★A curated collection of essays by Liang Xiaosheng, winner of the 10th Mao Dun Literature Prize and original author of the TV series "A Lifelong Journey".
This book features a selection of Liang Xiaosheng’s warm, philosophical, and inspiring essays, depicting the lives and dilemmas of ordinary people. Through everyday observations, the author reflects on human relationships and worldly affairs with depth and warmth, revealing the true essence of life.

★A life-changing guide to self-redemption, written for those lost in life.
This book explores love, life, family, kinship, marriage, society, work, daily living, adversity and other topics closely tied to our existence. With heartfelt prose and a clear-eyed perspective, Liang Xiaosheng dissects life’s challenges, confronting its confusions and hardships, delivering the wisdom that the attitude we choose determines the scenery of our lives.

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In this life, we must ultimately learn to make peace with ourselves and the world.
Letting go is the moment you find the way of living that suits you best.

Gain and loss lie in the heart; life is a journey of self-redemption.
What exhausts you is not life or work, but inner turmoil.

This book is a guide for the lost, written by Liang Xiaosheng, winner of the 10th Mao Dun Literature Prize and original author of the TV series "A Lifelong Journey". It is also a heartfelt soliloquy from Liang Xiaosheng himself.
Within these pages, you will encounter topics deeply relevant to life — love, existence, family, kinship, marriage, society, work, daily living, adversity, loneliness, and more. There are recollections of the past, reflections on life, contemplations on society, and summaries of the author’s accumulated wisdom. The writing flows with tender warmth yet remains clear-eyed about the world; it offers serious, profound insights alongside witty humor, as well as fervent hopes for life and the sentiments found in everyday existence. The sincere and unadorned prose reflects the author’s commitment to humanistic values, with thoughtful, compassionate examinations of human relationships and worldly affairs — all radiating the brilliance, warmth, and dignity of humanity.
Life’s weariness stems partly from survival and partly from inner turmoil; life’s joy arises partly from simplicity and partly from the ordinary. When you learn to make peace with yourself and the world, you will have found the way of living that suits you best.

Liang Xiaosheng

He was born in 1949 in Harbin with ancestral roots in Rongcheng, Shandong. He is a renowned contemporary Chinese writer and scholar. Currently, he serves as a senior professor at the School of Humanities of Beijing Language and Culture University, a member of the National Committee of the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC), and a researcher at the Central Research Institute of Culture and History. To date, he has authored over ten million words of literary works, including essays, novels, commentaries, and documentary literature. His representative works include "Tonight There’s a Snowstorm", "The Rings of Time", and "Educated Youth". In 2019, he won the 10th Mao Dun Literature Prize for his novel "A Lifelong Journey".

Chapter 1: Dreams Are Life
Fudan University and Me
Thoughts on the Red Belt in My Zodiac Year
The Collections of Boys in the Past
Bathing in the Old Days
The Era of Shopping Vouchers
Stories of Pay Raises
Matters of Clothing, Hats, Shoes, and Socks

Chapter 2: Love Is You and Me
A Memorandum on Marriage
A Love Like Jade
Delicate Eyebrows
The Sheepskin Lampshade
Stories of Romance
Stories of Marriage and Divorce
Giving Love a Break

Chapter 3: Home Is the Journey Back
My Mother Keeps Snails
On a Mother’s Deep Affection
Parents Are the Purest Form of Humanity
A Letter to My Elder Brother
A Letter to My Younger Sister
The Feeling of Being a Father
My Nostalgia for Hometown
On "Filial Piety"
The Meaning of Warmth
Stories of Building Houses Back Then

Chapter 4: The Heart Is the World
A Message for the School Anniversary
Gratitude
Perhaps a Missed Fate
Stories of Housing Allocation
What Does Urbanization Truly Change?
On Reading
Fiction Is Ordinary
The Face of a Century of Culture
This Is How We Chinese Are

Delicate Eyebrows

A burning candle wept, remaining only half. It was not the kind of red candle lit at weddings, birthdays, or altars, but a plain white one, produced solely for illumination. After nightfall, a girl wanted to go to the basement to retrieve her old toys. She said, "Dad, the basement light is broken. I'm a little scared to go alone. Will you come with me?" Her father was reading the newspaper. Without looking up, he replied, "Ask your mother to go with you." So she begged her mother instead. Her mother said, "Can’t you see I’m applying a face mask?" Left with no choice, the girl mustered her courage, lit a candle, and went alone.
The candle had been used a few times before — during power outages — but only briefly each time, so it wasn’t much shorter than a brand-new one. The girl entered the basement, stuck the candle to the corner of a broken table with melted wax, quickly found her old toys and left, forgetting to take the candle with her. And so, the candle burned on the table, lonely and meaningless.
By midnight, the candle had burned down to half its length. It could no longer hold back its tears — its meaningless burning tormented it. In truth, the candle had been shedding tears all along, but for a candle, weeping as it burns does not necessarily mean it is sorrowful, much less that it is truly crying. It is simply instinct, like a person sweating while laboring. When a candle burns past its halfway point, its tears stop flowing for a while. At this moment, the base of the flame begins to hollow out — this is the candle’s state of wanting to cry but not yet crying. The tears no longer drip. The melted wax, clear as pure water, pools at the base of the flame, filling higher and higher…
When wine is poured into a cup, it can rise above the rim without spilling. Likewise, when a candle is on the verge of crying, its tears can gather just as high at the base of the flame. By then, the wick has grown unusually long. The top of the wick is completely charred, no longer functioning as a proper wick, bending down like a scorched ear of grain or the blackened tip of a hook or sickle. The flame flickers, the candlelight dimming and brightening unpredictably. The candle appears to be holding back overwhelming sorrow, its "eyes brimming with tears". If the wick is not trimmed at this point, the flame will inevitably burn downward, lapping at the pooled wax, occasionally letting out faint sighs. That is the sound of the candle weeping. The wax, gathered to the point of overflowing, can no longer hold back — it spills over in an instant, like tears streaming from a person’s eyes…
At this moment, the candle is truly crying, audibly weeping.
A freshly lit candle only sheds tears — it does not weep. At that stage, the candle often feels a kind of joy in burning. It savors the ambience of its own glow, finding it delightful and amusing. Even if its light serves no purpose, it does not feel as though it is wasting its life…
But once a candle burns past its halfway point, it will truly grow sorrowful. A candle is a living being. Its melancholy arises from an infinite attachment to its own life, much like how a person past fifty laments the brevity of existence. After burning halfway, the candle enters a state of rapid consumption, its life draining away faster than before…This candle of our story became aware of this. It even felt a pang of panic.
"Friend, why are you so sad?"
It heard a voice — shy and delicate — asking. The candle cast its light around and spotted tiny, dancing specks of orange glow in the upper corner of the basement. They were larger than the light of a firefly’s tail but not as sharply defined. Perhaps, the candle thought, those are the only other living things in this basement. But what could they be?
"I’m speaking to you, friend. Seeing your tears breaks my heart!"
The voice indeed came from those floating orange lights.
The candle replied mournfully, "Yes, I am crying. But who are you?"
"Me? I’m a moth. A tiny, ugly moth, just three days old. Haven’t you heard of us moths?"
As the moth spoke, it fluttered toward the candle… The candle immediately cried out in warnin, "Don’t come near me! Stay away, stay away!"
The moth’s four wings traced four elegant arcs of orange phosphorescence in the air as it changed course. But unlike a hummingbird, a moth cannot hover in place by fluttering continuously.
So, after heeding the candle’s warning, it could only circle up and down just beyond the reach of the candlelight.
Puzzled, the moth asked, "Friend, do you really dislike me so much?"
The candle didn’t dislike it at all. Having another living thing to talk to before its own life ended was more than it could have hoped for. But this candle knew the old saying: "Moths fly into flames". That knowledge had always filled it with guilt. It didn’t want its flame to destroy another life. It believed moths were rather lovely creatures. Other candles had told it that if a moth died in its flame, it shouldn’t feel guilty — after all, the moth brought it upon itself. Besides, most moths were considered pests, harmful to humans…
After a moment of silence, the candle countered, "Foolish moth, don’t you know how dangerous it is to come near me?"
Unexpectedly, the moth replied, "Of course I know. Humans think we moths deserve it. And as for you candles — well, I imagine the kind ones feel guilty about us, while the cruel ones take pride in our tragic fate. Am I right?"
The candle was taken aback. This moth had an eerily accurate understanding of their psychology. It didn’t know how to respond.
"If I’m right, which kind of candle are you?" The moth continued fluttering gracefully, its tone naive, even slightly mischievous.
The candlelight turned red — a sign of the white candle’s embarrassment. The moth’s presence eased its loneliness and softened its sorrow.
"If I were a cruel candle", it muttered, "would I have warned you to stay away?"
The moth exclaimed joyfully, "So you’re a kind candle! But do you know how we moths feel about 'flying into flames'?"
Honestly, the candle admitted it did not.
"We do it out of admiration for you candles!"
"Admiration… for us?" The candle was baffled.
"Yes, admiration. In this world, for us moths, the most beautiful, the most worthy of our love, is not anything else — not even the most handsome among our own kind — but you candles! Truly, you candles are so admirable! Your bodies are so straight, so elegant, like the figures of young, dashing gentlemen. Your light is so gentle, your silence — oh, your noble silence! And your tears… they break our hearts yet intoxicate us! They stir in us an irresistible urge to cherish you. No moth can suppress that impulse in your presence…"
The candlelight grew redder still. The candle was flustered. From other candles, it had heard many human praises, but this was the first time it had received such a frank, fervent confession of love — and from a moth, no less.
Shyly, it said, "I never imagined… the truth would be like this…"
The moth, tired from flying, alighted on another corner of the table and rested there. Then it asked, "Aren’t you curious whether I’m a moth that harms humans… or one that doesn’t?"
Its voice was even shyer, even softer, its tone naive. Only now, the hint of playfulness had given way to solemnity.