從北京開車進入河北壩上草原，零星飄落的雪到了這裏便開始紛紛揚揚地，任性地鋪滿地面，又不厭其煩地一遍遍地覆蓋。隨著大雪的到來，雪花捎著靈魂突然天降，帶來點點慰籍和溫暖，民宿的玻璃窗上都印滿了紅紅的唇印和溫暖。我小心翼翼地用手捧下這些溫暖，擺放床頭，安然入睡。
零下42度，在極寒的氣溫下我安靜、恬然，顯得與世無爭與完全超脫。我似乎命該如此，内心已疲憊不堪，卻又無能爲力，逃避不可能，那又該如何應對内。別人的天塌了，由我頂著，可是我的天塌了，誰可以頂呢？我就是一個矛盾，一個分裂，一個激烈的衝突。即使博士學位修的是衝突法，也明白其中的衝突規範，可是也不能適用于我。那天我夢裏一整夜的思考在清晨透徹的空氣中釋放，任思緒在凝固的水分子裏氧化發散。昨日天氣預報讓我興奮不已，低於體溫的溫度只有在醫院氮氧醫療時體驗過，而我卻要真實地進入一個夢裏。

其實世界的冰冷我早已明白，冰島的冰川和雪原如此令我親切説明我的歸屬。夢裏的一切才是真實的，昨晚的夢是我期待的，雪像燃燒的木炭幽幽地閃爍暗紅。

如此溫馨，小時候父母在小小的屋裏取暖用的生鐵爐就是這樣，長長的烟筒一直伸出窗戶上那個圓孔，煙排除去時就像我的呼氣在寒冷的空氣中散去。我暖暖地不情願出被窩，迷戀夢裏的真實和溫暖。

半夢半醒的我貪婪地享受自己呼出的那口熱氣，那是我的思考在傳播，我的皮囊裏至少還有一點靈魂與自己對話。寒冷於我而言成爲靈魂生存的條件，一切醜惡和骯髒都從眼前消失，留下的只有一絲絲溫暖的氣息，純净無暇，悄然漂浮在我身邊。我能夠感受到溫暖，那種來自冰冷之外的溫暖，我也許會無所適從，也許會將靈魂掏出雙手奉獻，我媽說我見不得別人對我好，我會把命交出去，這也許是對的，那是天生的短板。
Meditation (冥想)或者conjecture (臆想)成為我的狀態，這樣也好，我皮膚和肉體一直處在最年輕狀態，衰老與我無緣，再有30年我還是這樣。生活在一個冰雪世界的好處應該如此吧。我談不上享受夢裏的愉悅、荷爾蒙彌散、情緒發泄和情感傾訴，因爲我知道一切美好都是短暫，沒有永恆的存在。
林子裏的雪及腰深，不遠處突然出現幾隻狐狸，一隻銀狐在我幾步遠的地方徘徊，漂亮的眼睛注視著我。遙遠的天空顯現日暈，俗話稱三個太陽，眼前的銀狐不見了。夜裏夢到我用一壺開水灑向空中瞬時形成冰弧，變做一隻鑽石項圈套在銀狐脖頸，頃刻閒的興奮和那種期盼已久的溫暖一閃即逝。這樣的天氣持續了幾個月，雪迅速消融，半年後沙化的草原裸露在粗暴的烈日之下，世界回到蒼白無力、沒有詩意的景象中。

Driving from Beijing into the Bashang Grassland in Hebei, the scattered snowflakes began to flutter down, whimsically covering the ground, repeatedly laying a thick blanket of snow. With the arrival of heavy snow, the snowflakes descended like a sudden gift to the soul, bringing tiny bits of comfort and warmth. The glass windows of the guesthouse were marked with red lip prints and warmth. I carefully gathered this warmth in my hands and placed it by my bedside, falling into a peaceful sleep.

At minus 42 degrees, I felt quiet and serene in the extreme cold, appearing detached from the world and completely transcendent. It seemed this was my fate; my heart was utterly exhausted, yet powerless to escape, leaving me to ponder how to cope internally. When others’ worlds collapse, I bear the weight, but when my own world falls apart, who can support me? I am a contradiction, a split, a fierce conflict. Even with a PhD in conflict law and an understanding of its norms, I find they do not apply to me. That night, my thoughts roamed through my dreams, released in the crisp morning air, allowing my musings to oxidize and disperse in the frozen molecules.

I have long understood the coldness of the world; the glaciers and snowfields of Iceland feel so familiar, affirming my sense of belonging. Everything in my dreams is the true reality; last night’s dream was what I longed for, with snow flickering like burning charcoal in a deep red glow.

So warm and cozy, I remember how my parents used to warm our small room with a cast iron stove, its long chimney extending out through a round hole in the window. As the smoke was expelled, it reminded me of my breath dissipating in the cold air. Reluctantly, I would leave the warmth of the blankets, enamored with the reality and comfort of my dreams.

In that half-awake state, I greedily enjoyed the warmth of my exhaled breath; it was my thoughts manifesting. Inside my being, there was at least a fragment of my soul engaging in conversation with itself. The cold became a condition for my soul’s survival, and all ugliness and filth faded from view, leaving only a faint breath of warmth, pure and immaculate, quietly floating around me. I could feel that warmth, a warmth coming from beyond the cold. I might feel lost, perhaps even willing to lay bare my soul, as my mother said I couldn’t stand it when others treated me well; I would give my life away, and perhaps that is true, a natural flaw.

Meditation or conjecture became my state of being, and that was fine; my skin and body remained in a youthful state, untouched by aging. In another thirty years, I would still be like this. This must be one of the benefits of living in a world of ice and snow. I can’t say I fully enjoy the pleasures of dreams, the dispersal of hormones, emotional outbursts, and confessions, because I know all beauty is fleeting, and nothing exists eternally.

The snow in the forest was waist-deep, and suddenly a few foxes appeared not far away. A silver fox wandered a few steps from me, its beautiful eyes watching me closely. In the distant sky, a halo appeared, commonly referred to as three suns, and then the silver fox vanished. That night, I dreamed of pouring a kettle of boiling water into the air, instantly creating an arc of ice that transformed into a diamond collar around the neck of the silver fox. The fleeting excitement and the long-awaited warmth vanished in an instant.

This weather lasted for months, and the snow quickly melted. Six months later, the desertified grassland lay bare under the harsh sun, the world returning to a pale, powerless, and unpoetic scene.