"Firstly, live; then, question meaning: The essence of life lies within each breath.

Life has never been an appendage to philosophical propositions. When we struggle on the line of survival, all metaphysics appear pale and powerless. Yu Hua's Fu Gui leading an old ox to plow, Jia Zhen on her sickbed saying, 'I want to see you all every day,' these most simple survival scenes are the most powerful interpretations of 'first, live; then, question the meaning of living.' Just as a traveler in the desert does not ponder the philosophical definition of an oasis, but chases every drop of water with parched lips, the essence of life is not in exquisite logical deductions, but in the daily rhythm of breathing.

Suffering often knocks on the door of life earlier than philosophy. When farmers in famine-stricken years kneel on cracked earth gleaning ears of wheat, when miners swing their picks in tunnels five hundred meters deep, the instinct for survival has long since crushed all questions about meaning. Fu Gui in 'To Live,' after burying six loved ones, still plows on time, murmuring to the old ox, 'Today, You Qing and Er Xi plowed an acre,' this almost stubborn will to survive, as Nietzsche said, 'What does not kill me makes me stronger.' The resilience that life bursts forth in desperate situations is far closer to the essence of existence than any philosophical declaration. Like an ancient tree struck by lightning, new buds always sprout from the charred trunk, this is life's most primal resistance to death.

Meaning is never a castle in the air, but grows in the dust of everyday life. The old woman haggling in the market, the worker gnawing on cold bread at a construction site, the white-collar worker rushing to catch the last bus late at night, their lives lack poetry and distant horizons, but they write their life narratives with the most concrete actions. Tolstoy said, 'The basis of passion is precisely responsibility,' when a mother stays up all night caring for her feverish child, when a migrant worker sends his hard-earned money back to his village, responsibility has quietly transformed into the anchor of life. These seemingly trivial daily routines, like the reefs by the sea, reveal solemn patterns in the wash of time. Just as Fu Gui plows day after day, what he plants in the soil is not just crops, but a weapon against nihilism.

True awakening of life often begins with transcending doctrines. When we regard 'eat well, love sincerely' as our creed, when we feel fulfilled hearing birdsong in the morning light, existential anxiety naturally dissipates between dawn and dusk. Those who have lingered on the edge of life and death understand best that seeing the sunrise of the next day is a gift from heaven. Just as an elderly person counts the past in the lines of their palms, the storms of the past have settled into a smile at the corner of their mouth, they finally understand: living itself is the greatest miracle, being able to cry, laugh, and witness the cycle of seasons, this body that feels pain and ages already carries the most precious secret in the universe.

Looking back on the banks of the river of time, all debates about meaning seem superfluous. From the cries of a baby in swaddling clothes to the sighs of a dying person, life has already formed its own answer in the process of cultivating, staying together, and taking on responsibilities. When the dandelion in spring scatters in the wind, it does not ask where it is going, but earnestly completes this flight. Perhaps this is the deepest metaphor of existence—we do not have to be miners of meaning, we only need to grow like plants facing the sun, living out the most authentic form of life in every dawn and dusk."