"Flower-Plucking Record": Sheltering in a Little Tower, a Realm unto Myself-a Review of ""

by Feng Zhong Jiezi

I have been obsessed with fantasy novels since my university days. Why? Because they gave the imagination a broader space to roam, or allowed the gloom of real life to find relief within their pages. After reading enough of them, though, I began to feel weary: too much sameness, too much wish fulfillment. It left me heartsick-or perhaps disappointed is the better word. Fortunately, I recently read Guan Pingchao's Dust Along the Immortal Road, and suddenly everything felt fresh and clear. A sweet, refreshing fragrance blew into my long-weary soul, like a sip of fine tea, like a drink from a clear spring. It was as though, after growing accustomed to the ocean's magnificent waves, I had discovered that a clear spring possessed a tranquil charm all its own. Especially for someone like me, who harbors no lofty ambitions and merely wants to live freely and at ease, its aesthetic value could stand shoulder to shoulder with eternity. Encountering this book truly felt like fate. Several times I opened it, only to let it slip past me again; somewhere in my subconscious, I both wanted and did not want to read it. In the end, however, I could not resist the impulse stirred in my heart by "In those youthful days, my blue robe was thin." Once I started, I could not put it down, and read it over and over. With each reading, I found myself a little more moved, a little more at home. It gave me a feeling I had always been searching for, yet could not put into words-could not put into words. And so I formed a few modest opinions about the book and, overestimating my abilities, wrote them down.

A distinctive style is essential to an outstanding work. Among fantasy