This not being the first that I have tried to express feelings for my birthplace, feelings far beyond the capacity of any written language, I often try to convey this delicate affinity between my ego and my 'motherland' by the means of music and photography. Time and again I failed because of incompetence in my art and could not do justice to the original beauty of the isles and due to limited life experience and immature thinking, I could not fathom the obstinate character of my fella folks.

What I did tell to people, people who are intrigued by the native life of the islanders was that I was born in a coastal city, well, not strictly a city but rather an islet that is more than frequently neglected for its tiny scale and it offers the best air quality in China plus the freshest seafood. Nevertheless, I am not at all satisfied by just briefing them these self-evident features of an oceanic spot. I want to get more meaningful messages through, to unveil the subtle mystery of the smoky mountains against the vastness of the blue realm, whose constitutional poetry dumbfound me. As aforementioned, I could not understand foolish pride of islanders, including myself. Where does it comes from? Why are we so contemptuous of the outsiders? Why are we still thriving, while being reluctant to adapt ourselves to the rapidly-changing circumstances? Why is the sea roaring thunderously but meanwhile sacredly still?

Why do I, an irreligious person, feel like being cleansed each time I visited Putuo Mountain. The experience was close to the catharsis, which the Greeks had rarely attained at the end of Sophoclean tragedy. And why on earth do the tender meat of the crab, the smoky saltiness of the sundried squid and the sour-sweet juice of bayberries appeal to my finickiest taste. How does my parents, grandparents and great-grandparents weather the ferocious typhoons, and draught and flood in its destructive company? Does the vigor come from fishers' suntanned skin?

Near Puji Temple, on a summer day