Right here, witness No Time to Care 👋🏻

Zone is a PhD student researching some kind of chips. He also keeps exotic reptiles. We met at a climbing gym, and from snakes, centipedes, and lizards, we spiraled into discussions about curiosity, awe, archery, and Zen—even proposing genome sequencing for fluorescent-tagged centipedes. Of course, that was just my own mind racing! Zone doesn’t think this deep; his usual response is just: ‘No particular reason, just keeping them, looks nice, yeah, cool.’

It was April 18th, a Saturday. Why do I remember it so clearly? Because I knew that right after the climbing gym, I had to rush to the dance studio. I had already missed one class since I booked two slots, usually taking 1–2 classes in the afternoon. I had visited a climbing gym once long ago, but that day marked the official inclusion of climbing into my regular routine.

We met in the bouldering area. Forgive me, but at first, I had no idea what this crowd was doing, clustering around a wall of rocks, discussing with such gravity whether to touch this stone or that, where to step. My trial class hadn’t even touched the bouldering section. “My goodness! How are these people flying across the walls?” “He just fell straight down from the top without blinking an eye!” (Of course, these later became my daily ordinaries). Then our protagonist, Zone, made his grand entrance. Heavens, he could leap straight from one route to another, perfectly composed and expressionless, his face unbothered even when he failed.

Zone stepped into my field of vision at a very specific historical turning point.

Prior to this, I had been drowning in various books and a chaotic tangle of thoughts, all interwoven with the collisions of human lifelines in reality. From mid-January to mid-April, for three consecutive months, my mind was running at hyperspeed—exploring myself, pondering the surroundings, expanding the scale of time and dimension, constantly oscillating between ascending the mountain for solitary cultivation and descending to live in the world. This triggered a period of experiencing, reflecting, and adjusting all at once.

Though working, writing, dancing, and outputting were continuous, my state felt afloat. I felt a lack of reality in human interactions and couldn’t fully immerse myself while dancing.

Thus, my body and mind told me subconsciously: “You need to start a sport.” And that afternoon, I walked into the climbing gym.

I saw him. I locked onto him at first glance in the crowd. Wearing glasses, he exuded a sense of steady, natural existence. It was a completely different vibe from everyone else. Others were fluidly interacting with the world, but you just instinctively knew he had a stable internal universe running on its own. He existed here, but he didn’t entirely belong here; he belonged to a realm elsewhere. My perception system instantly woke up.

Zone always came to the gym wearing a black top and glasses—yes, exactly that nerdy look you’d imagine. His movements were minimal; even when leaping on the wall, he made no wasted gestures. If he missed and fell, he just dropped without extra words or dramatics. I have always believed that at certain moments, a person’s physical demeanor speaks far louder than words.

This naturally applies to a low-profile individual. Yet, because I can shift between a low-profile state and high-expression output, I could recognize and understand this state. Many people’s first impression of me is that I am entirely extroverted, but in truth, I am not.

Zone, Moving South, and the Piano

Zone would never have imagined that his appearance prompted me to reintegrate the piano into my daily routine. His presence helped me reclaim something that was always there, something I wanted to continue. But I doubt he thinks that deeply; he just knows I am doing my own thing. Indeed, a person doesn’t need to do much; just focusing on oneself is enough.

In a way, Zone and Nanha share a similarity. They represent the exact states that caught my eye and attracted me at first glance in the dance studio and the climbing gym, respectively.

Before this, my interaction with Nanha, a piano teacher and a good friend, was a cycle of her inviting me to class, and me promising to go but failing due to various reasons. As mentioned, from mid-January to mid-April, I was caught in the parallel journey of climbing up and down the mountain of self-cultivation. During that time, I simply lacked the spare energy to invest in the piano.

This concept of “ascending the mountain” and “descending the mountain” crystallized beautifully during a walk and conversation with Nanha on Saturday, June 13, 2026.

Wuxia: “A Luckin Coffee opened inside the subway station near your place! I just noticed. I won’t have to order delivery next time.”

Nanha: “Really? Lately, I’ve been taking the subway too. It’s nice to watch the park scenery along the way.”

Wuxia: “Is the subway noise too loud for you? The interplay between cars and subways is alright. Riding the subway is a form of self-cultivation too, you know.”

Nanha: “I still prefer cultivating on the mountain.”

Wuxia: “Ascending the mountain is fine, but remember to come down. I prefer cultivating at the foot of the mountain, playing in the mortal dust. I can’t stay on the mountain long before finding it tedious, Hahaha! I love wreaking havoc in the mundane world!”

Nanha: “Right, right, fine…”

To me, Nanha is the one who guided me into the realms of spirit and art. She allowed me to step out of dry texts and directly witness the living embodiments of those raw concepts. Thus, what was abstract became three-dimensional. Nanha used to observe whether I was merely reading books while ignoring concrete life—but no, I entered concrete life, encountered concrete events, and studied books simultaneously. When we recorded a podcast together in November 24, a year and seven months ago, I barely understood Sartre, Nietzsche, Arendt, Gould, existential therapy, Being and Time, the banality of evil, the essence of life in initiating actions, feminism, or escaping freedom… I couldn’t comprehend many books back then; it was just raw, naive vitality expressing itself. Yet, being a naturally intuitive learner, a slight entry point is all it takes for me to master it independently and expand it across fields.

I think Nanha knows she inevitably plays a crucial role in my life, but she won’t say it aloud. She will only respond with: “Oh,” “I see,” “Slow down,” “You’re done talking, right? Show me your practice results.” Then she runs off to the storage room while I yell across the studio, “Wait a minute, I’m not finished!” When I tell her how important she is to me, she just sends me two eye-rolling emojis.

The first time I saw Zone at the climbing gym, I was rushing to dance class. Passing by him while he was analyzing a route, I said: “I’m off, see you if fate allows!” Back then, I knew nothing about the local climbing community—that some are regulars, some hop between gyms, and many are just one-time visitors. Whether I would persist with this sport was an absolute unknown. Whether Zone was just a passing tourist was unknown too. I simply uttered those words naturally.

Thus, running into Zone again on Saturday, May 16th, was entirely unexpected—an incident almost wiped from my memory. Nearly a month had passed, and I hadn’t yet established a fixed climbing frequency. At that moment, I was chatting with a coach, discussing the topic of PhDs, when the coach suddenly pointed: “Isn’t he a PhD student from that university?” Zone flashed past us, and as he turned his head, my brain instantly connected the dots: “Yes! About a month ago, I told him ‘see you if fate allows’.” Overjoyed by the surprise, I called him over for a brief chat.

My curiosity about people stems from how their state and temperament are formed, from their exploitability, and their heterogeneity. We learned that Zone is a STEM PhD student who lifts weights and climbs, but… but… that is still too ordinary. I am surrounded by people like that. So, I turned back to my books—honestly, I should tell myself to read less.

Later, we found out Zone keeps exotic reptiles. Not just casually, but a wide variety of species, including snakes, centipedes, and lizards. Most PhDs’ WeChat Moments are either permanently empty, reposting professional literature, or showing standard group dinners—so boring. My highest praise for someone is that they are interesting, unique, and fun; my indifferent reaction is just “Wow, impressive, good for you.”

And so, Zone and I went from talking about keeping snakes and centipedes to discussing curiosity, awe, archery, and Zen. When talking about tagging centipedes with fluorescent markers for whole-genome sequencing—of course, that was just my own mind racing! Zone doesn’t think this deep; his most common replies are: “No reason, just keeping them,” “Looks cool,” “Yeah, fine.”

I asked: “Why do you keep them?”

Zone: “No reason, just wanted to.”

Wuxia: “Do you think you share any opposite or similar traits with your animals? Is your curiosity about animals greater than your curiosity about people?”

Zone: “What kind of question is that? They’re just novel, good-looking, and cute.”

Wuxia: “Because different people resemble different animals. It’s not an insult; it’s just a fun way to put it.”

Wuxia: “Do you think they connect to your PhD project? Inspire you?”

Zone: “No.”

Wuxia: “Do you have no curiosity about your project? If you do, that’s the connection. You maintain a vital sense of curiosity and awe toward the world, which is crucial!”

Zone: “Curiosity for the PhD project gets buried under pressure.”

Wuxia: “But the curiosity is still there, so that’s the common ground. Many PhDs are left with nothing but pressure; by the time they graduate, their vitality is depleted and they fall into deep confusion. But you probably won’t.”

Wuxia: “Have you read ‘Zen in the Art of Archery’?”

Zone: “No, that sounds too philosophical.”

Wuxia: “Perfect. You don’t need to read it; you are already living it.”

Zone himself had no idea that keeping reptiles could link to his PhD topic, his sense of awe, or Zen archery. Naturally, these are the meanings I perceived and assigned to him from my narrative perspective. Digging, connecting, and infusing meaning is my ingrained habit.

For instance, watching a video of his centipede capturing prey, he merely observes, while I immediately think: “Should we tag it with a fluorescent marker and use in vivo imaging to observe why invertebrates hunt arthropods? Hmm, actually, a residual molting tissue sample could be used for whole-genome sequencing to study ethology or systemic evolutionary biology.” But Zone would just say, “Not doing that, I’m just keeping it.”

An event told from different perspectives yields entirely different versions. The manifestation of an event is built upon multiple contributing forces. Just like this essay, it might not be the objective truth of things; it is merely a single slice, a specific expression. Yet, once something is created—be it text, an article, or an image—and left behind, it doesn’t matter how different people interpret or explain it. None of it can stop me from writing. Because I want to do it, immersing myself in the act of writing is enough.

This mirrors Zone himself, who continuously executes his research out of curiosity, continuously cares for his reptiles, and continuously climbs to conquer route after route, finding joy in the small things around him.

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• WeChat Official Account: 就在此地Right here Currently, under “No Time to Care,” we have several curated collections:

1. “Skills” 2. “Human Sample Collector” 3. “Whimsical Thoughts” 4. “Continuous Ideas” 5. “Curation & Notes” 6. “Solitary Diary” 7. “Tools” 8. “Cosmic Exploration Journal” 9. Podcast “Right Here” 10. “Insight & Awareness” 11. “Daily Aesthetics & Pleasure” 12. “How to Write”

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