It has been almost three months since the release of 'What Do We Live For—Gleanings After Reading Shi Tiesheng's Life as a Zither String'. In these three months, Yi Wei himself has experienced many things and grown a lot. Today, taking advantage of a language arts class writing exercise, I want to share some new insights.

Although I would rather not revisit that memory, for the sake of writing, I must use a conclusion drawn earlier: the strings are both fate strings and zither strings. If it is a fate string, then when one string breaks, 'life' also breaks. But think again, what is breaking a string? It is a catalyst, and also hope.

This is somewhat thought-provoking. How can losing life be hope? This is indeed a logically hard-to-explain question. But for Shi Tiesheng, death is also a form of release, a form of hope; let's set aside this question and talk about something else.

The fate string cannot break, just as the zither string cannot break. The strings must be tightened from time to time, otherwise the notes will go out of tune.

Tip

The following content was continued by Doubao; I have made some changes. Because I really can't write any longer

Life, in general, is much the same: that string named 'goal', if kept slack for a long time, days lose their bearings, drift aimlessly, and eventually degenerate into hollow weariness. The old blind man carried the idea that 'pluck a thousand strings to see the light' his whole life, climbing mountains and crossing rivers, playing the strings in wind and rain, letting years melt into the melodies at his fingertips. He didn't know that the remedy was fake, but it was this very beam of illusory light that carried him through countless days of pitch-dark mornings and nights, lending weight to his life.

It turns out that the 'tightness' of the fate string is not for achieving a certain inevitable result, but to give us the nerve to tread through muddy paths while tightening the string, and the mind to listen to the wind and savor the rain. Just like the old blind man, in the years of plucking strings, he has seen the bright moon in the mountains, heard the streams, met fellow travelers along the way; those vivid fragments have long been more meaningful than simply 'seeing the light.' We are always obsessed with whether the goal can be achieved, but forget that the taut fate string has long been weaving for us the most precious landscapes of life, often without us realizing it.

Later the old blind man passed the remedy to the younger blind man, still urging him 'pluck a thousand strings to see the light.' He is not continuing a lie, but conveying a power of staying alive. At the moment the string breaks, there may be no anticipated light, but that moment's release and composure is Tiesheng's 'death-like hope'—not the end of life, but the letting go of past stubbornness, a clarity about the essence of life.

Returning to the opening 'logically hard-to-explain question'—in ordinary people's understanding, life is the undercurrent of hope; losing life means the end of all thoughts. But this confusion precisely arises from not having stood at Shi Tiesheng's life coordinates to look back. He spent half a life entangled with illness; a wheelchair was his longest companionship; the pain of the body, the turmoil of the soul were like invisible shackles, binding him day and night. For such a life, death is not a despairing finale, but an exit from suffering; it is the release after laying down a thousand burdens and reconciling with the self, a kind of hope that no longer needs to wrestle with pain. And that line 'let us set aside this question and talk about something else' is not avoidance of life-and-death puzzlement, but Tiesheng's wisdom—the thing he truly wants to guide us to explore is not 'why is death a hope,' but 'how should we live to seek weight'—after recognizing the limitations of life, still be able to hold the string in our hands and play each moment with courage.

Now, thinking again about the so-called 'Life as a Zither String,' it is not asking us to cling to a single unbreakable string, but to learn to live earnestly on the days when the string is taut, and to accept calmly the moment it breaks. The long-term goals we strive for may ultimately prove to be empty, but the process of striving, the courage to persevere, and the scenery along the way have already written the thickness of 'life' stroke by stroke, rich and burning. We do not need to dwell on whether the outcome is perfect; simply holding the string in our hands and carefully plucking each note is the best response to life.