Li Wei awoke with a start, his heart pounding so violently that it felt as if it might leap out of his chest. Morning sunlight spilled through the thin bamboo curtains of his small room in the quiet village nestled among Taiwan’s lush hills. Yet even as the world around him hummed with the usual sounds of birds and distant river currents, the image of her lingered—vivid, haunting, impossible. Her eyes. Pink. Eyes so mesmerizing that they seemed not of this world.
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It had been weeks now, and each night brought the same dream. A girl stood before him amidst golden reeds, the soft wind playing with her hair. Her gaze, piercing yet tender, reached straight into his soul. Li Wei would reach out, and though he tried to speak, no sound emerged. Yet, when he awoke, the feeling—the strange, aching longing—remained.
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At first, he tried to dismiss it. Perhaps it was a trick of the mind, a creation of boredom or loneliness. But every morning, the memory of her presence grew stronger, clearer, as if urging him toward a truth he could not yet comprehend. There was a pull, delicate and persistent, that tugged at the edges of his waking life, whispering that she was real somewhere, somewhere he had yet to find.
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Unable to bear the uncertainty, Li Wei began wandering the edges of the village. The hills that framed his home were dense with bamboo and moss-covered trees; winding paths led to waterfalls and small streams, and beyond them, stretches of jungle that villagers claimed were enchanted. Here, he thought, perhaps I will see her. Perhaps the dreams are not lies.
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He ventured farther each day, leaving behind the familiar wooden cottages and the soft laughter of village children. He traced the rivers, walked along ridges where fog clung stubbornly to the earth, and even climbed hills that overlooked the vast, emerald valleys. But she was never there. Always absent, always just beyond reach, as if she existed in a layer of reality he had yet to discover.
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Each night, Li Wei would return to his small room, exhausted but restless. He would sit by the window and write. Sketches of her face, scribbled hastily on worn pages; descriptions of the pink glow in her eyes, the way her hair floated around her shoulders as though underwater; fragments of conversation he imagined they might share. The notebook grew thick with dreams and thoughts, a silent testament to a love that existed only in the liminal space between sleep and waking life.
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The villagers began to notice. “Li Wei walks too far,” they whispered. “Chasing shadows of nonsense.” But he paid them no mind. Their words could not touch what his heart knew. He felt, deep in his bones, that this girl was not merely a dream, but a messenger of a fate that awaited him.
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One evening, as the sun dipped behind the distant mountains and painted the sky in shades of crimson and gold, Li Wei lingered near the jungle path behind his house. A breeze carried the scent of wet earth and wildflowers, and in that moment, the familiar pull returned stronger than ever. A strange, tingling sensation rose through his body, a signal that tonight, perhaps, would be different.
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That night, he lay on his mat, his eyes tracing the cracks in the wooden ceiling. He could feel the dream world approaching, like a river drawing him into its current. He closed his eyes, breath slow and steady, and whispered to the night, “Take me to her. Wherever she is, I will find you.”
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As sleep enveloped him, the first threads of the dream began to form. The familiar golden reeds swayed gently, illuminated by a soft, ethereal light. And there, amidst the shimmer, she appeared. Her pink eyes found his instantly, warm and piercing, and Li Wei felt an ache of recognition deep in his heart, as though they had always known each other.
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Somewhere, deep inside, he understood: this was only the beginning. The beginning of a journey that would span dreams and reality, love and loss, life and something far beyond. And he would follow it, no matter where it led.
Because love, he realized, is not bound by the waking world.
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