"Three Horses" is a light classic novel by Mo Yan, and I opened it because of his name. The story isn't long; I finished it in about ten minutes on the subway! My first reaction: What was it about? I didn't understand! The writing is a bit dry, requiring careful reading and consideration of each word, and also requiring an understanding of the story behind it! After reading several reviews of the novel and going back to reread it, I gradually started to grasp its meaning.

"A chestnut-colored foal, every single hair on its body the color of a ripe chestnut shell, a glossy purple," "A chestnut-colored mare, with glossy, smooth skin, girlish eyes and eyebrows, even its lips as bright red as May cherries," "A black draft horse, as large and powerful as a pine tree." These three horses were the spiritual sustenance of farmer Liu Qi. Because he wanted to buy horses, he couldn't afford to eat or drink, leading to the separation of his wife and children. Finally, with his three horses, he thought he could finally hold his head high!

However, the story's ending was not as he hoped, perhaps a consequence of the times. Three horses, two dead, one gone alone. "The yellow earth, the green rice, the black horse, gradually merged into one. People watched, but no one spoke..." The story contains many characters and many tales, forming a complex, dramatic, concise, and masterful narrative. Its rich content and profound meaning are beyond my literary ability to fully express... But I've been pondering: the horse was the farmer Liu Qi's spiritual anchor; the horse was in his spirit. And when the horse was gone in "an instant," his anchor vanished. What would his future hold? We all have our own spiritual anchors—perhaps a beloved career, a thoughtful gift, money in our wallets, or a beautiful dream... But when all this shatters, how can one escape the spiritual maze, bounce back, and find a bright future?

Perhaps it's a complete collapse, but I hope every day is sunny, that we find new anchors, because "with hope in our hearts, life has strength!"

I remember an old woman telling me that long ago, a mother missed her son, so she bit her finger. The son, far away, felt a pain in his heart, knowing his mother was thinking of him… Now, I've also bitten my finger, until it aches slightly.

I hope this signal has reached you, letting you know I'm thinking of you, so that on this mysterious rainy night, you too can sit quietly by the window, listening to your talkative sister tell you about the past, present, and future that have suddenly come to mind.

Brother, right now, a light spring rain is falling over our hometown. It's been raining for over two hours since eight o'clock. The village is already asleep; apart from the patter of the rain, there's no other sound. A refreshing breeze drifted in through the window, occasionally carrying a tiny raindrop onto my face. Brother, do you still remember my face? The face you once kissed.

People say I'm handsome, that my face is like a magnolia petal that never tans; you say I'm not ugly, that my face, like a magnolia petal, doesn't tan. Others say that to flatter me, but you say it because you love me.

Actually, my face tans very easily. If you saw me now, you would definitely cup my face in your hands and say, "Oh! My magnolia petal has turned into a rose petal!" You would definitely say that, you certainly would, because you love me…

In the blink of an eye, we've been married for two years. The third day of the third lunar month two years ago was our auspicious day. That day, a light drizzle fell from the sky, and the air was crisp and fragrant.

I didn't sleep a wink all night, and got out of bed at the crack of dawn. I didn't wash or change my clothes; instead, I took out all the seashells, conches, and pebbles you gave me and wiped them clean with a handkerchief. I stroked the smooth, sparkling pebbles, the iridescent seashells, and the strangely shaped conches, and I seemed to hear the laughter of the waves and see the golden beach before my eyes.

I know you are a soldier guarding an island, and you deeply love everything on the island. You felt that what you loved, I would surely love as well, so you sent me these treasures of the sea and the beach. Time and again, I've collected dozens of these precious items.

You've transformed me, a girl who had never seen the sea before, into a sea and island enthusiast. Whenever I see those wondrous and magnificent images and mysterious words in movies or books, my heart trembles, because seeing the sea and islands reminds me of you, breathing with the islands.

The treasures you gave me tell me every moment of the magnificent scenery and moving myths of their homeland. Every night, I need to stroke them to fall asleep, and they naturally enter my dreams. In my dreams, I follow them to a nameless island, sparkling like a diamond, nestled in a vast expanse of blue water…

Brother, ever since we reconciled, I've longed for you to come back… but you joined the army. When you left, I went to see you off. By the willow grove outside the village, you said to me, “Lanmei, wait for me, I'll be back in three years.”

I know you're on the right path, joining the army is a good thing, but my heart aches, and tears stream down my face uncontrollably. Looking around to make sure no one was there, you gently wiped my tears with your fingertips. I wanted to rush into your arms, but I didn't dare…

You left, you left along the winding country road. You didn't come back for three years, then four, and finally, five and a half years later you returned.

My brother, I've finally waited for you to come back. People say that soldiers who get promoted to officers marry other men, but you're different. You, a 26-year-old political instructor, married me on the third day after you returned.

Brother, I'm so grateful to you! Finding a husband is easy, but finding a soulmate is not, but I found one. I'm a member of the Communist Youth League, I don't believe in ghosts or gods. But I still thank God for giving me such a good son-in-law.

You said you should also thank God for giving you such a good wife. You said it's not easy for soldiers to find partners these past two years, especially for soldiers guarding an island. You said a pretty girl like me could easily find someone better than you. I quickly covered your mouth with my hand, not letting you say such things.

I told you I will love you forever, yes, forever! You said you will love me forever too, just like you will love that nameless island forever.

You put me after the island; you love the island more than me. If it were a person, I would be jealous. I didn't understand why you loved that deserted island in the middle of the sea so passionately.

I asked, "If both I and the island were to be lost, which would you save first?"

You said, "The island!"

I was angry. A living, breathing person couldn't compare to that rocky, barren island.

I cried, but you laughed.

You laughed and said, "Silly girl! The island is our motherland's territory. To love the island is to love our motherland; is someone who doesn't love their motherland worthy of your love?"

I smiled sheepishly, tears welling in my eyes.

That morning, just past nine o'clock, you came to pick me up on your bicycle. From afar, I could hear the ringing of your bell, its tinkling sound as cheerful as a babbling brook, as crisp as pearls falling onto a jade plate.

You were wearing a brand-new military uniform, a red flower pinned to your chest. The light rain had soaked your polyester uniform, making the flower, the star, and the two flags appear even redder.

A fine layer of water droplets clung to your face, tanned dark by the sea breeze—I couldn't tell if they were sweat or raindrops. You smiled at me, you smiled at everyone, revealing a set of white teeth, the small canine tooth on your left gleaming brightly.

Other girls' weddings are always accompanied by a long procession of bicycles, but we only had two people on one bike. You carried me, and I sat on the blanket-padded back seat, secretly reaching out to wrap my arm around your waist, leaning against your broad back.

I felt your warmth intimately, my heart pounding like a deer. Your parents' home was a little over ten miles from ours, and you rode very, very slowly, frequently turning back to look at me.

The rain, though light, still got soaking after a while; strands of my bangs stuck to my forehead. My shoulders and the bulges of my chest were wet, and I felt a chill. I wanted to urge you to ride faster, but I was afraid of spoiling your fun. What's a little hardship compared to what you want?

You turned back to look at me, twisted the handlebars, and tumbled down into the ditch, bike and all. I lay on my back at the bottom, my pants, shirt, and the back of my head covered in mud. The little bundle I was carrying was scattered everywhere—pebbles, seashells, conches, eggs, all strewn about. How wonderful! Everyone else carries their bride to the kang (heated brick bed), but you've thrown me into the ditch.

Your hand was cut, bleeding, but you didn't seem to feel any pain. You quickly picked me up, turning me over and over, as if I were a mud doll that would shatter at the slightest touch.

I deliberately lowered my eyes, pretending to be unhappy. You clumsily apologized, repeatedly banging your head. Seeing your silly antics, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. We started picking up the scattered things. Beautiful seashells and pebbles were covered in yellow mud, which I wiped on my clothes. You stared in surprise. I said, "Since the clothes are dirty anyway, these treasures need to be clean." You agreed immediately, picked up a tiger shell, and started rubbing it on my back, making me feel uncomfortably itchy—you're so naughty!

After the fall, our mood improved even more, and our hearts drew closer.

The light rain flew towards us, brightening our eyes and sweetening our hearts. I really wanted to stay a little longer in this refreshing rain, and you guessed my thoughts perfectly. You said, "Lanlan, the road is muddy. To avoid falling into the ditch again, let's walk slowly. When we get home, I'll make you some ginger soup to keep you from catching a cold." I said, "I'll do anything you say."

You smiled, took the handlebars with one hand, and held my hand with the other, and we slowly walked forward. The path winds and twists, lined with rows of graceful willows, their buds half-open, their branches tinged with a tender, pale yellow.

Our village is a famous peach orchard; from afar, you can see a pinkish glow mingling with the intermittent, misty rain. Green willows, red peaches, fine rain, and the two of us—all intertwined harmoniously, inseparable, unbreakable…

You said our hometown was incredibly beautiful, like a vibrant watercolor painting; you said you'd paint a "Peach Blossoms in the Drizzle" for me. You're so talented, a poet and a painter; my love for you is almost superstitious.

The painting you gave me, "Misty Clouds over a Small Island," has captivated my heart. The gently rippling, rosy sea, the few strokes of colorful clouds where the water meets the sky, the white gulls with crimson wings circling above the island, the mysterious island shrouded in iridescent mist… Though I've never been to the island, I know it intimately, as well as I know you.

I had long ago snatched the framed copy of "Island in Mist" from my parents' house (my sister-in-law was quite unhappy, scolding me for being "outgoing as a girl grows up"), and hung it neatly on the wall of our bridal chamber. I framed our wedding photo within "Island in Mist."

My neighbor's second sister, who studies art, said it disrupted the harmony of the picture. I said, "You don't understand." She smiled and nodded, saying, "I understand. I appreciate it from an artistic perspective, while you embellish it with the heart of love. There's no contradiction at all."

Yes, that's indeed true. I did this purely out of love for you, love for everything connected to you. How I long to lean tightly on your shoulder, and melt into the misty glow of this little island with you…

Look at me, your silly little sister, so silly! Won't you laugh at me? Yes, you won't. You once told me, "Lanlan, my silly girl, loves to dream, loves to cry, and is still like an innocent child…" You love this silly side of me, don't you?

We got married on the third day of the third lunar month two years ago, and this year it's been a full two years. But we've only had twenty days together.

I remember after our wedding, the dreamlike days flew by like a shuttle. Before our honeymoon was over, with ten days of vacation left, you had to leave. You said a new batch of soldiers had just arrived on the island, and there was a lot of ideological work to do. You said there was a soldier from Sichuan who still had bedwetting problems, and you had to rush back to give him "mental therapy." You said it was time to plant new seedlings in the vegetable gardens on the island. You said you hadn't seen the island for twenty days, hadn't heard the roar of the waves for twenty days, and felt an emptiness in your heart…

You were leaving, and everyone at home was surprised, as were the neighbors. My parents said, "The island won't miss you…" The neighbors gossiped, "Is your wife not satisfactory…?" I couldn't say anything, just stared at you with teary eyes. I so wished you could stay a few more days, no, even just one more day…

You saw what I wanted to say in my eyes, and for a moment, you seemed to hesitate, a look of agonizing indecision on your face. I'm not that kind of fool; I don't want you to change your right decision because of me. The company needs you, the island needs you. Go if you want, just don't forget me.

You held my hand and said, "Thank you, dear sister…" I said, "Who needs your thanks…" As I spoke, strings of tears fell onto your hand… You left, and I couldn't go with you—our parents are old, and I need to take care of them.

And so, you left along the country path shaded by weeping willows. When you returned, the peach blossoms were in full bloom, like wispy, carefree clouds; when you left, the branches, with their uneven green leaves, were just beginning to bear fuzzy little peaches with long, trailing tails. Two years have passed since you left—two years is twenty-four months, a year is three hundred and sixty days! Last year, the peach blossoms bloomed like rosy clouds, but you didn't see them; this year, the peach blossoms bloom again like smoke and clouds, but you still didn't see them…

You left carrying two large bags of yellow soil from your hometown, refusing all the boiled eggs and roasted peanuts I had prepared for you. You said that soil was more precious than gold on the island, and that all the officers and soldiers returning home on leave brought soil back with them.

You left with the yellow soil from your hometown, the yellow soil I had packed myself; you left with my longing, the longing condensed in the yellow soil.

You sent me twenty-four letters, each one I read over and over again, kissing them repeatedly. These letters, carrying the salty scent of the sea, flown from the depths of the ocean, conveying the waves' longing for the land. Why do the waves leap tirelessly, waving their hands excitedly like children? I think it's their heartfelt lament, pouring out their yearning and love for the land.

Reading your letter, it's as if I'm sitting before you, listening to your gentle narration. Your two slender eyes blink intelligently, your sharply defined lips move softly.

You say that three days of fierce winds have just swept across the sea, and the ocean, now calm and serene, is exceptionally tranquil. Long waves stretch slowly across the surface, like a gentle breeze blowing through a May wheat field…

You say that when a storm rises at sea, the nameless island seems to tremble. In the depths of the ocean, it was as if thousands of wild horses were galloping, as if tens of thousands of horns were sounding, as if tens of thousands of cannons were booming; waves five or six meters high poured down on the island from all directions like cannon fire, or as if countless giant claws of monstrous beasts were tearing it apart...

You said that even in such terrible weather, you still led your comrades into battle, constantly adjusting the machine's knobs, searching the vast, high sea and sky with your electronically sharp eyes, your eyes fixed on the fluctuating curves and flickering dots on the screen. You knew that those needle-like bright spots, those awn-like silver lines, were sometimes echoes from reefs, sometimes passing ships; you were determined to capture those malevolent "sharks" from these ever-changing lines and dots.

You said that in a sudden typhoon, the cement tiles on the newspaper office vanished, and the heavy steel frame collapsed like a paper kite. Two soldiers on duty were trapped inside the building. You kicked open the window, jumped in, and rescued them, narrowly escaping being crushed by a falling concrete component…

Seeing this, my heart leaped into my throat. I was so worried about you! Brother, please be careful, God bless you…

In your letter, you asked me to gather jujube seeds from the ditch and collect rehmannia root from the fields. You said you wanted to use them to treat the young soldier from Sichuan who had just turned eighteen and was suffering from bedwetting. You said he was tormented by this embarrassing condition, burdened by mental stress, and even had some unhealthy thoughts. You patiently worked on his mindset, and you made three requests of the comrades in the company: first, to care for Xiao Ding; second, to help Xiao Ding; and third, not to discriminate against Xiao Ding.

You let Xiao Ding move into your dormitory, and you put an alarm clock under your pillow to wake him up three times every night to relieve himself. You took him for morning runs to improve his physical condition; you told him stories of Paul to strengthen his will. You told me that Xiao Ding's illness was improving.

You told me again that after taking the herbs I gathered, Xiao Ding was completely cured. You sent me a photo of Xiao Ding; his slender eyes and curved eyebrows made him look just like your younger brother. He was smiling at me in the photo, and looking at my hands, covered in small scars from the thorns of the jujube trees, my heart felt as sweet as honey…

The summer before last, you said you harvested a 100-pound winter melon from the vegetable garden on the island, as big as the stone roller used in our hometown's threshing ground. Last autumn, you said you went crabbing with the soldiers and got your finger pinched by a crab claw. This spring, you said that while patrolling the beach, you picked up…