The recent news that Liu Huan and Jing Yidan passed away, one after the other, has shaken me deeply. One was a legendary singer; the other was the iconic face of Focus Report. They were hallmarks of an era, and they also left an indelible mark on my own journey of growing up.

A Ponytail and a Voice

I grew up listening to Liu Huan’s music. In my youth, his voice was the background music of the streets and alleys, and the opening and closing themes of countless classic TV dramas. Back then, my deepest impression of him on television was simply that unique male singer with a ponytail. With those soul-stirring martial arts theme songs playing, I lived through a childhood full of dreams of heroism and chivalry.

Later, during the 2008 Beijing Olympics, hearing him sing “You and Me” gave me a profound sense of a world in universal harmony. And his song “Start All Over Again,” with the lyric “If the heart is here, the dream remains; there is still true love in this world,” carried me through my college entrance exams and the lowest points of my life. Whenever I felt lost or disheartened, that song would wake me up and give me back my fighting spirit, so I could keep walking toward the sunlight.

Evenings with Focus Report

My memories of Jing Yidan are anchored in countless evenings watching Focus Report. At first I tuned in with the slightly utilitarian motive of gathering material for school essays. But to the naive boy I was then, someone who had not yet traveled far from home, the program was undeniably a mirror held up to reality. Through it I saw the broader world, glimpsed the darker corners of society, and watched journalists use the documentary camera to confront corruption and wrongdoing. As a child watching Jing Yidan, my overriding impression of her was dignified grace and unwavering righteousness.

Half a Lifetime of Wandering

The sudden departure of these figures who accompanied my youth has abruptly reminded me that I, too, have spent half a lifetime wandering. I have entered the stage of life where I am sandwiched between caring for aging parents and raising a young son. Sometimes I wish I could travel back in time and sit down with my younger self, but reality ruthlessly reminds me that the time I have left may not be as abundant as I think.

As my son grows up, I will grow old. One day I will reach the ages of Liu Huan and Jing Yidan, and eventually I will bid farewell to this world. It is a contradiction I find hard to put into words. I deeply long to accompany my son as he explores the world, and I selfishly wish I wouldn’t age quite so fast. I felt the same pull when I wrote about turning thirty-five and about his second birthday, and it has only grown stronger since.

The Waves of the Yangtze

Yet birth, aging, illness, and death are like the most impartial laws of physics in the natural world. Even the most cutting-edge AI might slightly delay the process, but it can never reverse it. As the saying goes, the rear waves of the Yangtze drive on those before them, and life continues endlessly through this cycle of old and new. Every individual must eventually pass on, yet the spark of humanity endures, carried forward from one generation to the next.

In the face of time’s relentless torrent, the only thing I can do is cherish the present moment and leave behind the most beautiful memories I can. I hope to live every day to the fullest and leave no regrets behind.

If the heart is here, the dream remains.