My balcony, my balcony

The weather has turned hot, and my temper has grown restless. The air outside resembles an invisible, giant steamer, ruthlessly enveloping my world—and, of course, everyone else’s world.

Left with no choice, I locked myself indoors to reflect upon my mistakes. In common parlance, I was subjecting myself to self-imposed isolation. As for how long this castration of my freedom would last, I was completely clueless.

No matter how large a room may be, staying in it too long breeds suffocation. The balcony became my sanctuary for relaxation.

Standing on the balcony, my field of vision widened considerably. I could see the open-air basketball court and the miniature grove beside it, filled with anonymous trees planted by anonymous people. Perhaps because of my nearsightedness, I could only distinguish three trees: one was a poplar, another was also a poplar, and the third had probably spent so much time with the poplars that it looked very much like one—which meant it was probably a poplar too.

Although my mood had relaxed, it was merely psychological self-consolation at work. In truth, I wanted to do many things, but right now, only my thoughts and my eyes were free. When thoughts become overly free, they turn too illusory; better to let the eyes have their freedom. Sometimes, the things my eyes do evoke a few lines of poetry: "You stand on the bridge watching the scenery, the scenery-watchers look at you from upstairs..." I figured I was much closer to the latter.

Watching one-on-one basketball games on the court was also a form of amusement. For some reason, no matter how abysmal the skills of the people playing down there might be, it was always far more entertaining than watching televised NBA broadcasts.

One reason for this was the absence of pressure.

Whenever the playoffs rolled around, Xiao Ming would always come over to my house to watch the NBA. He could rattle off the achievements of the players on the court like treasures from his own pockets. I admired this immensely. Yet, as soon as the game ended, Xiao Ming would flip the switch to his ranting mode:

"Who the hell plays that lazily? How is a guy like that even allowed on the court?!"

"What kind of coach is this? Was he a soccer player before?!"

...

"Just wait till you see me play another day. Stop watching these pay-per-view channels—it's just an IQ tax!"...

A few days later, Xiao Ming rounded up a group of people for a three-on-three game on the basketball court and specially invited me to watch.

However, less than fifteen minutes into the match, all six of them were panting and exhausted. Sitting in the resting area, I felt utterly awkward. I wanted to laugh, but I was afraid of committing a principle-level mistake and risking ostracization. I could only keep drinking water to suppress my overwhelming urge to rant.

Although the daytime heat was fierce, the small grove beside the basketball court served as a cool retreat. Yet this grove was remarkably secular; when I finally found a clear patch of ground to sit and rest, and lowered my head to survey my surroundings, I found myself surrounded by discarded condoms and piles of feces—though whether human or animal, it was impossible to tell.

Because of the heat, it was rare to catch a single human shadow within the balcony's field of vision. This moment could be analogized to another scene: "From a thousand hills, birds take flight no more; on ten thousand paths, human tracks are gone." One can imagine that in extreme conditions of intense heat or bitter cold, it is difficult for the masses to exist. To put it another way, "In water too clear there are no fish."

During the day, aside from watching basketball and peeping at the grove, I could only let my eyes wander, finding little of interest in other spaces—save for rows of colorful parasols.

At night, however, I found plenty of entertainment on the balcony. I would open all the windows, waiting for the mosquitoes to arrive, armed with an electric mosquito swatter. Whenever a mosquito flew in, I would swiftly press the button. The electric mesh would crackle with sparks and emit a wisp of blue smoke as the mosquito was charred. Every sharp snap gratified my sadistic pleasure in slaughtering life. Over time, however, this sound ceased to stimulate my nerves. I turned on the light on the mosquito swatter, using its strong glare to lure moths. When a moth collided with the mesh, it would go *bang*, exploding instantly—a miniature version of special effects in a movie. Such practices might seem far too cruel, but both my ancestors and I had righteous justifications. Wielding the lofty banner of "eliminating pests for the public," I grandly dubbed it a "sacred enterprise," which only made me feel even more confident inside.

Aside from fulfilling my unfinished "sacred enterprise," I would also admire the beautiful starry sky. Whenever the moon rose, only a scattering of fragmented stars could be observed. But when the stars shone in brilliant clusters, the moon would quietly retire. Though I rarely witnessed the spectacle of stars surrounding the moon, I preferred gazing at the star-filled firmament; it imparted a sense of shock and nobility, and therein lay true beauty.