That was my first encounter with that mountain, and naturally, I couldn't heed good advice. I firmly believed I could overcome all obstacles; there were many beautiful sights along the journey, but I never stopped to admire them. My eyes were only on that mountain. Even if I ended up battered and bruised, I thought I must be crazy, but all I wanted was to climb that mountain. But in this world, many return empty-handed, feeling disheartened. Later, I realized that the moon I lost was something I was meant to lose. As the years passed, the mountain remained a mountain, and I remained me. To know it is impossible yet to try anyway is my greatest sincerity. I finally crossed that mountain, only to find the green waters flowing, the long winds still blowing, and everything I saw was myself. The mountain was still a mountain, and I was still me. When I talk about that mountain again, my tone is free of obsession, only calm remains. The mountain is still that mountain, and I am still that me; I just finally understand that the meaning of climbing the mountain has never been to conquer it, but to fulfill myself.