<i>Went to the hospital today. Finally got closure. It's better to know that there </i>are<i> rocks in my body than worry about whether they're there or not.</i>
<i>I've been a hospital regular since I was little. Maybe that's why I didn't feel much when the doctor gave his prognosis.</i>
<i>What's the meaning of life? It's a question that countless films and books have explored, and a question that means nothing to me anymore.</i>
<i>In the days I have left, I want to make something that truly belongs to me.</i>
<i>I've often wondered if our vision has been limited by the environment we can see, and the land portrayed on the television screen, without us realizing it.</i>
<i>We've gotten used to the sight of imposing skyscrapers and nights illuminated by neon glow, but we've forgotten how the vast nomadic cities are only a small part of this great land.</i>
<i>How small is man in all this?</i>
<i>My farewell will be a documentary.</i>
<i>I will leave familiar waters and go as far as I can, to see sights I've never seen before. Who lives in the furthest corners of the world, and what kind of lives do they lead?</i>
<i>Filming a documentary by myself won't be easy. The thought of carrying so much equipment across such distances is daunting enough on its own.</i>
<i>But what have I got to lose? Maybe I get an Oripathy attack halfway, and everything's over right then and there.</i>
<i>My time is better spent thinking of a title for the work.</i>
<i>I left a simple farewell letter to my parents and a few close friends, asking them to forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye. I've never been good with words, and time is short.</i>
<i>My parents always wanted to keep me sheltered. I understand their worries, but I also have my reasons.</i>
<i>I hope they'll understand when they watch the film.</i>
<i>I felt joy and excitement as I never had before when, for the first time, my feet touched earth that was real, not man-made.</i>
<i>I felt as though I saw more in the span of a few months than I had in all the decades prior.</i>
<i>I saw starry skies clear and bright, saw the soil turned over by Catastrophe, saw Chidao builders busy at work in the barrenlands, saw Catastrophe Messengers tirelessly traveling from one place to another.</i>
<i>I traversed uninhabited deserts, crossed silent glaciers, and passed by peaceful, verdant villages. They invited me to stay for the Yanese New Year's Eve and to share in a cup of mijiu that they made themselves.</i>
<i>In fact, I've had enough of writing stories that cater to the audience, all for a few more tickets sold at the box office, a few guffaws or tears, then forgotten forever.</i>
<i>Art is not something to be consumed once and thrown away. It should have some sort of lasting meaning, some sort of weight.</i>
<i>Why not capture the authentic lives of the people, rather than try to make faux imitations of them?</i>
<i>Every frame my camera captures is meaningful.</i>
<i>I want to see with my own eyes distant lands and the people who live there.</i>
<i>Now, in my last days, I feel more alive than ever.</i>
<i>Ironically, it's only made me more afraid of the end.</i>
The Messenger's day begins before sunrise, at the hour when starlight begins to give way to dawn.
In remote regions like this, the delivery of parcels, letters, even simple messages, requires no ordinary effort.
Messengers embark on long journeys into the wilds, facing a multitude of risks and challenges. This Messenger, for instance, walks a dozen li every day—
Messenger
Dozens of li.
Messenger
A dozen li won't even get me over a single peak.
Sorry, my mistake. I'll redo the narration...
Messenger
You still good? Need help with your backpack?
N-No...
I-I can handle it...
Messenger
We only reached one village today. That's a lot slower than normal.
I'm sorry... I'll do my best to keep up.
Messenger
Just take it easy.
Messenger
Let's take a break. It would only be more trouble if you collapsed. You're not exactly an athlete, by the looks of it.
Messenger
Have some water.
Messenger
And tie this bandage around your ankle, or by tomorrow it'll be swollen, and you can't even walk.
T-Thank you...
Sorry about this... I didn't mean to be a burden.
Messenger
Hah. Not like I ever expected a city boy to keep up with me.
Messenger
What exactly have you been filming, anyway?
Just the scenes and people along the way...
Messenger
I've seen movies too, seen the glamorous scenes, handsome actors, and beautiful actresses...
Messenger
Is there a reason you're filming bare mountains like these?
Of course there is!
True beauty lies in that which is authentic. Glamorous, whitewashed scenes are no more than a deception.
There's meaning in filming that which no one has ever seen and that which has become lost to the passage of time, so that more people can see them.
Messenger
Hm...
Since we're taking a break, may I interview you?
Messenger
Inter... view?
Just asking some questions. You don't have to answer, if you don't want to.
Messenger
I guess... do I talk into the camera?
Have you always lived in these mountains?
Messenger
I left for a few years to go to school, and came back after graduating.
Could you talk about this place from your own perspective?
Messenger
Er... talk about it?
Messenger
It's just what you're looking at... ordinary mountains, far away from civilization. Not a lot of people here, and even fewer visitors.
Messenger
Nothing's really changed as far as I can remember... other than the building of the Chidao.
How do the people here make a living?
Messenger
Most years, we grow enough to feed ourselves, and trade any surplus we have for other things we need.
Messenger
The climate may be dry, but it's just right for certain fruits.
Messenger
A while back, I was thinking whether there was a way to sell the fruit grown in the village to the cities.
Messenger
But the cost of transportation was too high, so nothing came of it.
A lot of the villages look pretty empty.
Messenger
People had been moving to the nomadic cities for years. The young people went first. Now, even the children and elderly are following.
Messenger
Not much has changed here, but the cities expand quickly. There are more jobs there.
Messenger
I'm the only one left in the village where I grew up.
They went to the cities? Why did you stay here?
Messenger
I'm Infected, after all.
......
Messenger
Maybe I could have gone if I really wanted to, but I took a look at myself in the mirror, and traversing these mountains is what I do best.
Messenger
Rather than start from scratch in an unfamiliar place, I would rather do what I can, especially if this helps other people.
Messenger
Plus, who would deliver the mail if I left?
Isn't it tough?
Have you ever thought it was unfair?
Messenger
Tough?
Messenger
Is there anything that isn't tough? I'm more comfortable doing what I'm good at, what I'm familiar with.
Messenger
As far as fair or unfair... who's to judge that sort of stuff? I would rather just do my job.
Messenger
Or did you think that life outside the cities was hell?
Messenger
Things might be monotonous here, but it's not so bad that we have to beg for sympathy.
Messenger
There's nothing wrong with working hard and making a simple, grounded living.
I guess you're right...
But how could there be change, if things continue like this?
Messenger
Change?
Messenger
Things are changing every day.
Messenger
Today's house is a little more solid than yesterday, and today's crops grow a little taller.
That's not the kind of change I'm talking about!
I'm talking about change on a larger scale, on a structural level...
People shouldn't be limited by what they were born into... they should have equal access to resources and opportunities no matter where they live.
Messenger
Sure, that's a nice thought to have... but you've got to start with solid, hard work, after all.
Messenger
Let's give this a rest, we've gone way off topic.
Alright, we can about something else. What about yourself?
Messenger
Myself? What is there to talk about it?
As a Messenger, what sort of regrets do you have? What are your hopes of the future? What's been the most unforgettable thing in your career?
Messenger
Unforgettable thing...?
Messenger
I'll tell you, but only if you turn off the camera.
Sure!
Messenger
There was one time when I was hurrying through the mountains overnight to make an urgent delivery.
Messenger
It was raining, and the dirt on the slopes started to come lose. Rocks came rolling down the slope...
Was your infection—
Messenger
No, no.
Messenger
I saw a big rock that was about to fall onto the parcels. I don't know what I was thinking in the heat of the moment, so I tried to knock it away with my horns...
Messenger
That's how I broke my left horn.
Pffft––
Messenger
Are you laughing?
S-Sorry, I didn't mean to—
Messenger
Whatever. Still better than the long look on your face you've been having.
Messenger
I find it funny too. I still carry the broken horn with me, to remind myself not to rush on rainy nights.
Messenger
And maybe I could find a doctor to put it back, if I get the chance.
Messenger
I've done a lot of dumb things and seen a lot of interesting sights on my deliveries.
Messenger
But I'm usually by myself, and there's no one to tell my stories to.
Well, here's your chance. Any other stories you care to tell?
And have you ever thought that you're not really by yourself when you're delivering?
<i>'When you look back at your life, what do you feel?'</i>
<i>I've asked many people the same question, and the answers are often similar.</i>
<i>All the ups and downs of life, summarized in a few words.</i>
<i>The Messenger talked about life in the mountains, her lost home, her infection, as though she was talking about going out for a walk after dinner.</i>
<i>But what kind of pain, suffering and frustrations lie behind her dispassionate words? What helplessness does she feel, of which even she is not aware?</i>
<i>We are all equally helpless, before the great maw of 'reality'.</i>
<i>How would I answer the question myself?</i>
<i>What more can I record with my camera, and what more can I do, before the end comes?</i>
Do you always camp outside like this when you're out delivering?
Messenger
I spend the night in villages whenever I can, but sometimes they're too far away to make it before sundown.
Messenger
Bad luck to have to camp outside on your first trip to the mountains.
Messenger
But I'm surprised you've made it this far. I thought you would give up a long time ago.
Haha... I might have done that in the past, but there are reasons why I have to keep going this time.
The job of a Messenger is harder than I thought.
Messenger
You get used to it, after a while.
Messenger
I guess doing this once is plenty for you.
But there are many who will remained trapped here, far away from civilization, after I'm gone...
I'm hoping there will come a day when people don't have to live like this anymore.
Messenger
Like this?
Yes. Maybe bringing attention to how things are here can help bring about change.
Messenger
I don't understand why you keep talking about changing this place.
Messenger
Like a few words would change anything.
All I can do is raise awareness.
But it's worth trying, so we can change this backwater...
Messenger
Enough.
I—
Messenger
I don't get what you're going for with this so-called documentary.
Messenger
You said you wanted to learn about the people's lives, but what have you actually learned?
Messenger
You don't know how the people farm, what they do as the seasons change, how they drill wells in the wild. You don't even know the price of a pound of grain.
Messenger
You don't know anything.
I may not know much, but I've seen things here with my own eyes.
Didn't you say you wanted to see change?
Messenger
Yes, life here is hard, much poorer than in the cities.
Messenger
But the people here do their best to make a living in their own way.
Messenger
For someone like you who doesn't actually know the people here, who are you to judge our lives and look down on us? What gives you the right to talk about 'change?'
I...
Messenger
You've got a lot of grand talk about 'compassion,' but in the end, you're just looking down on us, pitying us.
Messenger
You don't need me to guide you, and I'm not gonna help you with your documentary anymore. Zai jian.
Two months have passed, and the village looks very different.
It is the idle season for farming, but the villagers are as busy as ever. A few more wells have popped up, and the villagers gather around the fields to study newly-installed irrigation equipment.
A drop of dew falls on her face. She looks up to see that a few flowers have bloomed on the old pagoda tree at the village entrance, swaying with the warm summer breeze.
She remembers something that someone said to her once.
'When you hurry through the night, do you forget to look up at the stars above or down to see the flowers blooming in the cracks of the path?'
Wind Chimes picks up the camera.
Cheerful Child
Ready? I'm gonna press it!
Hesitant Child
Are you sure it won't blow up?
Cheerful Child
Three, two—
Cheerful Child
It's moving!
Wind Chimes
What's this?
Cheerful Child
A tractor we made out of tools abandoned by the Chidao builders! We learned how to do it from the books!
Hesitant Child
Quiet down! They'll yell at us if they find out.
Wind Chimes
What did you build it for?
Cheerful Child
To go to Lungmen!
Cheerful Child
We've always wanted to see the big city.
Cheerful Child
I hear there are huge shopping malls there, giant movie theaters, and pianos as big as the Elder's backyard!
Hesitant Child
What's the point? We'll still have to come back...
Hesitant Child
So much going on in the village, drilling new wells, fixing the pipes, moving the Yishan Temple...
Hesitant Child
So many things to do since the Elder left, and no one knows where to start...
Cheerful Child
You need to look higher and further! We'll be able to do what we want once we grow up.
Cheerful Child
You've been to the cities, right, lady Messenger?
Wind Chimes
Hm...
Wind Chimes
It's good to see places you've never been before.
Wind Chimes
Let me take a photo for you.
Wind Chimes
Carry the photo with you, and you'll always be able to remember what home looks like, even when you're far away.
Cheerful Child
Let's do it! Commemoration for our big adventure!
Cheerful Child
Over here, we'll sit on the tractor.
Wind Chimes
Look at the camera and smile.
Wind Chimes
Three, two—
If your last wish is to finish the journey and the documentary, then I'll do all I can to help you fulfill it.
Maybe I finally understand why you do this. There are sights that I've never noticed, even in familiar places.
Villages disappear and people leave, but they leave behind traces that can be captured.
Thank you for telling me your stories and listening to mine.
