I still want to share with him the magnificence of the universe, the moments of exploration, and the new scenery that life stubbornly grows after losing.
The important thing is that I admit that I still love him deeply.
This love has nothing to do with time, space, life or death.
It is the most constant parameter and the most basic "grammar" in the "field" of my life.
The aurora burned silently outside the window.
I put down my phone and picked up the glass of lukewarm water again.
There is an unprecedented peace and confidence in my heart.
I know that the sun will still rise tomorrow, and I will continue to measure the geomagnetic field, record data, and conceive new works.
I will continue to live, love and create.
With this spring that never expires, we move towards all the unknowns that life has to offer for you and me.
dawn.
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