On one occasion, my old friend appeared at my doorstep in such a manner: he wore a gray multi-pocket vest, a military water bottle hung around his neck, and he carried a huge travel backpack. A pair of PLA-style cloth shoes, covered in mud, were tied to the backpack straps and swung as he moved.
He is an experienced hiker who has traveled across countless mountains and rivers. He refers to overcrowded, over-commercialized scenic spots and overdeveloped urban areas as "dead places." In recent years, he prefers to wander alone in remote, little-known regions.
That time, he had spent several days in the mountains of Shennongjia before stopping by my home.
After washing up, he hung his towel beside the stove. A relative visiting my home noticed the old, thin, and nearly translucent towel and quietly asked me: does someone like him still have time to wander around like this?
What do you mean, like him? I asked. The relative pointed at my friend, who was clinking a metal lunchbox while pulling items from his backpack: like that.
I wanted to tell him that my friend was actually a very wealthy person, but then I realized he might not understand this kind of wealth, so I stayed silent.
Once, my friend and I discussed what wealth really means. He said that when he was young, his family was very poor. There were six or seven siblings, and his parents were busy making a living. The older children always took care of the younger ones. Late every night, when the parents returned from work, as long as all the children were there, that was enough. As for interests, talents, or emotional needs, they were largely ignored.
Under such conditions, simply having enough to eat was already very good. One year, his father happily said, “Life is getting better; we are becoming a wealthy family.” It turned out that during the usual lean months of February and March, there were still a few bowls of corn left at the bottom of the sack.
Life was still tight and far from truly wealthy, but because there was surplus, it could be called "having extra."
He continued, saying that once, an old beggar woman passed by his house, holding a broken clay bowl and looking at his mother with pleading eyes. She was ragged, as if a gust of wind could knock her over. After much hesitation, his mother scooped half a bowl of corn into the woman’s folded clothes. At that moment, they could be considered wealthy.
