Life in the city is like a wound-up spring, with people always spinning between gear and gear. What lingers in the ears is the beep of mobile phones, the roar of subways pulling into stations, and the footsteps of passers-by on the road—layers upon layers of sounds, like invisible chains, binding me in this endless cycle of days. Time is measured with precision, and every minute, every second in life seems to have its fixed destination.

I looked up at the white ceiling, a tinge of confusion creeping in.Where, exactly, can one find freedom?Where is a place not confined by the "little squares" of the city? Glancing slightly aside, my gaze fell on the map of China hanging on the wall, growing more and more focused...

Hulunbuir? Maybe the grasslands there would be a fine choice.

The moment I reached the grassland, a wind laced with earthy breath swept over me. Here, the wind—crushed and misshapen by city skyscrapers—regained its natural form: invisible yet everywhere, swirling grass blades, rippling the lake, howling a northern steppe ballad in my ears. Gazing far, my vision met no barriers, as if nature had smoothed the land flat. Not far, a little girl in white ran toward the sun; light and wind, as if in pact, filtered through her hair, radiating free warmth. I lay down on the lush lawn—the meadow’s softness like the earth’s palm cradling me. The scent of soil and grass rose, cleansing accumulated dust.Above the vault of heaven, the clouds over the Morigele River are equally free: not neat comic cotton candies, nor mathematically ordered. Unfettered, they could be vast stratus or small, casual cumulus, needing no destination, no rush. Even time lingered here, in this little world.

The next day, we made our way to Heishantou Horse Ranch. It is said that the soul of the grassland lies in the spectacle of galloping horses and the grandeur of a brilliant crimson sunset. When I first mounted the horse, I felt a tinge of constraint, my mind flickering with online scenes of horses panicking. But when the herdsman leading the way let out a whistle and cracked his long whip, the horses trotted in neat formation across the grass. The wind roared ever louder in my ears, and the earth, struck by hooves, resounded like rapid drumbeats. Amidst the jolting, it felt as if my limbs, long imprisoned by electronic devices, had suddenly broken free from invisible chains—my bones stretching fully. That sense of unbridled freedom made me forget, in that moment, the endless tasks from the school club, the frustrating moments in life, and the aimlessness of idle hours...

As the sun dipped westward, we climbed to the hilltop, where sunset clouds blazed like crimson flames across the sky. A winding river stretched slowly, snaking toward the vast horizon. The fiery sun was swallowed by massive clouds—below them, the twilight already gilded with gold; above, the faint blue of daytime lingered still. Tourists raised their cameras one after another, silently preserving this beauty. Beneath our feet lay solid earth, overhead a brilliant firmament; the rosy light flushed every sincere smile. In the distance, a herdsman’s song, brimming with rugged joy, soared into the clouds, as if an echo from ancient times.

It was not until all things were dyed deep amber that the molten gold of the sun deigned to inch toward the horizon. Smoke from distant yurts still tangled with the sunset, as if clinging to the last thread of daylight, while the grass waves below had long since taken on hues of red, deep and light. I suddenly understood why they say, “Sunset is the heartbeat of the grassland”—for in this moment, no words were needed; the wind held all the answers.

It turns out that one must eventually run to such wilderness to retrieve the self that was swallowed by the hustle and bustle. It hides in the joy of jolting on horseback, in the gaze that lingers on the afterglow of the setting sun, and in the exclamation at the vast starry river in the clean and bright night sky when darkness falls.

Hulunbuir’s wind will cross the grassland, ride the returning car over asphalt, reach the city. Yet the once-familiar noise in my heart has shifted: the boundless grassland, its unceasing vitality, now nestles in my chest, an anchor against restlessness. We can’t stay on the grassland forever, evading reality, but the journey carved a quiet corner in my heart—grass and earth still linger in my breath. Freedom isn’t confined to the grassland. Keep such a place within, and even amid the crowd, inner vastness endures.

Good-bye, Hulunbuir.

Good-bye, grassland!

(Text/Photos: Zhang Sichen from Anhui Agricultural University)