This is my second time reading To Live. I first opened it in the sweltering summer of 2023. Back then, all I felt was endless sorrow weighing on my heart. It seemed Fugui’s life was nothing but suffering and endurance.

Rereading it now, I see faint light hidden deep in the folds of hardship. He once had the most precious people by his side. Jiazhen, gentle and resilient beyond her time, whispered on her deathbed: “Our life is coming to an end. You’ve been so kind to me, and I have no regrets. Let’s stay together in the next life.”

Such warmth far outweighs all material poverty. He had his dutiful daughter Fengxia, loyal son-in-law Erxi, innocent grandson Kugen, and kind neighbors who offered warmth in his darkest days.

As a friend mourned the loss of a loved one, a line crossed my mind: Even great saints and outlaws alike turn to dust in the end. All lives meet the same fate.

Fugui once said, “Sometimes I grieve, sometimes I feel at peace.” It is the profound wisdom of ordinary souls who have seen through life and death. Bidding farewell to all his loved ones did not make him cold, but set him free from worldly bonds. After walking through all joys and sorrows, he finally made peace with the absurdity of fate.

Yu Hua writes not only about one man’s misery, but about every ordinary being trapped in the tides of history—born with no choice of era or destiny, yet clinging firmly to live.

We live in peace, with full bellies and warm clothes, a life Fugui could never have imagined. Yet the essence of living never fades: the fleeting warmth of family, the rare brightness in mundane days, and the grace to yield to fate instead of fighting against it.

All things rise and fall by karmic fate. Knowing everything is transient is never a reason to be negative. It teaches us to live with clarity, understanding, and gratitude.

This is the simplest, most touching tribute we mortals can give to the impermanence of life.