Azhu said the seagulls have already flown back, and the metasequoias by the lake have turned completely red, but she hasn't had time to go see them, nor the leisure to enjoy the scenery of Erhai. The beautification in advertisements is completely detached from reality, making it feel illusory and even a bit ridiculous. Life has kept her so busy that Erhai, just a dozen meters away, has become an ordinary sight in her life, almost as transparent and invisible as air. In the face of reality, aesthetics are as meaningless to her as a winter meadow is to cattle and horses.
Having lived by Erhai for eight years, I've now been away for three or four years. The construction of the ecological corridor has greatly changed Erhai's appearance. The Erhai along the West Ring Road used to be full of primitive, wild, pure beauty, but now it's completely different. The uniquely shaped ancient willows in the shallow waters and the dense, untouched reed thickets were once unique, leaving a deep impression on travelers. But when I returned to Erhai after many years, they had become as illusory as dreams, making me nostalgic. Fortunately, this season, the seagulls have returned as scheduled, and the metasequoias are as brilliant as in my memory. The beauty of the past can still be traced in them; they are not mere illusions.
The metasequoia forest at Longkan Pier is the most impressive. They stand like old friends in the shallow water, welcoming long-lost companions, with the gentle breeze intoxicating. The sunlight shines from the east, spreading across the calm lake like a starry water road, bringing warmth and boundless peace across the water. Closing my eyes, it feels as if life has never existed at this moment, fresh as a newborn. But the villages outside the corridor have changed dramatically, no longer the simple, quiet villages of the past. They are now as noisy as the cookie-cutter internet-famous ancient towns, lacking the former tranquility.
Flocks of seagulls drift with the waves, as if sleeping in a warm and comfortable cradle, or soar in the blue sky with graceful postures, full of freedom and beauty. They have traveled thousands of kilometers from Siberia to get here, not for the biscuits in ignorant tourists' hands. What they love is the warm sunshine here, the tiny ripples on the lake, the once-isolated ancient willow stumps, and the pure unity of sky and water. But they don't understand the dangers of the human world, nor that the hands extended with good intentions actually hide a sharp blade. If you have seen the seagull corpses with bloated white bellies along the deliberately built seaside corridor at Majiuyi, you would understand how terrifying that blade is. They didn't die from the long journey but from excessive feeding by humans. Yet the young man selling biscuits to tourists at Longkan Pier didn't notice, or rather, he chose to ignore it, just for his own profit. And those tourists? They only want to make their photos look better.
The metasequoias by the lake are rare surviving "old objects." Due to their uniqueness, they escaped the fate of being man-made. They stand quietly in the water, appearing much more steady compared to the agile seagulls, still maintaining the eternal posture of more than a decade ago or even longer. The winter sun is generous; day after day, they absorb this abundant and intense winter sunlight, and unreservedly project the sun's warm colors onto their slender needles, bold and unrestrained, presenting a distinctive orange-red brilliance against the blue of sky and sea, as passionate as flames, but more enduring than fire.
The lakeside wetland at Xiajiyi is much quieter. There are few tourists on the grass, so hoopoes and sparrows can forage safely and walk freely without fear. The seagulls here are also more leisurely. They like to perch on distant buoys, lined up in a row, as pure as the snow on the top of Cangshan Mountain. The fish in the water are the seagulls' prey. They watch the fish swim around and occasionally dive into the water. Coming up empty is common, but they are not greedy; they won't let their bellies swell like balloons and die as a result.
Azhu's sour-spicy fish tastes better than ever, but she still thinks it's not good enough and keeps trying and improving. Erhai today is not what it used to be, but like the seagulls returning in winter and the metasequoias turning red in winter, she has never changed, always maintaining her beauty.
