Liu Yuxi, also known by his courtesy name Mengde, was a literary and philosophical figure from the Tang Dynasty. Liu Zongyuan, also known by his courtesy name Zihou, was another prominent literary and philosophical figure from the same era in China. When they were born, the Tang Dynasty had experienced the An Lushan Rebellion, a devastating civil war in 8th century China which was led by the general An Lushan against the Tang dynasty. Lasting from 755 to 763, it resulted in widespread destruction, loss of life, and political upheaval. The rebellion weakened the Tang dynasty, leading to a decline in central authority and a shift in power to regional warlords. The rebellion also had a significant impact on Chinese society and culture, marking a turning point in the history of the Tang dynasty.
 
It was in Chang’an in the ninth year of the Tang Dynasty's Zhengyuan era(793 AD), on the day of the release of the imperial examination results.
 
Liu Yuxi was searching for his own name on the list. Among the successful candidates, besides himself, he also found another name - Liu Zongyuan, a genius youth who had become famous throughout the capital at the age of thirteen. Liu Yuxi had long desired to meet this young prodigy, and Liu Zongyuan had also heard of Liu Yuxi’s talent. When they finally met, they instantly connected and had a delightful conversation. That year, Liu Yuxi was 22 years old, while Liu Zongyuan was 21, both in the prime of their youth, filled with patriotic ideals and aspirations to make a name for themselves in the imperial court.
 
Finally, in the first year of the Yongzhen era(805 AD), they had the opportunity to put their political ideals into practice. Liu Zongyuan and Liu Yuxi participated in the political reform led by Wang Shuwen, the teacher of Emperor Shunzong of Tang. That was the proudest moment in their lives, dismissing corrupt officials, restraining the power of local military forces, wholeheartedly striving to rejuvenate the Tang Dynasty.
 
The lights of the Imperial Censorate burned brightest during the eight months of reform. Youth was the seed of their later misfortunes. However, it was also the steadfast foundation upon which they resolutely wielded their pens. While stacks of documents continuously exposed the myriad weaknesses of the nation, the small world constructed by candlelight and ink and paper stood firm and mighty, seemingly able to withstand all trials and tribulations, all uncertainties of the future, all separations of life and death.
 
And within this small world, Liu Zongyuan, who had passed the imperial examination alongside Liu Yuxi, was his most cherished friend, his staunchest companion. Similar in age, similar in aspirations, complementary in character, it seemed as if fate intended for them to join hands in such turbulent times and achieve extraordinary feats, so that their names would be forever intertwined, ensuring that mentioning one would always recall the other. Liu Yuxi once jokingly asked on the desk of the Imperial Censorate: “Zihou, when our names echo through the ages, and future generations mention us together, calling out ‘Liu-Liu’ repeatedly, will they marvel at the striking similarity of the pronunciation our names?”
 
Liu Zongyuan looked up seriously and responded: “Perhaps we won't need to wait until the distant future, now might be enough.” Liu Yuxi chuckled at his reply, lightly tapping Liu Zongyuan’s pen with his own, like a casual toast, yet also like a silent but resolute promise. The ink droplet poised on the tip of his pen did not fall with this tap; instead, it flowed onto the paper, thick and dark, just like the endless night outside the window.
 
The ideal life did not last; the reform ultimately proved unsuccessful. The reform, known as “Yongzhen reform”, touched upon the core interests of the regional military governors and the eunuch faction, thus they vigorously suppressed the reform. When Emperor Shunzong of Tang ascended to the throne, he was already ill, and as his condition worsened, the eunuch faction, together with the regional military governors, demanded his abdication. In April 805, Eunuch Ju Wenzhen and others proclaimed Li Chun, the Prince of Guangling, as the crown prince, and on August 5, they forced Shunzong to abdicate in favor of Li Chun, who became Emperor Xianzong of Tang. Upon his ascension, Li Chun immediately cracked down on the reformist faction. Liu Yuxi was demoted to the position of Sima of Langzhou, while Liu Zongyuan was demoted to the position of Sima of Yongzhou. 
 
The position of “Sima” was considered a “nominal official post for waiting out punishment” rather than a true administrative role. Upon arriving in Yongzhou, Liu Zongyuan’s temporary residence was repeatedly hit by fires, forcing him to seek refuge in a temple. Furthermore, his wife and mother both passed away after he had received an edict prohibiting his return to the imperial court for life. His aspiration to rid the country of its ills was abandoned by the times with nowhere to be realized. In addition, Liu Zongyuan was the only son in his family, and his father Liu Zhen had great expectations for him to revitalize the Liu family, which is one of the reasons why he had to enter the court as an official. In such circumstances, he could not help but feel a deep sense of loneliness.
 
In his poem “Early Plum Blossoms,” he wrote, “I long to pluck a branch of plum blossoms to send across the vast expanse, yet the distant path is fraught with mountain and river barriers. As the frosty flowers wither, what can I offer my far-off friends?” This period also saw the composition of “The Solitary Fisherman on the River”, often hailed as “the loneliest poem”, in which he described, “All the mountains are bereft of birds, and all paths are empty of human tread. A fisherman, in his lonely boat, dons his hat and cloak, fishing alone in the icy river, beneath a heavy snowfall.” The fisherman in the poem was, in fact, a tangible embodiment of Liu Zongyuan's solitary state of mind. Liu Zongyuan could only ease his melancholy by immersing himself in the beauty of nature, but the scenery of Yongzhou always stirred something within him. He would remember his youthful vigor during the period of reform, when he had his friend by his side. Now, exiled to Yongzhou, he did not know when he would be able to return.
 
Meanwhile, Liu Yuxi, who was also exiled, had a completely different state of mind. He quickly accepted his situation and wrote “Autumn Words” to comfort his friend Liu Zongyuan: “Since ancient times, literati and scholars have lamented the desolation of autumn, but I believe that autumn is far superior to spring. On a clear autumn day, a crane soars up through the clouds, inspiring my poetic spirit to take flight.” During his time in Langzhou, Liu Yuxi also created a series of poems with folk song characteristics called “Bamboo Branch Songs”. Without the burden of official documents to worry about, he enjoyed a leisurely life.
 
In the tenth year of the Yuanhe era (815 AD), Liu Yuxi and Liu Zongyuan finally returned to Chang'an. However, upon arriving in the capital, Liu Yuxi immediately wrote a poem: “In the Peach Garden of Xuandu Temple, thousands of trees planted, all after Liu Lang(Liu Yuxi) departed”, satirizing the new bureaucrats who held power in the court at that time. This once again angered the emperor, leading to Liu Yuxi being demoted to the post of Buzhou governer, and Liu Zongyuan being demoted to the post of Liuzhou governor. However, Liu Zongyuan believed that “Buzhou is not a place where ordinary people can live, and furthermore, Mengde has his elderly mother at home. I cannot bear to see him in such a dire situation.”, while Liuzhou, though not prosperous, was at least slightly better than Buzhou. He petitioned to be sent to Buzhou instead of Liu Yuxi, and said that “Even if I am condemned again because of this, I will die without regrets.” The Chief Censor at that time, Pei Du, also interceded on behalf of Liu Yuxi, resulting in Liu Yuxi being demoted to Lianzhou, while Liu Zongyuan ended up in the desolate Liuzhou.
 
Liu Yuxi and Liu Zongyuan traveled south together to their places of exile, parting ways by the Xiang River in Hengyang. Perhaps sensing something, Liu Zongyuan wrote three farewell poems to Liu Yuxi, and Liu Yuxi responded with poems of his own. They made a pact to retire together in their old age and become neighbors, shedding tears at their parting but still holding hope for a reunion.
 
After arriving in Liuzhou, Liu Zongyuan did his best to govern the place, turning it into a peaceful and prosperous homeland for the people. However, his health gradually deteriorated. Not wanting Liu Yuxi to worry about him, he refrained from mentioning his illness in their correspondence and made a pact to meet again in Hengyang.
 
In his fourth year as Liuzhou governor, Liu Zongyuan passed away. Before his death, he wrote a letter to Liu Yuxi, saying, “I am unfortunate and die in exile, leaving behind unfinished business to burden my old friend.” Liu Zongyuan hastily but clearly wrote these words, with fresh blood almost flowing from his mouth as he wiped it away with a handkerchief. He remembered the youthful aspirations he and Liu Yuxi had when they achieved success in the imperial examinations, their vigor during the reforms, and their shared laughter and vows of loyalty. Those years seemed like a distant dream, almost surreal. Liu Zongyuan, who had once fought alongside Liu Yuxi, sharing both glory and disgrace, ultimately broke his promise. He entrusted his writings and his orphaned child, Liu Gao, to Liu Yuxi. Perhaps he wondered how he could comfort Liu Yuxi, ease his pain, and provide support in his absence. Could his writings and his son be a source of solace for his friend?
 
In the fifteenth year of the Yuanhe era, Liu Yuxi carried his mother's coffin and arrived in Hengyang. Eagerly anticipating the arrival of his friend, he received a letter instead. As the sun rose from the horizon, a ray of sunlight pierced through the heavy mist, illuminating the end of the letter, marked with tears and bloodstains.
 
Liu Yuxi was so deeply shocked and distressed that he “cried out loudly and raved like a mad man.” In his grief, he wrote three elegies to mourn Liu Zongyuan and composed a touching piece saying, “I recall the farewell at the banks of the Xiang River, as if it were just yesterday. My horse, galloping behind the tree line, whinnied incessantly, while his boat turned the mountain and vanished from sight. Now, I ride my horse along the old path, but his boat is like a lightning bolt that has disappeared forever. In front of me, there are thousands of miles of growing grass, a sea of spring, but my old friend can no longer be seen.”
 
In later years, after enduring 23 years of exile, Liu Yuxi finally returned to the capital. After such a long period of exile, his indomitable spirit remained unbroken. His first act upon his return was to visit Xuandu Temple, the very place where he had been demoted for writing a poem mocking the nobility. Standing before the now-overgrown garden with moss and wild mustard flowers, he composed the lines, “Where have those Taoist priests who planted peaches gone? I, banished from Chang’an, return once more.”
 
He also met Bai Juyi, another famous poet.
 
Liu Yuxi seemed to have become young again in his old age. He could make friends with anyone, and sometimes even drank with young friends until he was totally drunk and fell asleep. He was so happy that it seemed like time had only aged his skin, but not his spirit. Bai Juyi would sometimes marvel at his carefree attitude and call him “Xiaosa,” meaning “free and easy.”
 
“Free and easy?” Liu Yuxi would hold a wine jug and chuckle. “I’m just passing the time as a leisurely person.”
 
Passing time for what? Liu Yuxi didn't know. He had passed the years of pursuing busyness and the passionate days of his youth. When he finally reached the stage where he could leisurely pursue life, he suddenly felt dissatisfied. After all, even now, the reputation of the Yongzhen Reform was still not good, and this was an unspoken truth. However, people were more concerned with the political struggles in the court, and the old accounts of the Yongzhen Reform had long been forgotten.
 
Liu Yuxi knew this too well. He suddenly felt that things are still there, but men are no more the same ones. But since he, Liu Yuxi, was still alive, he still had time to do something, to socialize, to write poems, to join the ranks of young people, and to make people remember the name Liu Yuxi, which was inevitably tied to the Yongzhen Reform and to be remembered together.
 
Only then could names of those people who participated in the reform not be forgotten.
 
After his old friend left without looking back, Liu Yuxi became the only one left who could prove the existence of the Yongzhen Reform and speak up for it. But what about after he died?
 
His friends said he was such an open-minded person, but Liu Yuxi knew that he was not. In those hundred days, he and his friend stood on top of the mountain, and discussed the country’s affairs. But when he fell from grace, the 23 years of exile not only buried his life, but also completely killed his passion for engaging politics. Most importantly, it buried his friend, who should have soared to great heights.
 
When he waited at the riverside for the white sail to arrive, the fog had not even cleared, and the envelope was damp with water marks, as if it was also suffocating his breath. His body and spirit still roamed the world, but a part of his soul was forever left in that November in the fifteenth year of the Yuanhe era, that cold morning when the sun was shining brightly.
 
How could he be relieved?
 
He had once arranged with someone to be neighbors in their old age - he had arranged with Liu Zongyuan to be neighbors in their old age. However, his friend was cunning and broke the promise early on, but Liu Yuxi kept his word. So he happily split time into two people and tried to make up for the impossible. He was a sinecurist in Luoyang, and became neighbors with Bai Juyi and Pei Du.
 
One night, Liu Yuxi suddenly decided to write his own epitaph. He was the only one left who could speak for the Yongzhen Reform, and when he died, He would let the stone speak for him. The stone was so hard that as long as the words were carved deep enough, they would never disappear for thousands of years. As long as someone remembered Liu Yuxi and came to see him, they could see these words in the weeds and say, “Wow, the Yongzheng Reform had this side too.” That would be enough.
 
That would be enough.
 
Of course, he also wanted to engrave Liu Zongyuan's name on his tombstone, just as his own name was engraved on Liu Zongyuan's tombstone. They couldn't be a pair in life, but it wouldn't be bad to be a pair of stones that looked at each other from afar after death. 
 
Liu Yuxi happily finished writing his autobiography. He had a strange dream that night.
 
He dreamed that he was a wild crane imprisoned in an invisible cage. He used to have companions around him, but they gradually disappeared. He was alone in the cage, singing and howling, waiting for a long time until someone came, then two people, then three people. More and more people came, but they couldn't see the cage, nor could they unlock it. They chatted happily outside the cage and said, “Liu Lang, your singing is so good, please sing another song for us.” It was only then that Liu Yuxi suddenly realized that the cage that imprisoned him in his dream was called the Yongzhen Reform.
 
He sang again and again, until his voice was hoarse and he could no longer fly. The free wild crane was approaching the end of its life, but he kept his eyes open, and finally saw someone coming from the deepest darkness.
 
This person smiled at him, as if he was the proud and confident figure on the day of the release of the imperial examination results. He reached out his hand and touched the cage.
 
The lock was then broken.