阳光·风起·云开·朝日 Sunlight · Wind Rises · Clouds Part · Morning Sun
Sunlight gives without end, shining over five thousand years of China— through periods of glorious, radiant history, and times of devastation, shattered rivers and mountains, scarred by humiliation and foreign domination.
Wind rises, time leafs through the legacy of dynasties; heroes live on, their valor passed down in timeless verse. They laid the foundation of a great nation, their spirit endures, their flame never fades.
Clouds part, awakening soaring ambitions. New China rises, 1.3 billion compatriots join hands and strive forward, building a flourishing era together, forging a brand new age.
Morning sun shines upon a renewed, resplendent land, born of generations’ tireless endeavor, bringing strength to the nation and technological leaps. With faith and duty held deep in our hearts, we march onward toward a radiant, promising future.
太阳老爷爷 · 阳光照不到的地方 Grandpa Sun · The Place Where Sunlight Cannot Reach
Grandpa Sun, are you tired? Billions of years have passed— You remain steadfast and tireless, day after day: a quiet flame, a silent guardian.
Even when dark clouds blanket the sky, and storms rage without mercy, your light—steadfast as ever— still reaches every shadowed corner of the world.
No matter how many struggles or barriers arise, as long as one is willing to open up, sunlight will quietly find its way in.
Beneath the blazing sun, there are no illusions, no lies. Yet this world hides so much darkness, lurking in corners where light cannot reach. The depths of the human heart— a coldness even the fiercest sun cannot melt.
Sentient life, after four billion years of tossing and turning, emerged gently from clay minerals and organic specks. Human civilization—barely five thousand years— in Grandpa Sun’s eyes, not even a fleeting breath. —And yet, we ask: have we already reached the end?
We defy the “Way”, and harbour the arrogance of defying Heaven. Plunder and conquest, genocide, ceaseless slaughter. History repeats itself— again and again, without end.
To become a virus to all life and the Earth’s ecosystem. Even viruses have the awareness not to destroy their hosts. But we— we’ve cast aside all restraint. We ravage our Mother Earth, lay waste to our only home. And in the end, we will surely destroy ourselves.
One day and night, the wind stirs old dreams, the rain nurtures new life. A journey of the heart.
Last night’s wind, wrinkled an autumn pond, swirled the scattered leaves, ruffled a fading dream, and blew away a lost connection.
This morning’s rain, sprinkled lines of words from the heart, lifted a curtain of recollections, wet the dried-up memories, and blurred the reflections in the lake.
The morning’s gentle light, dyes the sky’s horizon gold, welcomes a clear, sunny dawn. Light spreads across the earth, igniting all life’s vigor, nurturing all life.
The evening’s fading glow, paints half the sky red, awaits the gentle night. Night’s curtain lowers, resting the world’s busy cares, quiet night warmly heals body, mind, and soul.
Last night’s wind, this morning’s rain, Between dawn’s light and evening’s shade, the heart journeys with day and night, while dreams embrace the morning bright.
From Faded Dreams to Morning Light • Prose Reflection
One full day and night — a journey of the heart. To walk from night into dawn is to embark on a quiet voyage of farewell and renewal. It is a crossing through time, a complete cycle of change. The wind scatters the past; the rain nourishes what’s to come. It is the letting go of past dreams, memories, and connections — and the gentle arrival at morning light, at hope, at new beginnings. With calm acceptance and quiet release, the heart passes through — unresisting, unbound, simply following its own course.
Last night’s wind stirred the stillness of the heart, ruffling its surface and lifting leaves long settled in dust — memories thought forgotten, but never truly gone. Old dreams, faded connections — all undone, all scattered.
This morning’s rain called forth heart-whispers long unspoken, lifting a curtain of past moments. Fragments of memory — once believed dried and sealed away — are softly moistened by the gentle rain, rippling again through the soul, blurring reflections, half-remembered, half-lost.
And then — the clear morning sun. Its light ignites the vitality of all living things. But it is more than nature’s awakening; it is the turning of a page within, the rebirth of the spirit — a farewell to faded dreams, an embrace of morning light.
In the tenderness of night, emotions find balance, and the heart quietly heals. Worldly cares fall away one by one. Old dreams drift off with the wind — and at last, the soul comes to rest in stillness.
Wind and rain have borne witness to the soul’s journey and its quiet transformation. Through the passage of day and night, the spirit awakens from its old dreams, and in the morning light, finds the hope of being gently held once more.
c.h.e.f 