On the edge of a cliff, all logic fails. Only intuition can connect with the world.
I wrote this sentence one night in Lhasa. Finding it now, I feel it can serve as the entry point to this review.
Over these past fourteen months, I’ve been living on the edge of cliffs — almost literally. Encountering ice slopes on ACT mountain trails with drops beside me; every step at the altitude of Genie Sacred Mountain requiring all my strength; riding a motorcycle around the outer circle of Angkor Wat for three days with a splitting headache, yet not stopping. But I also know that those “cliffs” were more often internal. They were the cosmic-level monologues in one’s own mind after getting drunk late at night in a foreign country, with the world fading into the background. They were that night in Shenzhen, standing under DJI’s light beams, feeling like I hadn’t even reached the starting line. They were a certain morning at the end of 2025, suddenly realizing that exploration itself no longer provided enough traction, without knowing where the next fulcrum would be.
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