“Have You Ever Seen Fireflies?” — A Camping Night by the Heihui River Rewrote Their Childhood

We arrived at the fishing spot our friend had chosen on a whim just as the last rays of daylight were being pulled from the mountains and rivers, cast to the other side of the earth. In the faint light between dusk and night, we set up our tent and canopy on a relatively flat and open patch of grass by the Heihui River, where we would spend a night of unknown weather.

A thick cloud cover hid everything in darkness; only at dawn could we see our surroundings. After setting up camp, we walked to our friend's fishing spot and stood quietly on the bank, watching him and his companion cast their lines into the murky, yellow-brown Heihui River. During the rainy season, countless streams carrying sediment rush from the mountains into the river, turning it into a turbid slurry that drags its heavy steps downstream. We weren't interested in fishing, so after a short while, we headed back to camp.

Turning back, we were delighted to see a small group of lost stars fallen from the Milky Way, flickering and floating a few meters above the ground, silently singing a nearly forgotten lullaby in the darkness. The children had never seen them before—only read about them in books. But we, who grew up in the countryside, instantly recognized what this group of about a dozen was. Yes, they were fireflies, which we hadn't seen in decades or more—the sprites that once enlivened silent summer nights in our childhood, the beautiful imagery of "catching fireflies with a silk fan."

Seeing these free-flying fireflies, we were thrilled, but our friend and his companion seemed unfazed. They probably come here often to night fish during this season, so they easily encounter these nearly extinct sprites. The moment I saw the fireflies dancing gracefully on the hillside, I thought of my hometown in the southern countryside, those bright summer nights as clear as day. A group of carefree kids would go to the riverbank, eavesdropping on whispering young couples, while countless fireflies surrounded us all, joyfully sharing the purest summer night moments.

We hadn't been immersed in the joy of the fireflies for long when a sudden downpour scattered them. We took shelter under the canopy, watching the dark clouds in the northern sky lit up by lightning, drifting toward us along the riverbed, pouring down a crackling rain, then passing over our heads toward a village not far to the south.

We huddled in the cramped space to avoid the rain and listen to the thunder, watching the distant village's dim lights fade into silence. Suddenly, I saw a firefly land on a bag in a small cart nearby, flickering as it took shelter under a straw hat. I approached the mysterious little sprite to get a closer look, but it warily stopped glowing, becoming part of the darkness. When I stepped back, it started flickering again. The rain stopped, and we stepped out of the canopy. On the nearby hillside, an even smaller group of fireflies appeared—only five or six—and we wondered if they were the same group we had seen earlier. Before we went to sleep, one firefly remained under the straw hat, sheltering from the rain, for who knows how long.

In the first half of the night, we were so thrilled by the fireflies that we couldn't calm down for a long time. In the second half, while everyone was fast asleep, I was repeatedly awakened by raindrops hitting the tent. I don't know how many rains fell during the night. At 4 a.m., roosters crowed from the village on the slope across the Heihui River, followed by dogs barking. I kept hearing rustling sounds and feared it might be snakes, so I didn't dare step out of the tent until the darkness completely faded.

At 6:30, it was fully light. I stepped out of the tent, went to the small cart, and carefully lifted the brim of the hat, but saw nothing—the firefly had vanished. However, the scenery by the Heihui River was now clearly before me. The tent was pitched among blooming ageratum, whose strong fragrance drifted into the tent, fresh and pleasant. Along the riverbank, more yellow-flowered prickly poppies grew. Using the murky river as a backdrop to photograph the prickly poppies created an unexpected beauty. In the early morning light, I excitedly inspected the natural environment where the fireflies lived, even mistaking an old tree stump standing upright in the shallow water for a fisherman pulling in his net.

Clouds and mist drifted from unseen mountain hollows toward the river and the village opposite, making everything seem like a fairyland, far from the hustle and bustle. On the way back, we saw the mountains along the Waijiao River appearing and disappearing in the mist. The towering cliffs during the rainy season resembled the wonders of the Three Gorges, unforgettable. And the fireflies we encountered that night felt like a lingering dream from decades past, like Zhuangzi dreaming of a butterfly.

Due to the poor lighting conditions at night and the limitations of our equipment, we only captured a short video of this firefly flickering in the darkness.