Between Blue and Green

The last farewell to Qingdao was between takeoff and landing at Liuting Airport. Outside the window, only a melting blue remained, the boundary between sea and sky blurred in the peripheral vision, like a frame of an unfrozen memory. This time, still in a hurry, but heading in a different direction—from the west coast of Huangdao. The long beach and endless blue waves stretched outside the car window. Passing through a tunnel felt like driving from modern hustle into old tranquility. The old city and the new city flowed in the view, red tiles stacked with green trees, golden sand reflecting the blue waves, the image of Qingdao unfolding one after another. Walking through the undulating streets of Shinan District was like strolling in a museum without walls. The former residences of literati stood quietly by the road, behind stone walls and iron gates, as if the scent of ink still lingered. Those sentences once read seemed to have just grown from the gaps between bricks and tiles; literature had never felt so tangible and real. When reaching the top of Fushan Hill, the soul of this city suddenly appeared. The sea embraced the mountain, the verdant pines and cypresses dyed the depth of the blue waves, movement and stillness, softness and hardness, all so naturally harmonious. This symphony of blue and green is the truest essence of Qingdao. The coming and going is still hurried, but this time, that blue finally sank into the heart, echoing within.