Under the heavy snow of old Shanghai, a man stood at the gate, unable to step inside his friend’s home. His family had collapsed, and all he could say was, “We’ll meet again.” Then he turned and walked away, tears streaming.
Li Shutong stood in the snow for an entire hour, watching his friend disappear into the white expanse. He said nothing. He did not chase after him. He simply let the snow fall on his shoulders.
Back inside, he closed the door and asked Miss Yezi to play the zither. As the music flowed, tears fell, and he wrote: “Outside the pavilion, by the ancient road, green grass stretches to the sky.”
This was not just a farewell to a friend. It was a farewell to a chapter of life, to a kind of worldly fate.
Life is a journey. Meetings and partings come and go. The deepest goodbyes need no grand gestures—only a quiet heart that holds the memory close.
Cherish every encounter. Let go of every departure with grace.