Where Lake Meets Sky (Part 1)

CHAPTER 01

1 Color of Dreamland

I wasn't always called Cui Xiaonong. The year I was born was marked by a severe famine across the country, and the government was advocating for large-scale agriculture. So, until I was six years old, I was known as Cui Danong, or "Big Farmer" in Chinese. When we moved to Gaoyou, Jiangsu, my mother didn't like the name Cui Danong because it sounded like "bragging" in the local dialect. When she registered me at the government-run nursery, she spontaneously changed my name to Cui Xiaonong, or "Little Farmer."

Whether big or little, it didn't matter to most people around me, such as my in-laws, who always called me Xiao Cui, or "Little Cui." Then I grew older, and suddenly, some people stopped calling me Xiao Cui. So what should I be called now?

As you can see on the cover, it's Cui Ge, which means "Elder Brother Cui."

I don't know if it's a distinctive feature, but I've been dreaming non-stop since I can remember, from the moment I fall asleep until I wake up, without any interruption.

Ever since I left Gaoyou at the age of 18, what I've seen most frequently in my dreams is the Grand Canal in my hometown, as well as the vast expanse of the lake on the other side of the river.

I once asked my friends if their hometown had any colors in their dreams. Some said yes, some said no, but mine never did. I often see colors when I dream of other things, but whenever I return to my hometown, it's always black and white with a touch of gray, and there's a hint of sadness. Perhaps it's because I've been away for too long? Despite the lack of colors, my hometown in my dreams is very clear, as if I had experienced it in real life, or perhaps it's like my past, or stories I've heard since childhood. After all these years, I'm unable to distinguish if it's just an illusion in my dreams or an extension of reality. Maybe I don't need a clear answer. As I've gotten older, a bud seems to have appeared in my dreams. It finally blossomed one day, and I realized that it wasn't just a small flower, but a desire to connect all my past dreams and record them. And so, I have this story to tell.

2 My Hometown, Gaoyou

My story starts with my hometown. Although I was born on the banks of the Ussuri River, thousands of miles away, it is the city of Gaoyou in Jiangsu Province, by the Grand Canal, that is my true hometown. When I speak of Gaoyou to my Chinese friends in the United States, many are not familiar with this city. I must introduce to them this fertile land of fish and rice, which has China's earliest postal service from the Qin Dynasty, specialty double-yolk duck eggs, the royal-exclusive blood glutinous rice that only used to be produced in Gaoyou, and the endless Grand Canal flowing next to the city's west side. Across the west embankment of the canal lies Gaoyou Lake, where the water ripples endlessly, and the vast sky stretches out.

Of course, there are also people who know Gaoyou very well. When they hear that I am from Gaoyou, they think for a moment, suddenly turn their heads, try to hold back their laughter, but their faces turn red. If there are friends around with a lively personality, they will wave their hands and say with a smile, "Ha-ha! Gaoyou grey butt." To be honest, most Gaoyou people will not be upset by this remark because the person who said it must know that there is no malice behind this joke.

However, some slightly sensitive words can make people uncomfortable in Gaoyou itself. For example, in 2000, my family returned to China to visit our families. One afternoon, I suddenly got a kidney stone, and my mother accompanied me to Gaoyou People's Hospital. Dr. Zhang was an old friend of our family. He smiled and said, "Xiaonong, you don't look like you have kidney stones. Kidney stones are very painful. You should be rolling on the ground in pain." With all due respect, I did not want to roll on the ground; I was just trying to endure the pain. Dr. Zhang wrote a prescription, and we went to pay, get the medicine, and entered the injection room. Half an hour passed with the pain still unbearable, despite the painkillers injected. My mother anxiously grabbed the small bottle of medicine and handed it to me, saying, "The medicine seems to be a little slow. Look at where it's produced." I looked at it and, perhaps due to the excruciating pain, blurted out, "It's produced in Gaoyou, no wonder...." This was not meant to offend anyone. Gaoyou people are known for their self-deprecating humor. Unfortunately, my mother and I were the only ones in the injection room who did not speak the local dialect. Before I could finish my sentence, one of the five nurses raised her voice: "What do you mean? Do you look down on Gaoyou?"