MidReal Story

Mountain's Whisper

Scenario: A 30-year-old man named Wu Wei, in the city life of the double pressure and desire of confinement, these bring him great trouble. The hero is dissatisfied with the status quo and desires to change himself. Therefore, he decides to let go of his worldly desires and begins to seek spiritual fulfillment. He begins to live a life of cultivation in the mountains and forests, and in the process of cultivation, he reaches a state of spiritual enlightenment through profound reflection on himself and deep understanding of Taoist thought.
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A 30-year-old man named Wu Wei, in the city life of the double pressure and desire of confinement, these bring him great trouble. The hero is dissatisfied with the status quo and desires to change himself. Therefore, he decides to let go of his worldly desires and begins to seek spiritual fulfillment. He begins to live a life of cultivation in the mountains and forests, and in the process of cultivation, he reaches a state of spiritual enlightenment through profound reflection on himself and deep understanding of Taoist thought.
I was thirty years old when I left the city.
I had a good job, a nice apartment, and a pretty girlfriend.
But I was unhappy.
I felt like I was trapped in a cage, and I didn’t know how to get out.
Every day was the same: I woke up, went to work, came home, watched TV, and went to bed.
I spent my weekends shopping and going to parties with my friends.
I had everything I was supposed to want, but it wasn’t enough.
I wanted something more.
I wanted something different.
I wanted something real.
One day, I decided to leave it all behind and go live in the mountains.
I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I hoped that I would find it there.
I quit my job and broke up with my girlfriend.
I sold all of my possessions and packed a small bag with some clothes and a few books.
As I walked through the streets, I felt a deep sense of dissatisfaction with my life.
It was a feeling I had been aware of for some time, but it had never been so pronounced before.
I tried to shake it off, to push it down and ignore it, but it refused to be ignored.
It grew and grew, until it was all I could think about.
My life in the city felt fake and artificial, like I was playing a role in a movie.
There were so many people, but none of them seemed to see me.
I was living in a crowded city that was filled with noise and pollution, where the sun was hidden behind a blanket of smog and the stars were obscured by the glare of the city lights.
There were trees, but they were few and far between, and they were all neatly pruned and manicured, their branches bearing no trace of the wildness they had once known.
There were rivers, but they were polluted and chocked with trash, their waters flowing slowly and sluggishly toward the sea.
There was no sense of peace or tranquility in the city, no way to escape from the endless noise and commotion that filled the streets day and night.
All I could do was keep my head down and plow on through it, hoping that one day I would find myself on the other side.
I spent my days working in an office building that felt more like a tomb than a place of work.
The lighting was artificial and harsh, casting a sickly yellow pallor over everything and leaving me feeling drained and disconnected from the world outside.
My job was boring and unfulfilling, but it paid well and gave me plenty of free time, so I didn’t mind it too much.
It was just a means to an end, a way for me to support myself while I waited for something better to come along.
When the workday was over, I would go home and spend a few hours watching TV or playing video games before going to bed.
I spent my weekends shopping and going to parties with my friends, but even then, I was never truly happy.
There was always something missing, some piece of the puzzle that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
I had everything I was supposed to want – a good job, a nice apartment, and a beautiful girlfriend – but it wasn’t enough.
I was stuck in a rut, and no matter how hard I tried to pull myself out of it, I couldn’t escape.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something wrong with my life, that I was missing out on something important.
That feeling followed me wherever I went, like a shadow that I couldn’t get rid of.
It was always there, lurking just out of sight, waiting for me to let my guard down so it could pounce.
I didn’t know what it was or where it came from, but it was always there, pulling me down and holding me back.
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I spent every day sitting in my office, staring at the computer screen in front of me and tapping away at the keyboard with my fingers.
The work itself was boring and unfulfilling – nothing more than mindless data entry and number crunching – but it kept me busy and gave me something to do with my time.
It was an easy job, and the pay was good, so I didn’t complain.
But the monotony of office life soon grew tiresome, and I found myself yearning for something more.
The days passed slowly, and the weeks even slower.
All around me, my colleagues chatted and laughed as they went about their work, but I felt no connection to any of them.
Our interactions were superficial at best, and most of the time I felt more alone in their company than I did by myself.
The office itself was a dreary place: the walls were painted a dull shade of gray, the carpeting was worn and stained, and the air conditioning droned on and on, filling the room with a low hum that made it difficult to concentrate.
The only thing that brought any life to the place was the sunlight that streamed in through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor and walls as it moved through the sky.
When the workday was over and I made my way home, I hoped that I would finally be able to relax and unwind.
But as soon as I walked through the door of my apartment, I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
The space felt cold and unwelcoming, like a hotel room that had been stripped of all its character and charm.
There were plenty of things in the apartment – a TV, a computer, a stereo system, a couch – but none of them felt like they belonged there.
They were just things to fill the space, to give the room the appearance of being lived in.
But it wasn’t lived in.
It was empty… just like my life.
I wandered through the apartment aimlessly for a while before finally finding my way to my bedroom.
My bed looked comfortable and inviting, but as I lay down on it and closed my eyes, I knew that sleep wouldn’t come easily.
The silence of the night pressed down upon me, filling the room with an eerie stillness that only served to amplify the discontent I felt inside.
It was so quiet that I could hear the blood rushing through my ears and the sound of my own breathing.
I shifted and turned on the bed, trying to get comfortable, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be more to life than this.
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But no matter how hard I tried to relax and clear my mind, sleep eluded me.
So instead of trying to rest, I reached for the remote control that was sitting on the nightstand beside my bed and turned on the TV.
I flipped through the channels aimlessly for a while before finally settling on a random movie.
But no matter how hard I tried to focus on the screen in front of me, I just couldn’t get into it.
I closed my eyes and tried to lose myself in the story for a while, but even with the sound of the movie filling the room around me, all I could hear was the sound of my own thoughts.
I turned off the TV and threw the remote control back onto the nightstand in frustration.
I didn’t know what to do with myself.
I was bored and restless and full of nervous energy that had no place to go.
In an attempt to distract myself from the emptiness I felt inside, I decided to turn on some music.
I reached for the stereo that was sitting on the floor beside my bed and pressed play on the CD that was already in the player.
The sound of guitar music filled the room as I settled back onto the bed and closed my eyes.
But even as I listened to the music play softly in the background, I still couldn’t help but feel bored and restless.
I reached for a book that was lying on the floor beside my bed and opened it up to a random page.
It was a novel that I had read many times before and one of my favorites.
But when I tried to lose myself in the story – to take comfort in its familiar words – all I could hear was the mocking voice of the author ringing in my ears.
There was no point in reading books or listening to music or watching TV or doing anything other than staring at the ceiling with a blank expression on my face because none of it was ever going to make me happy anyway.
And he was right.
I closed the book with a sigh and tossed it onto the nightstand before reaching for another one beside my bed.
It was an old book that I had found buried at the bottom of a pile of forgotten belongings while cleaning out my closet earlier that day.
I opened the book and flipped through the pages slowly.
It was yellowed with age and falling apart at the edges.
The title of the book was “Tao Te Ching” by Laozi.
I didn’t know what the book was about or where it had come from or how it had ended up in my closet among all my other forgotten belongings.
But for some reason – some inexplicable reason that I couldn’t begin to explain – as soon as my eyes landed on the title of the book, a surge of energy shot through my body so powerfully that my hands began to shake and my heart began to race.
It was like the universe was trying to get my attention and show me something – something important – something that would change my life forever.
I sat up on the bed and opened the book at the first page.
The words on the page were strange and unfamiliar and written in a language that I didn’t understand.
But as soon as my eyes landed on them, they filled me with an intense emotion that was so powerful that I couldn’t help but be drawn in.
It was like I had stumbled upon a hidden treasure or stumbled upon a secret code or stumbled upon a key that would unlock the secrets of the universe.
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The sound of the front door opening and closing pulled me out of my thoughts and forced me to look up from the pages of the book.
I could hear the sound of Lingling’s footsteps as she walked through the apartment and headed toward the bedroom.
I closed the book and tossed it onto the nightstand before climbing off the bed and heading out to the living room to greet her.
Our apartment was small and cozy and modern.
The walls were painted white and lined with framed pictures and mirrors.
The floors were made of polished wood and covered with soft rugs.
The furniture was sleek and minimalist and arranged with precision.
The whole place was filled with light and color and warmth.
But no matter how hard I tried to make it feel like home, all I could think about was how empty and lifeless it felt inside.
I sat down on the couch and waited for Lingling to come out of the bedroom.
I could hear the sound of water running in the kitchen as she washed her hands and prepared to make dinner.
She was a flight attendant and was used to long hours and strange schedules – which meant that she spent a lot of time away from home on trips or layovers.
I didn’t mind being alone most of the time.
In fact, I usually preferred it that way.
Being alone gave me space to think and breathe and be myself.
But on nights when Lingling was home – when she had time to spend with me – our apartment always felt more empty and quiet and lifeless than ever before.
I could hear the sound of the front door opening and closing again as Lingling came out of the bedroom and stepped into the living room.
She was wearing her flight attendant uniform and her hair was pulled back into a tight bun.
She looked tired and worn out after a long day of work.
But as soon as she saw me sitting on the couch and waiting for her, she forced a bright smile onto her face and tried to act like everything was perfectly fine.
We talked for a while as Lingling prepared dinner in the kitchen.
She told me all about her day at work – all the places she had been and all the people she had met and all the things she had seen.
But no matter how hard we tried to make conversation, it always felt forced and unnatural and empty.
It was like there was an invisible wall between us that neither of us were willing to acknowledge or address.
We were both so caught up in our own thoughts and problems and insecurities that we never really stopped to talk about what was really on our minds.
We never talked about our relationship or our feelings or our future together.
We never showed each other any real affection or intimacy or love.
We never laughed or smiled or touched each other in any meaningful way.
Our conversations were always so superficial and one-sided that they never went anywhere or led to anything more than just another awkward silence between us.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I stood up from the couch and walked over to the dining table to set it for dinner.
Lingling followed me into the dining room soon after and sat down across from me at the table.
We ate our food quickly and quietly without saying much of anything to each other.
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I couldn’t stand being around Lingling anymore, so I grabbed my empty plate and got up from the table before she did, stopping only briefly to give her an excuse about having work to do in the office and needing to leave right away.
“But you don’t have work today,” Lingling said, looking up at me in confusion.
I left without another word and walked over to the bathroom to wash my dishes and brush my teeth, trying to avoid seeing Lingling’s hurt expression as I left the apartment and shut the front door behind me with a loud slam.
All I wanted was to get away from her – to get away from our nonexistent relationship – to get away from our empty conversations and empty home.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and looked at my own reflection in the fading light of the late afternoon sun, running my fingers through my short black hair and sighing heavily to myself as I thought about what had just happened between Lingling and me.
My life felt so empty and meaningless and unfulfilling that I couldn’t even bring myself to pretend otherwise anymore, not even for her sake.
I was so tired of going through the motions and pretending like everything was perfectly fine when it wasn’t.
I turned around and looked at myself in the mirror, trying to remember what my life was supposed to be like according to the timeline that society had laid out for me.
I was already thirty years old, but I had nothing to show for it.
No job, no money, no house, no car – nothing.
I was an adult now, but I still felt like a child who was lost and confused and searching for his place in the world.
Every day felt exactly the same as the one before it – like I was stuck in some kind of endless loop that I could never escape from.
My life just felt so suffocatingly boring and monotonous and uneventful that it was all starting to feel like one big blur to me.
It was hard to believe that this was really how my life had turned out after all this time.
When I was younger, I used to think that my life would be so much more exciting and interesting and fulfilling than it actually was.
I used to have so many big dreams and goals and ambitions that I wanted to achieve.
But at some point along the way, my life had stopped moving forward and started moving backward instead.
I used to have a lot of fun when I was a kid.
I used to love spending time by myself doing all kinds of things that made me happy.
I would read books and play video games and watch movies until the sun went down.
I would climb trees and ride bikes and play sports with my friends until we were all tired and sweaty and happy.
I would go on long walks through the park and feed bread crumbs to the ducks that lived by the pond near my house.
But eventually, all of that joy and excitement was replaced by boredom and dissatisfaction instead.
I started to lose interest in everything that used to make me happy as a kid as life got harder and more complicated for me.
I started to get bored with playing games and watching movies and spending time with my friends as they all grew up and moved on without me.
I started to get bored with spending time by myself as well as I got older and became less social and outgoing than before.
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