Today we have a small sharing session, followed by singing and dancing. Most importantly, we hope everyone will get drunk and freely mingle. There are many people I’d like to thank, but I’ll keep those thoughts in my heart—I’m truly grateful to everyone. Actually, everyone here today is a dreamer, but let’s hear each other’s stories. We’ll have a PPT presentation so you can see who’s coming up, whether they’re handsome, if you want to meet them, and what their dreams are. There are a few short introductions first, then people with stories will share, and afterward, you can all freely mingle.
New Book Theme Party: "Set Off, and Talk About Dreams with Everyone"
Let’s start by inviting Teacher Lei Diansheng. I met Teacher Lei earlier this year when I came across his profile online. He’s a long-distance walker, an explorer who spent ten years traveling across China, including a solo trek through the Death Sea, Lop Nur. Teacher Lei has two dreams: one is to go to Africa, and the other is to walk across Taiwan. Aside from his impressive experiences, I deeply admire his character. After I got to know him, I visited his small museum at home—where he displays materials collected over ten years. I invited a group of friends to meet him, but when we arrived, there was already a second group visiting. He gathered us all together and treated us to a meal. He said, “If you’re ever broke, there’s a line of people waiting to treat you that could last three years.” What moved me most was how approachable Teacher Lei was—even as a complete stranger, I never felt any distance. He gave off a sense of trustworthiness, like someone you could entrust your life to.
Lei Diansheng: Thank you. First, I want to thank you for providing such a platform. I just got back from Shanghai and I’m especially grateful to all my friends for being here together. Yu Ying and I share the same dream about Shanghai. I’ve also written a book, which was published on November 6th. I did book signings in Shenzhen, Guangzhou, and Shanghai. I was worried about making it to this event because of my flight schedule. But 20 days ago, Yu Ying sent me a message, and I take every promise I make very seriously. I canceled my earlier flight because I was afraid I wouldn’t make it, then bought another ticket to rush back. I brought Yu Ying a bottle of wine as a small gift—it’s a vintage Shanghai liquor.
Let me briefly introduce myself. My name is Lei Diansheng. I was born in a remote mountain village in Hulan County, Heilongjiang Province—not far from Harbin, by the Hulan River. I won’t spend too much time on dreams since there are many friends here, but I’ll talk about mine. When I was in elementary school, around fourth grade, due to the political climate focusing on family background, my family was labeled poorly. My parents were criticized and struggled under the pressure, falling ill from overwork. I had to drop out of school in the fourth grade to take care of them. My mother passed away when I was just over 13, and my father when I was just over 15. So I entered society before even turning 16. I didn’t read much, so in the late 1970s, I started working. From the late 1980s to the early 1990s, I worked hard for over a decade. Starting with nothing but labor skills, I made some friends and earned several hundred thousand yuan. Back in the '80s, having ten thousand yuan in the Northeast was a big deal—I had several hundred thousand. But I only had money, no knowledge or education. I couldn’t even speak well, just worked and ran small businesses.
In 1987, stamps were issued to commemorate the 400th anniversary of the birth of Xu Xiake, the Ming Dynasty geographer and traveler. Those stamps inspired me to become a traveler. Then in 1989, Yu Chunshun set out from Shanghai to travel across China. That same year, I met him while working on a construction site in the Greater Khingan Mountains of Heilongjiang. These two people inspired me, and I began preparing. By 1998, I was mostly ready. In 1993, I came to Beijing and worked at a foreign company in Guomao. But to be honest, I got that job through a friend’s referral—I didn’t speak any English. I was part of the wave of “Beijing drifters,” arriving in the city with several hundred thousand yuan. The first thing the foreign company asked me was about my education. I said I had none—I hadn’t even finished elementary school. They started me off cleaning bathrooms and serving tea. After a few months, the boss saw I was doing well and made me his assistant. I stayed in that role until 1997, when I quit and reached the level of a white-collar worker.
The reason I came to Beijing was to broaden my horizons, make more friends, and study in my spare time. I prepared for nearly 11 years to travel across China—saving money, training my body, and learning knowledge. On October 20, 1998, at 8:20 a.m., I set off from Kilometer 0 of National Highway 102 in Harbin, Heilongjiang. Before leaving, I quit my job and gave up my business in Daqing Oilfield. I saved all my money on a postal savings card and took it with me. Before departing, I also made a decision to go to the hospital and have my appendix removed—I was afraid of getting appendicitis, since Yu Chunshun almost died from it. The doctor gave me a little anesthesia, but during the procedure, my muscles were tense and it made a lot of noise. The doctor said I was cutting wrong and cut a bit too much. When they tugged the appendix with their fingers, it was quite painful—but I endured it for the sake of my dream.
It took me 10 years and 20 days. Some years had 365 days, others 366. In that time, I traveled through 55 ethnic minority areas, villages, rivers, deserts, valleys, glaciers, grasslands, forests, border counties, and mountainous regions like Yinchuan—all places worth visiting. I completed it all without taking a single vehicle. The total distance was 81,000 kilometers—equivalent to circling the equator twice. I wore out 52 pairs of shoes, lost 19 toenails, developed over 230 blisters on my feet, took 40,000+ photos, and wrote over 1 million words in my diary. I encountered 19 dangerous situations and 40+ wild animal encounters. In China, I saw every kind of wild animal except a tiger. Many people still don’t understand why I would undertake such a journey when I had money. Material life can offer many things, but the spiritual world enriches you even more. I may not have read thousands of books, but I enriched my outlook on life and values by traveling tens of thousands of miles.
Over those 10 years, I faced countless challenges, but I didn’t see them as tests of life or conquests. You can’t conquer people, the world, or nature—you can only conquer your own firm heart and beliefs. In those 10 years and 20 days, I experienced so many stories. Though I lacked a strong educational background, I still wrote a book.
"Ten Years Walking Across China"—I’m really grateful to Yu Ying for giving me this opportunity to show it to you. The title was written by the famous author Chen Zhongshi in calligraphy. Yang Liwei, Siqin Gaowa, and Tang Huatao wrote touching words for my book after reading my manuscript—they even shed tears. To be honest, without that life experience, I might never have met them, let alone had them write something for my book. So I’m truly thankful. The book comes with a free travel route map, marked with colored lines—each color represents a year. Together, they add up to 81,000 kilometers. On the back is a record of the 56 ethnic regions I visited. Starting from the day the “56 Ethnic Groups Unity” stamps were issued on October 1, 1999, for the 50th anniversary of the founding of China, I bought the Han stamp in Sanmin, Fujian, and stamped it with the postmark of that day. From then on, whenever I visited an ethnic area, I’d stamp the local ethnic stamp and find a post office to postmark it. I carried that paper for nine years, all the way until Taiwan.
When Yu Ying came to my home, she saw my little museum. The biggest reward from those 10 years is the collection of 2 tons of items—including toenail clippings, the 52 worn-out shoes (none of which I washed), and 40,000+ photos, all with stories behind them. I display them for visitors. Actually, running that little museum is a money-losing venture—I lose at least tens of thousands of yuan each year. Many friends visit, and I love hosting. I provide meals, even lodging. The place is quite large, located in the suburbs of Changping. Later, it got too far, so I set up a club in Xiangshan with a small exhibition hall and display window. So if any of you have time, you can come to Xiangshan for tea, chat, and see some interesting things.
I’ll briefly share a few stories. Before setting off, I prepared for ten years. First, I familiarized myself with China’s geography, terrain, ethnic distribution—all committed to memory. But more importantly, I focused on building a strong body and mind. Over those ten years, I ran 5–10 kilometers daily. By the final year, I quit my job, went back to Heilongjiang to visit my parents’ graves, sold my house, and had my appendix removed. Before the surgery, I ran every night with a gas tank on my back. Once, a police car stopped next to me—the officers thought I was stealing a gas tank. I told them I was exercising. They said they’d never seen anyone exercise like that and took me to the station. I said, “Don’t take me yet—come to my home.” My place was full of gear: nunchucks, dumbbells, etc. I told them I was training to walk across China with weight. They warned me never to do that again—it was too dangerous in case the gas tank exploded.
I also studied Taekwondo. Out of the 19 dangerous encounters, I could handle one or two people easily. I didn’t cut my hair during the trip—it grew to about a meter long. When I met people, I wasn’t nervous. Once, someone pulled out a knife. I laughed and said, “Finally, a human!” He ran toward me, I ran the other way. A couple of times, burly men attacked me with wooden sticks. I broke an arm once—it swelled up but didn’t break, thanks to my wooden post training. Even at 50, my muscles were solid. So yes, preparation is essential. Over those ten years, I received so much help and kindness. I still keep a notebook of everyone who assisted me. Whenever I publish something, I send them a copy to prove I finished the journey alive.
I also encountered over 40 wild animals, two of which directly threatened my life. One was in Tibet’s Ali region, on July 12, 2002, at midnight, at an altitude of over 4,700 meters. I was in my tent when I heard rustling from low bushes and gravel. I opened the zipper and saw a pack of glowing green wolves charging at me. My hair stood on end. I had firecrackers with me—I lit them, and the wolves scattered. I was on a small cliff. After the firecrackers, 20+ wolves surrounded me—some close, some a few meters away. I could see their whiskers. Then I thought of burning my clothes. I wore 90-yuan clothes and always cut off a piece in each place I visited. My goals were to walk across China, explore the environment, document folklore, and adventure through uninhabited areas. I burned my clothes and threw them at the wolves. Flames burst out, and I threw several more pieces, along with insecticide. After 20+ minutes, the wolves left. I sat there with a knife until dawn. I was exhausted from the weight I carried, but I didn’t sleep that night. The next day, I packed the half-burned clothes and my tent, put on a thin shirt, and walked at over 4,000 meters altitude.
On July 13, 2002, at noon, I saw military vehicles. They gave me water and asked what I was doing. I said I was exploring on foot. They asked where I was headed—I said Xinjiang. They said it was too dangerous, that it would take a month, the altitude was high, and there were wild animals. I thanked them but said I wouldn’t take their vehicle. They said, “We’re soldiers—we won’t tell anyone.” I insisted on walking step by step. A commander, Major General Zhu Jinglin, got out. Hearing I planned to walk across China in ten years, he gave me camouflage clothes, military rations, and wrote a note on my notebook. It mentioned several military stations along the 1,000+ km route that would shelter me. In 2000, I even spent the Spring Festival at one of those stations.
In Jiangxi, I encountered a python—around 300 pounds, 8–9 meters long. It chased me. At closest, it was 4–5 meters away, rearing up with a head nearly a meter tall. I was terrified. I ran, ripping open my jacket zipper to light and throw firecrackers behind me. After running for over ten minutes, I felt like I might vomit blood from the weight. I collapsed on a rock, thinking, “If you eat me, you won’t get far either.” When I turned back, it was gone—the firecrackers and the cheapest insect spray (even the scented kind didn’t work) had scared it off. Those were the two most dangerous attacks. Another time, I was bitten by a venomous snake. I can show you the scar—it bled black, and it hurt badly. I used a stethoscope pouch to tie off the wound, then cut out the flesh with a scalpel (it wasn’t thick—just bone underneath). I squeezed out the black blood. When I unwrapped the tape, my leg was swollen, but the bleeding had stopped. I took some anti-inflammatory pills, bandaged it, and limped along. A man’s gotta be tough with himself. There are many more stories—but we can share them at my exhibition hall later.