White Olive Tree
First edition
Author Song Ran's preface
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This book was originally named "Eastern Country Floating Century", which originated from my trip to the Eastern Country six years ago. It was conceived six years ago, written four years ago, and published today. I would like to thank Mr. Luo Junfeng, the planner and editor, for his unswerving support.
The title of the book was changed from "Eastern Country: Floating World" to "White Olive Tree" for two reasons: first, I believed that although I tried my best to travel to various cities in the Eastern Country and record the social conditions during the war, what I saw and recorded was only a corner of the "floating world", which was far less grand than the real world; second, because of my husband, Captain Li.
One year, on the way from Garo to Hapo, he and I saw white olive trees in the desert. The details have been written in the book, so I will not repeat them here.
I have been writing for four years, not because I have been meticulously crafting it, but because life has taken up too much of my time, and more importantly, because I have never been able to remain calm and observe. Every time I look for information before picking up the pen, scenes of memories come to my mind clearly, and I feel sad, so I write slowly.
War is never an easy topic. I have tried my best to ignore my subjective feelings in this article, and only want to present the most ordinary and objective records to readers. Even so, war is not something that can be written lightly.
It is still the greatest tragedy in human history. Unfortunately, such tragedy happens again and again.
I studied history in college, but the pain of war in books and written records is not even one ten-thousandth of what I saw with my own eyes. Before I went to the East, I could probably talk about history, saying that war is the inevitable path when social contradictions accumulate to a certain level and cannot be reconciled, and that war and bloodshed are necessary processes in human development.
As a result, innocent people became victims of the rolling wheels of history.
But even if I were given a million reasons, I still couldn't understand why humans would kill their own kind. I couldn't forgive them.
There is a question that I always ask myself: Is our world lacking sympathy, kindness and love? Whenever I see people getting hurt, I feel pain, but I don't understand why some people don't feel pain.
After staying on the battlefield for a long time, I began to doubt whether rationality and civilization are just illusions; whether there is no so-called reasonable solution to all human problems, only extremes, confrontation and hatred, and the only solution is killing; whether history always falls into a vicious circle of reincarnation, disorder always defeats system, and barbarism always defeats civilization.
And the ultimate dream of human peace is just the white olive trees in the desert.
Gorgeous, beautiful, pure and grand.
Once you see it, you will never forget it and pursue it for the rest of your life.
But it is also illusory, ethereal, far away in the sky and ungraspable.
Or even, it doesn't exist at all.
It's just a fleeting mirage, just the ultimate fantasy of people when they are deep in the quagmire.
I was confused and couldn't find the direction, but I was always pulled back to the right path.
Because later I discovered that the world may be dark or without light, but the kindness of an individual is like a shining pearl on the beach. Even if you are pricked by sand when looking for it, once you hold it in the palm of your hand, its gentle and beautiful light will make you smile without regrets.
Such individuals are like the Cook soldiers code-named B, G, L, M, K, S, and A that I wrote about in my book.
They are tough, kind, and persistent; they have the gentlest and sunniest smiles, and the most resolute and unyielding faces; they endure pain and fear that ordinary people cannot endure, and like tiny matches, they burn the hottest light in this disappointing world.
Perhaps human beings are such a kind of animals, among them there are both good and evil, great and cruel.
After seeing the deepest darkness, the worst evil, the ugliest horror,
I am still grateful that I have seen light, kindness, and the most beautiful heart.
Yes, I am still grateful that I saw that white olive grove with my own eyes.
Song Ran
October 07, 202x
Yu Jiangcheng
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Fifth anniversary edition
Preface by planner Luo Junfeng
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Song Ran and I met 11 years ago. At that time, a program called "Frontline of War" on Liangcheng TV was popular all over the country, and reporter Song was responsible for shooting and recording more than 90% of the material for that program. The stories captured by her lens were delicate, simple, and touching, which attracted me immediately.
I like good stories, and I like good storytellers even more. Song Ran is exactly the kind of storyteller I admire the most, gentle, patient, and compassionate. Many people say that I am a successful bestseller planner, but even I didn't expect that Song Ran's book would be the most successful bestseller I planned. The sales of over five million copies in five years has become a rare myth in the book market. At present, the translations into seven languages including English, French, Spanish, and German have been completed and are only waiting to be printed and sold. I think this is not only because of her title as a Pulitzer Prize winner, but also because she has written a most simple and touching picture of the world.
This article uses time and cities as indexes to record what Song Ran saw and heard during her time in the East Kingdom. From scavengers to commanders, from peddlers to soldiers, she treats everyone equally, and every tiny person has a place in her eyes. All the photos selected in the book are also taken by her. Although as she said, her perspective cannot fully record the country in troubled times, she presents the lives of people in the war in front of us with the most real and objective brushstrokes.
Over the years, many friends and media have asked me about reporter Song's private life, and some are even curious about who her husband, Captain Li, is. Since Song Ran keeps a low profile and refuses to accept any interviews related to this book, I cannot reveal more.
But what I can say is that Song Ran is a beautiful girl who loves to smile. She looks weak but is tough and resolute in her heart. Her husband, Captain Li, is a handsome soldier with a gentle personality and is kind to others. During the four years when she was writing the book, Song Ran lived in the countryside. There was an endless rice field in front of her house, which was picturesque.
I visited them two years before the book was finished. At that time, they had a one-year-old boy, whose nickname was Xiaoshu, also known as Xiaoshumiao.
Xiaoshu looks very much like his father, Captain Li. At that time, he had just learned to walk, and he couldn't sit still and was very active. He staggered around Captain Li, and from time to time he would jump on his father's legs and hug his father's legs with a giggle. This game could be played countless times. At that time, he couldn't speak yet, but he could call dad. The calls of "Baba" and "Baba" echoed throughout the house, and it sounded happy and comfortable. After a while, he would pull his father's trouser legs to go out. Sometimes he would look at butterflies, and sometimes he would chase chickens.
When we were discussing the manuscript in the living room, Song Ran would look out the window from time to time. Her husband and young children were playing in the field in front of the house. Captain Li squatted on the ground, smiling warmly and stretching out his hands; Xiao Shu staggered and rushed to hug his neck, let go and ran away for a distance, then ran back and threw himself into his father's arms.
Song Ran smiled with eyes curved, and said, "For this kind of small game, Ah X can play with Xiao Shuimiao for an entire afternoon, and I can also watch them play for an entire afternoon."
I said, "No wonder you write slowly."
I have strayed off topic. I don't understand why I suddenly wrote this paragraph. It has nothing to do with this book. But many scenes of that visit left a deep impression on me for no reason, and I can recall them from time to time. For example, when I was talking to Song Ran, Captain Li silently handed me a plate of peeled apples. While Song Ran was talking to me, she looked into his eyes, revealing a moment of tenderness and love; for example, when she was talking to me about the content of the manuscript, she saw Captain Li's reference books and manuscript paper when she was tidying up the desk, and she was careful and cherishing when she sorted them out; for example, there was a vase of freshly picked flowers on the table, and tea leaves stretched in the teapot.
I think it is probably because the warm atmosphere in their home is the most lacking part of my urban life for many years. It is also probably because in recent years, our society has been promoting utilitarianism and selfishness. They are out of tune, like an isolated island. However, I cannot tell their story in detail, but at least the stories they have seen are presented in this book. Let every reader who opens the book take a look at their perspective.
Recently, when planning the fifth anniversary edition, I visited Captain Li and Reporter Song again. They had moved to the Imperial City a long time ago. The little sapling had grown taller and was in elementary school. He looked and acted more like his father. There was a new member in their family, a five-year-old pigeon who was in the senior class of kindergarten. Reporter Song opened a studio, and Captain Li became Major Li. He finished his studies by himself. Although he worked at home, he also did some research in his field. They seemed to have changed a little, but nothing seemed to have changed. The tacit understanding and tenderness when they got along were the same as before.
I originally wanted Song Ran to write another preface for the fifth anniversary edition, but she said that all the stories and feelings she wanted to write about had been written four years ago, and there were no more emotions to write about.
I respect her decision.
In the past five years, new wars have broken out all over the world. In this way, her first preface is still as fresh as ever. Even after twenty years, there is no need to add or subtract anything.
Luo Junfeng
September 1, 203x
Yudicheng
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Published 18th Anniversary Edition
Preface by Linzi Li Songzhi
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A week ago, Mr. Luo Junfeng, the editor and planner of my mother Ms. Song Ran, contacted me and asked me to write a preface for the 20th anniversary edition of "White Olive Tree". I am just a 21-year-old science and engineering student, about the same age as Sahin in the book, and I have no talent for writing or literary talent. In theory, I am not qualified to write a preface for a book, but Mr. Luo Junfeng asked me to write my thoughts.
"Write your thoughts" sounds like a composition assignment. Is it about a particular thing or everything? Mr. Luo Junfeng did not give a scope, so I can't figure it out.
Many people say this is a book about war. I find it difficult to talk about my feelings about war, as I have never experienced it. Although there are always countries and regions going to war, for me, it is too far away.
Although my parents had special identities, my life was the same as that of an ordinary child, and I did not have any innate awareness of the issue of war.
I spent my childhood in the countryside of Jiangcheng. My earliest memory in life is from my father. I vaguely remember the scene when I was one or two years old, one evening. He held me in his arms and walked across the leaf-covered ridge of the field. His arms and chest were the warmest and most solid support in my childhood memories.
My mother beside me kissed my forehead and called me: "Little A-Zan~~"
The father laughed and said, "Do you want to wake this little guy up?"
Of course I didn't wake up. My father's arms were warm and safe, and I stretched out my arms and legs, hugged him and fell asleep.
Strangely enough, my mother always called me Xiao A-Zan, probably because I looked so much like my father.
My first teacher in life was my father. He taught me to read and write, and took me to fly kites, catch cicadas, fish for lobsters, catch crabs, and grow flowers and grass. He said:
"Mom is afraid of this, so let's release the cicada."
"Mom likes to eat lobsters, so catch her a few more."
"Pick some flowers for Mom."
Most of the time, my mother is by my side.
"A-Zan, put him down and let him go on his own."
"A-Zan, look, Xiaoshu's face is covered in mud, hahaha."
"A-Zan, do you want to steal a pomelo? Well, isn't it good? Forget it. We'll steal it next time when the sapling is not around."
…
-->>
Later, Xuzhi was born, I was old enough to go to school, and my family moved to the Imperial City. The time of growing up seemed to fly. Year after year, I gradually grew up, but some things did not change over the years. My father was always the gentle man, especially to my mother.
It may be hard for many people to imagine, but my father and mother have never been apart for a day. My father is in poor health and has to go to the hospital regularly every month. Most of the time, he works at home with my mother or accompanies her to the studio.
I have to admit that although I love my parents very much, I am also like most children, busy understanding the world and growing up, and don’t pay much attention to my parents’ lives and inner thoughts. Moreover, they also have their own world that we, as children, cannot peek into or touch.
I never reached the deepest part of my parents' hearts until I was nine years old.
On our tenth wedding anniversary, my father took my mother back to the countryside of Jiangcheng. When I was looking for a documentary in the study, I accidentally discovered my mother's unpublished manuscripts and diaries. That day, I realized what the phrase "Dad is going to the hospital" that I had taken for granted since I was a child actually meant. The doctors had long been helpless, but my father had been struggling, for my mother, for his indomitable spirit, and for his unfulfilled pride and dreams.
It was also that year that the vague word "war" began to become clear in my world.
I started to pay attention to the war and reread the book. I read it when I was young and just thought it was a story and was very interesting. But I felt pain when I read it again.
Writing this preface now makes me even sadder.
How many people just read a story, and how many people care about the people in the story? On that inconspicuous war anniversary, how many people cherished the past, and how many people paid attention to the survivors of the war
As I write this, I think of my experiences over the past few years - I have met homeless veterans on the streets several times. They are down and out, ragged, and mentally confused. Passersby hurried past, but no one stopped.
At that time, I wondered, does it mean that a moment of death is tragic, while surviving a lifetime is painful and shameful
Later I looked for books and documentaries. I found many records of the victims and the dead. Countless films and novels were created to commemorate them. But there were very few records of the survivors. Their faces blurred with time and disappeared in the long river.
Many wars have obviously broken out in the past hundred years, including World War I, World War II, the Vietnam War, the Gulf War, and the Israeli-Palestinian War... But why, it seems that no one knows, and no one cares, how the survivors survived.
Many of them are like veterans wandering the streets, who have suffered great trauma and can only exist but not live. There is no way for them to return to normal life.
In the face of war, they become pawns of human tragedy, used up and then discarded.
My mother always said that suffering is disgusting and no one is willing to face or confront it.
So, survival is ugly and forgetting is silent.
So, no one knows that my father goes to the hospital every month not only to treat his physical injuries but also his emotional injuries. He and my mother are never separated for a single day because he cannot leave each other. No one knows that my father’s bones will ache on rainy and cold days, and he will groan in pain in my mother’s arms. No one knows that many years later, he will still wake up in tears from nightmares.
Heroes are remembered and engraved on stone tablets; survivors are forgotten and unrecognizable.
Because people always say that time will erase all trauma, and one day you will forget the pain and get better. But it won't. Some pains can never be forgotten, and some injuries will never heal.
So, when I was nine, he committed suicide, with a homemade pistol.
He had always been in poor health, and that year he finally fell ill. The collapse of his body released the beast frozen in his mind. He fell into a nightmare and couldn't get out of it. He looked out the window more and more often, saying there was a white olive tree. But there was nothing outside the window. It was a sign that he confused reality with illusion. When he was unconscious, he didn't even recognize me and Xuzhi.
When I went to the hospital to see him, he looked at me on the hospital bed, his eyes seemed to be lost in memories, and he said, "You're here?"
I said, "Yeah, I came to see you."
He asked, "How old are you?"
I said, “Nine years old.”
He said, "Fortunately, it's still early. Wait until you're 23, and don't push that terrorist into a roadside residence."
I burst into tears and said, "Dad, I am Song Zhi, a little tree."
He smiled and said, "Little tree, grow up slowly. No matter how hard your life will be, don't be afraid. Your little bird will come to find you. Even if you suffer so much that you turn into a match, she will still come to find you."
He thought I was his younger self. He didn't remember me anymore. He only remembered my mother.
During that time, my mother stayed with him all day, guarding his bedside. He was only conscious when my mother was around. In the last days, he was very weak, but he always wanted to talk to my mother and would not let her leave for a moment.
One time I went to see him and heard him say, "Ran Ran, I regret this."
The mother asked, "What do you regret?"
"Do you remember when I told you that I wanted to be a tree in my next life?"
"Yeah, I remember. It's been a long time."
"I regret it, Ranran. In my next life, I still want to be A-Zan. 'A-Zan and Ranran got married.' The A-Zan in this sentence."
"Do you still remember this sentence?"
"Didn't you ask me to remember that?" He was smiling.
I stood outside the ward, tears streaming down my face. Because of his "Ran Ran", he forgave all the suffering in the world.
He didn't say sorry or thank you to her, he just said he wanted to go back to Jiangcheng, their original home.
On the day I returned, I remembered a little incident.
Many years ago, when I was still in primary school, my family went back to the countryside to spend the summer vacation as usual. Little Pigeon went with his mother to dig mugwort buds.
My father squatted by the lake, his arms around me, holding my hand as we fished for lobsters. He was tall, and his embrace was warm.
There is a faint fragrance on my father, like the forest on a spring morning.
He said: "Little tree, Dad will work hard. But if one day, my efforts fail, you have to forgive me. You have to grow up well on your own."
I was seven years old at the time and didn't understand what he said. Later I realized that he had worked hard for ten years.
It was winter when I returned to Jiangcheng. Everything was quiet.
He leaned on the recliner, covered with a quilt, and outside the window it was snowing, thick white snow. He looked at his mother quietly, his eyes were calm and distant, full of attachment, reluctance, and gratitude.
The mother did the same, gazing at him with a smile.
They just stared at each other silently, staying there quietly for the entire afternoon as it snowed.
That was my father's last conscious moment. After that, his body ran out of energy and his consciousness could no longer be restored. He pulled the trigger in reality and fantasy. The wound was on his neck.
He died peacefully, wearing the bathrobe he and my mother bought together, with a faded red rope tied around his wrist and a pale gold ring on his ring finger.
He is almost as handsome as he was in his youth.
My mother didn't cry, she just kissed him for a long time.
She said, "A-Zan, thank you for your hard work."
In those ten years of struggling and being full of gratitude, his love and responsibility for his mother, his regrets for the past, his pursuit of his ideals, his confusion and gratitude for life, his desire and cherishment for life, all disappeared with the sound of a gunshot and his departure...
Everyone knows what happened a few years later.
My mother was hit by a stray bullet while trying to save a child during a visit to Egypt-Saudi Arabia war.
When she was brought back to the country, her coffin was covered with the national flag.
At that time, Xuzhi and I followed my grandparents to the airport to pick her up. Suddenly, I remembered that when my father was buried, my mother said, "What a pity! A-Zan's coffin should be covered with the national flag."
The wind on the tarmac fluttered the national flag. I thought, fate had arranged this.
I have seen my mother's face, calm and peaceful. I think she was eager to see my father. After all, I once heard her say that she was willing to give half of her life to him.
Having written this, I think I finally understand what war is all about.
It is a long-lasting pain.
This kind of pain can transcend time, space, and even generations.
Twenty-two years after the end of the war, far away in Boston, I, less than twenty-one years old, was driven by a secret emotion and burst into tears as I wrote these words.
However, I cannot write too much, because suffering makes people feel bored and repulsive. I should still say something that can make everyone smile and feel relieved.
Whenever I think of my parents, although I regret that they didn't participate in my life more, I am also grateful: Thank you for embracing me so gently and giving me such a wonderful life. Every time I think of them, I feel regretful, but also feel surrounded by warmth. They have been together for so many years, and have never been apart for a single day. Although it was because of my father's illness that he couldn't leave my mother. But it was also because the love and attachment between them was too deep, deeper than time. So now after they passed away, there are still people who remember and commemorate their love.
My mother's book has won so many awards, and the recent declassification of archives also brought news that my father was posthumously awarded the title of Marquis of Hong Kong. More and more people are knowing their story.
I hope you won’t feel sad when you read this, because I can tell you responsibly that the intimacy they have enjoyed over the years has already surpassed many people’s entire lives.
They supported each other, worked hard for each other, and lived out their brilliant lives.
I think this is why, every time I see my parents in my dreams, they always have the gentlest smiles on their faces. My mother chatters away on and on about trivial matters, and my father looks at her with a smile and nods.
I think this is why I can always feel their great love no matter where I am. On the ocean, in the mountain breeze, on the treetops, in the sunshine, everywhere I can feel their love, their love for each other, and their love for the world.
There is a sentence that I have never had the chance to say to my father and mother -
Over the years, I have been to many places and met many people, but you are the most gentle at heart.
I feel lucky and grateful to have witnessed your life.
Li Songzhi
July 31, 204x
In Boston
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Editor’s Note:
On the eve of the publication of the 18th anniversary edition of this book, the top-secret files of the four countries' fight against terrorists 23 years ago were declassified and made public.
Major Li Zan was posthumously named a "martyr" and awarded the title of "hero", was awarded first-class merit, and was promoted to colonel. The East Korean government awarded him the "Presidential Medal of Freedom" and the United Nations awarded him the "World Peace Medal". Colonel Li Zan is a special forces soldier codenamed L in the book.
Also awarded the above honors are four other martyrs and heroes who died in a foreign land 22 years ago (their names were announced for the first time recently): Wang Jianfeng, Ji Haoran, Xiao Li, and Fang Zhen.
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I would like to dedicate this book to every one of you who loves life in the world.
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