Newly arrived, I caught my first faint glimpse of what it means to drift north to Beijing.

The airport is grand, and equally spectacular is the complex, web-like subway map. Getting off at Lishuiqiao and stepping into the “suburbs” outside the Fifth Ring Road, the prosperity of the capital faded away, revealing a pale sky and a raw depiction of life. A tiny area on the edge of Tiantongyuan—“the largest residential community in Beijing”—served as our dormitory, with a configuration that belongs to the lowest tier: two residential buildings sharing one gate, and if you didn’t look closely, you would even think this community had no security guards. Tree shadows cast mottled sunlight, drawing patterns on the ground; next to a bench beside a swaying swing, I lay down and waited for the class monitor to arrive. In a daze, I envisioned countless young people coming to Beijing in search of opportunities, shedding sweat and tears here, yet often failing to get what they wished for in the end. Will I become one of them?

My friend woke me from my dream, and the monitor, carrying our luggage, was already standing at the entrance of the building. Calling that room a “dormitory” was a stretch; in reality, it was just a shared apartment. The environment inside could only be described as perfectly fitting my stereotype of shared rentals—sticky notes marked “private” were posted everywhere, silently clamoring and pushing us into that cramped room of less than 10 square meters. And three students will reside here temporarily for a month and a half (by the way, as I write this article, the power here has been cut off right on time at 9 PM)…

I have never felt the weight of the word “sojourner” more than at this very moment.

There was only one bed in the room. The monitor originally planned for my friend and me to squeeze together on it, while the other classmate would sleep on a simple camp cot. Naturally, I didn’t want to compromise, so I spread a quilt on the floor to make a bed, leaving the big bed to those who needed it. Though we had never met the previous tenant, we found a “legacy” they left behind at the corner of the bed… and promptly threw it into the trash. After quickly unpacking our luggage, it was time to head out to find some food.

The mode of transportation was naturally the primitive way of walking. We wandered around for a few blocks to reach a shopping mall, where the bustling scene reminded me that I was still in the capital. And immediately after, the prices in the food court reminded me of this fact for the second time. Fortunately, years of eating practically anything have cultivated a strong tolerance in me. I managed to clean the plate of noodles that my classmate had rejected for being too salty and unpalatable. The price was that I had to wander around outside after the meal—simply because I was too stuffed (

In the bleak, cold wind of North China, a classic poem inexplicably came to mind:

In my youth, not knowing the taste of sorrow, I loved ascending the high towers. I loved ascending the high towers, writing new poems and forcing myself to speak of sorrow.

Now, having fully tasted the flavor of sorrow, I wish to speak but hesitate. I wish to speak but hesitate, only saying: “What a fine, cool autumn day!”

I still have quite a poetic touch, I thought to myself, taking solace in this.

On a whim, I opened Geocaching on my phone. (My data is limited, so Bilibili was unavailable, for the record.) To my surprise, a traditional cache was hidden nearby! I could not return to the dorm anyway, so I seized the excuse to explore. Two calls came along the way. Grandma answered my request and offered to mail us a wool quilt nobody at home was using. Then a friend sent tomorrow’s meeting place and offered to lend me a spare suit. Beijing’s twisting paths sent me into several dead ends until I had no choice but to retrace my steps and circle around. Yet, strangely, the pedestrians thinned as I went, until there was not another person in sight.

I pulled out my phone to confirm I wasn’t lost; this was indeed the way to “Aobei Forest Park.” When detouring into a small park path near a construction site, I hopelessly thought this area had been closed. But the stubbornness of “since I’m already here” and the allure of an unknown treasure kept me moving forward.

Gradually, I began to see people in twos and threes, either running or walking. Then I saw a map of the park with this paragraph written on it:

The park has built a 7-kilometer “Fitness Ring for All”… Running three laps around this “Fitness Ring for All” is equivalent to completing a “half marathon”!

It seems… like an ideal place for a morning run?

Even though a long search ended with “Nani? The coordinates are fake?”, I believe I found a far more important treasure that evening.

And that is an attitude toward life.