The Moon Was Full, and He Was Gone — For Liu Huan

At the hour of the full moon, he left us. The man who sang of a crescent moon departed when the moon was at its fullest, travelling somewhere far beyond our reach. The moon is still there, and so are the little bridge, the flowing water and the songs of childhood. Only the years have quietly passed through one season of wind and rain after another. Back then we believed youthful ambition knew no sorrow, that there was a sun in the heart and a whole world within us, that we could walk through storm and current. Later we learned that no life is without sorrow. There are loves and grievances, bewildering affections, partings that cannot be explained and people who cannot be forgotten. Sometimes all we can do is ask again and again — of heaven, of earth, of ourselves — and still receive no answer. In the end, the great river keeps flowing east. When it is time to go, one goes. Along the way there was youthful resolve, a world held in the heart, a life without regret, and a yesterday that can never be recovered.

Still, a person has to keep going. Only after travelling far do we slowly understand that every life contains a farewell. That is why we remember comrades, and why we come to understand the feeling of a green leaf for its roots. No matter how tall the tree grows or how far the leaf is carried, what it finally remembers is where it began. When we were young, we kept thinking of distant places. Later, we kept looking back. Only after some people have gone do we quietly say: this was the kind of person you were. Nothing more needs to be explained. The songs have already spoken for him.

In those years, he sang of a world held in the heart, and the world seemed vast. He sang the Hero’s Song, and the rivers surged. He sang of the spirit of Asia, and the age itself seemed to be moving forward. Later came “You and Me”, and suddenly the voice grew calm. You and me — two simple words. On one side was the singer, on the other the listener. We did not know each other, yet inside the same song we were young together, and then grew old together.

Later there was also the flight of the phoenix — across long nights, old dreams, splendour and impermanence. Perhaps every human meeting already contains the possibility of parting. That is why there are those who leave. The departed have gone far away. Those who remain are still standing here.

The moon continues to rise. The river continues forward. The world does not stop because one person has left, yet some voices remain. Late at night, perhaps no one sleeps. Not because grief must always be profound, but because suddenly we remember a song from long ago — that crescent moon, the ambition of youth, the river running east, the questions asked a thousand times without an answer, and the life we once imagined would always leave us more time. Only then do we realise that however heroic the journey, however often we begin again, every life still has a final road.

The moon was full, and he was gone. The sun in the heart will rise again, the world will remain within us, and the great river will continue eastward. But from now on, whenever that crescent moon rises again, we will know that one voice has remained in the moonlight.