Guiyang Camp Recap

What can history and philosophy of science bring us in this era? Together we discussed vaccines, infrastructure, local traditional knowledge and witchcraft, shopping carts in supermarkets and Africa's digital laborers. In living case studies and roundtable intellectual exchanges, it seemed we briefly realized the liberal arts vision: "The infinite distance and countless people—all are related to me."

Thank you to friends from different backgrounds who so sincerely contributed their views and arguments. In these exchanges I increasingly realized: history and philosophy of science may not give complete answers, but can constantly inspire us to ask better questions—to hear, within established social frameworks, the voices neglected or forgotten by contemporary science and technology. I was deeply moved that many friends kept asking questions after leaving the roundtable, continually turning theoretical language into fuel for thought and action.

Guiyang is a city worth living in long-term. There are still many interesting places I didn't have time to explore, many stories and feelings I couldn't further share and savor. Thank you to the organizers who selflessly built this wonderful platform inside and outside the roundtable. When the story ends and summer closes, perhaps we won't meet again—but at least we once knew each other in life's experience and shared the echo of the same historical moment. The bright moon was never two places.

I more or less taught a willful course—thank you, co-readers, for tolerating it. When discussing equality or other philosophical concepts, I often feel adrift on the surface of intuition, and theory or history's oars, honestly, are not very handy either. Often you'd rather drop the oars, pull in the sail, lie close to the hull, and watch how your own and the world's thoughts flow with the waves. Guiyang is good water for doing that.

I'm writing this on the evening of September 14th. The Guiyang camp began on July 14th—two months have passed. It feels right to write some looking-back words now. I was truly lucky to come to the Guiyang camp: ate good food, drank good coffee and wine, and most importantly, met such lovely friends. In Guiyang, life mostly went like this: wake at eight for class, sleep after class, wake at three to prepare, eat and drink with everyone at six, then wander aimlessly through Guiyang—walk, look, stop—sleep late at night. Two weeks like that. Simple times. Every day I thought: what will we eat, drink, and talk about today? As Teacher Zhao said: this was a utopia filled with alcohol and intellectual life. I was truly lucky to meet such friends—we could open up to each other, speak sincerely, cry and laugh together. September is half gone, autumn is deepening, the weather turning cool. I hope my Guiyang friends stay warm and well.

During ten days at Zhihe I met a group of interesting people and felt the power of words and debate. The reading circle made me re-read Aristotle's texts countless times, sensing the depth of language. Perhaps that is the meaning of sharing. I miss Guiyang's alleys and nights, and look forward to meeting everyone again.

It was a great honor and joy to appear as a volunteer at this camp—a different kind of happiness at Zhihe from my experience as a co-reader half a year ago.

As a volunteer I took on many responsibilities, collaborating with everyone to build and run the camp well. From designing the opening ceremony to deciding what to eat each day—big and small seemingly trivial things composed an interesting, beautiful, wonderful twelve days.

I loved seeing everyone participate earnestly, enjoyed the laughter when we gathered together, was happy to meet old friends and delighted to make new ones.

I hope Zhihe can keep running in Guiyang forever, and that more new friends will join us.

Love Zhihe, love everyone!

I have deep ties with Zhihe. From first learning about it through a friend's introduction in 2020 and becoming a co-reader, to this summer—this is my fifth year with Zhihe.

On those nights when I often couldn't sleep until dawn, chaotic sounds always came from the place closest to my heart. Orpheus's song rose within me; many ideals and confusions floated before my eyes. After deciding to become a volunteer for Zhihe's 2025 Guiyang summer camp, these sounds made me begin to imagine what vision I could realize at Zhihe—yet also worry that when that ideal-filled voice suddenly looked back at me, I might fall into disorder and noise.

Entering summer, my new story with Zhihe began to be written. These many sounds finally sank into the earth, melting into the ground with the sound of sunlight hitting it, shrinking rapidly with the speed of the streets, until all thought was only the real size of one person.

During these twelve days, the moment closest to poetry for me was the afternoon we sat in the pine forest reading Shakespeare (though I still regret that I only invited one facilitator to teach this way). Words have a deep connection with how people feel, and a natural connection with our most embodied experience. When we create a new experience for everyone, we are also naming a new meaning for words—and as participants we naturally become secret co-conspirators of this new meaning that exists only among us. Outside the meaning community constructed by institutional education, we built our community's own intimacy this way—a poetry from daily life. I think such moments are precisely the charm and value of the roundtable reading circle form.

When words fall to the ground, we can create events that, once they appear on paper, become poetry.

From 2020 to now, we have persisted in helping reading circles take root in Guiyang—and there is a very core reason behind this. As a teacher who has worked in study-abroad services for eleven years, I have met many students and deeply felt how lost and passive many Guiyang children are when facing future choices. They often cannot clearly express what they want to study, what fields interest them, or even what kind of school they want—they turn and ask me: "Teacher, how should I answer?" They expect a "standard answer." This made me realize that our local educational environment and resources are still too narrow. Many children are long bound by scores and standards, lacking opportunities to encounter diverse educational ideas, leaving their understanding of self and world not open or deep enough.

And "Zhihe" offers a different possibility. Here there is no traditional teacher-student relationship. Facilitators do not come to deliver "correct answers" but, through carefully designed topics, guide everyone to read, think, and express together. Every view is respected; every thought deserves to be heard. In such an atmosphere, people gradually learn to actively explore themselves and the world around them. I sincerely hope "Zhihe" can continue growing in Guiyang, and that every participant can become our partner, facilitator, or volunteer in the future—passing on this vision so more young people can join this co-learning community.

This midsummer, you took books as your boat and completed an intellectual expedition in twelve days. With focus and thought you embodied the true meaning of "read ten thousand books, travel ten thousand miles."

I hope you will treat this time as a seed. True reading is lifelong practice—it teaches us to understand complexity, accept difference, stay curious. When you close your books and return to daily life, may the sparks of thought lit by words continue illuminating your path, and may those nights of debate with like-minded people continue nourishing your soul.

Reading's greatest meaning is not how much knowledge you remember, but gaining dimensions of thought, cultivating reading habits and critical thinking—all of which will become important supports for facing future challenges.

May you keep your passion for knowledge and curiosity about the world, meet a better self through reading, and create a more beautiful future through practice. I look forward to you becoming lifelong readers and active thinkers, writing your own brilliant chapters with wisdom.