Beijing Notes 011 - Long Journey Home

后山

June 9, 7:00AM

Return to the Summer Capital

A mere week away from Beijing, and upon my return, I find the city has already shed the tender spring green of late March and stepped gracefully into the mild embrace of midsummer. The heat is far from oppressive; instead, the roads are flanked by lush, canopying trees, teeming with the vibrant vitality unique to this season. Mornings in Beijing arrive exceptionally early. By 5:30 AM, the sun is already high in the sky. Checking my phone, I see the temperature sits comfortably in the mid-60s Fahrenheit—crisp and refreshing. I cannot help but recall my home in the United States just a few days ago, where the mercury had soared past 90 degrees. The contrast makes Beijing’s current climate feel all the more soothing.

This week-long journey to America was primarily to attend the ASCO (American Society of Clinical Oncology) Annual Meeting in Chicago. It is a monumental gathering, one I have made a point of attending roughly every two years throughout my career. On May 29th, I boarded a United Airlines flight from Beijing to San Francisco, and after a brief domestic transfer, touched down in Chicago late into the night.

The Second Hometown

To me, Chicago is undeniably a second home. When I first ventured to the United States in 1992, this was the city where I first set root. I went on to spend four profound years working at the Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine in the heart of downtown. It was here that I forged lifelong friendships, learned to drive, and welcomed my two children into the world. To call it my second hometown is not a poetic exaggeration, but a literal truth.

When I first arrived decades ago, I was captivated by the majestic skyscrapers cradled by the vast expanse of Lake Michigan. Northwestern offered a world-class scientific research environment, and my four years there were both academically fulfilling and remarkably serene. After leaving Chicago in 2000, however, my returns became sparse. Most of the city's sweeping architectural transformations occurred after my departure—a trajectory of rapid development mirror-imaging that of many cities in China. Today, downtown Chicago boasts far more skyscrapers than it did in the nineties, and the streets are noticeably cleaner and more orderly.

During my early years here, I was always in a rush, moving through life with a hurried step. Though I knew the beautiful Chicago River cleaved through the city, I never once paused to stroll along its banks. Returning all these years later, I now find myself frequently walking the Riverwalk, watching the passersby, and quietly drinking in the architectural vistas on either side.

At the ASCO meeting, I reunited with numerous old colleagues and successfully concluded my professional agenda. One could palpably feel the meteoric rise of clinical medicine in recent years, particularly in oncology research. An increasing number of Chinese enterprises are now deeply embedded in this ecosystem, significantly accelerating the R&D pipeline for novel therapeutics. China’s innovation and research capabilities are rightfully earning deeper recognition and respect from international peers. As a veteran of this industry, I am acutely aware that the work we dedicate ourselves to carries immense weight—not just for the field itself, but for the millions of cancer patients awaiting a lifeline.

The Liminal Space Between Two Worlds

Once the ASCO conference concluded, I took a short flight of just over an hour from Chicago to New Jersey, returning to my house in Princeton. My family had just moved here last October. Because my wife was currently in China, I pushed open the door to find an echoing, empty house.

The living environments and cultural atmospheres of China and the United States are vastly different. During my recent two-month stay in China, I had gradually adapted to the brisk rhythm of Beijing. Yet, having spent thirty-four years in America—a span of time that now exceeds the years I spent growing up in China—my decades overseas have quietly but permanently rewired my habits. Even when immersed in the boundless culinary delights of Chinese cuisine, a stray, inexplicable craving for a simple American sandwich or burger would occasionally strike me, growing particularly intense in the days leading up to my return flight.

Yet, more than the food, what truly anchors my soul to this soil are the lifelong friends with whom I have shared countless days of exercise, laughter, and heartfelt conversations. The few days spent at home felt like a rare, stolen pocket of leisure. I played pickleball in the backyard and befriended several new neighbors, including a few Chinese families. I also hit the tennis courts, trading swings for hours with my old playing partners. In those moments, it felt as though I had instantly slipped back into the familiar cadence of my American life.

But every precious minute in the United States carried a countdown; I had to return to Beijing and resume my duties. On June 6th, at four o’clock in the morning under a pitch-black sky, I took an Uber to Newark Liberty International Airport. My flight routed through San Francisco for a brief one-hour layover before crossing the Pacific. From the moment I left my front door in New Jersey to the moment I checked into my hotel in Beijing, the journey spanned over twenty-four hours. It was a long, grueling trek that left me thoroughly exhausted.

Cinema in the Clouds: Tales of Devotion

To pass the time during the grueling flight, I browsed the inflight entertainment system. Without any deliberate intent, but rather out of mild curiosity, I opened the romance section. The first film I selected was *The Princess Bride*. Though filmed in the UK with a distinctly British charm, it is a classic fairy tale adaptation. The British Isles have always been fertile ground for fantasy—giving the world *Harry Potter* and *The Lord of the Rings*—but *The Princess Bride* infuses its high fantasy with a delightfully grounded, witty sense of humor.

The story follows a beautiful young woman named Buttercup and her true love, a farm boy named Westley. After swearing their eternal devotion, Westley leaves to seek his fortune, and the two promise to reunite. Later, Buttercup is chosen by King Humperdinck to be his princess. On the eve of the wedding, she is kidnapped by a trio consisting of a criminal mastermind (a dwarf), a master swordsman, and a gentle giant. They flee by sea on a sailboat, unaware that they are being pursued across the waters by a pirate ship.

As it turns out, the mysterious, elusive masked man pursuing them is none other than the pirate captain himself. Relentlessly trailing them, he finally catches up to the group in the mountains. By his own formidable prowess, he defeats the three captors one by one and rescues the girl. When the masked man finally removes his disguise, they are reunited in breathless surprise—he is the very lover she had been waiting for day and night. Yet, just as joy takes hold, King Humperdinck’s army catches up to them. Finding herself without a choice, Buttercup begs the King to spare Westley’s life, promising in exchange to return to the palace and marry the monarch.

Buttercup defiantly confesses to the King that her heart belongs solely to her old love and that she could never feel anything for him. The King then proposes a ten-day pact: if her lover can come to her rescue, he will let them go; if they do not meet within ten days, the wedding will proceed as scheduled, with no room for regret. Later, the young man is unfortunately captured by the King, subjected to brutal torture, and left on the brink of death. Moved by a change of heart, the swordsman and the giant who had once fought him return to join forces, nursing him back to life. At the eleventh hour, just as the wedding is about to take place, they bring him before Buttercup, and the story culminates in a triumphant, happy ending. It was a narrative of delightful twists and turns, but once the credits rolled, it remained merely a pleasant mid-flight diversion, leaving little emotional residue.

Rediscovering *Casablanca*

Next, I decided to rewatch the cinematic masterpiece, *Casablanca*. I had watched it years ago with friends while attending a medical conference in Chicago, and the plot points were etched deeply in my memory. Yet, watching it this time, high above the clouds, the emotional resonance was entirely different.

In past viewings, my memories were dominated by the breathtaking elegance of Ilsa Lund and her torrid, ill-fated romance with Rick Blaine in pre-occupation Paris. Rick, born in New York, had spent his life drifting across the world. When the fires of World War II ignited, he met Ilsa in Paris, and the two fell into an inseparable, absolute love. On the eve of the German army’s march into Paris, they agreed to flee together. But at the rain-drenched train station, as the ink ran on her farewell note, Rick and his loyal pianist Sam waited in vain. Ilsa never arrived. Heartbroken and disillusioned, Rick left Paris, eventually drifting to Casablanca, where he opened *Rick’s Café Américain*.

Years later, Ilsa unexpectedly walks into his gin joint. The first to recognize her is Sam, who has played the piano here for years. Under the dim, amber lights, amidst an atmosphere thick with ambiguity and melancholy, Sam’s fingers slowly graze the keys, striking up the notes to "As Time Goes By." His deep, low voice echoes softly through the empty café:

> You must remember this

> A kiss is just a kiss

> A sigh is just a sigh

> The fundamental things apply

> As time goes by

>

With just these few lines, the song gently encapsulates the transience and fatalism woven into love. No one could have predicted that these two souls, separated for so many years, would ever cross paths again. It is from this bittersweet collision of past and present that the true story begins to unfold.

In my younger years, my understanding of the film was superficial. I viewed the plot devices as mere cinematic conveniences: the narrative made sure to establish that Ilsa believed her husband, Victor Laszlo, had died in a concentration camp. Her loneliness in Paris smoothed over the moral gray areas of her affair with Rick, making their romance palatable and making the setup feel neat and justified.

Reading the film again today, I finally understood its true, beating heart. The overarching drive of the plot is not merely a love triangle, but a desperate quest for survival and liberty; Ilsa and her husband, the underground resistance leader Victor Laszlo, must secure passage out of Casablanca to reach the free shores of America. When Laszlo first observes his wife interacting with Rick, his sharp intuition immediately senses the profound history between them.

The most gripping dimension of the film is Rick’s internal battlefield. He must confront the agonizing ghost of his past while holding the keys to the future of the woman who broke him. In a magnificent display of self-sacrifice, Rick risks his life, sublimates his own desires, and ensures that Ilsa boards that plane with Laszlo, sending her off with his genuine blessing.

For Ilsa, it is an equally tortuous crucible. Her time with Rick in Paris was short, but it was an incandescent, absolute love, leaving her carrying a heavy weight of guilt toward him. Yet, bound by duty, respect, and a different kind of love for her husband, she suppresses her own heart to beg Rick for help. For Rick, choosing to let go and fulfill the destiny of the woman he loves is a masterclass in emotional maturity and agonizing resolve.

The climax takes place on a tense, rain-slicked night. To ensure Ilsa and Laszlo’s safe departure, Rick holds the opportunistic Prefect of Police, Captain Renault, at gunpoint, escorting the couple all the way to the airport. Just as they are about to board the plane, the unyielding German commander steps in to halt the flight. Finding himself with no alternative, Rick draws his weapon and shoots him dead.

The choices of these supporting characters are deeply telling. The stubborn German officer, blind to the shifting tides of history, meets his demise on the tarmac. Conversely, Captain Renault—a man of flexible virtue who excels at self-preservation—chooses not to interfere. Sensing the impending defeat of the Axis powers, Renault fluidly aligns himself with the right side of history, telling his men to "round up the usual suspects," thereby protecting Rick and saving his own skin.

Standing in the damp night air, Rick, Ilsa, and Laszlo look at one another, each pushed to the ultimate crossroads of their lives. In the end, Laszlo chooses grace and understanding, looking past the shadow of his wife's past affair. It is often said that a man can rarely forgive the romantic divergence of his partner, but human nature and the complexities of the heart defy absolute formulas. Caught between two exceptional men, Ilsa ultimately chooses to fly into the unknown with Laszlo, leaving her shattered past behind. And Rick, standing in the mist, watches the plane disappear into the night, showcasing a nobility of spirit that is deeply moving. Sitting in the cramped cabin of the aircraft, I found myself weeping silently at the sheer beauty of his sacrifice.

Epilogue

Now, back in Beijing, I walk through the park in the crispness of early morning. Watching the scattered early risers and admiring the pristine, fresh scenery around me, the hauntingly beautiful frames of *Casablanca* still drift through my mind.

In my ears, Sam’s low, gravelly voice seems to echo once more: *"A kiss is just a kiss… As time goes by."*