Fireworks and Starlight - Chapter 1

People always hesitate before the unknown.

Within the unknown lies fear, confusion, and curiosity.

But the brave ones always choose to take that first step—

to turn “impossible” into “I did it.”

They call me Antelope.

After sixteen years of traveling and working across this vast land called China, I have collected countless real stories.

Today, I want to write down one of them—it is not a legend, but a story about a promise, about persistence, and about one 108-kilometer journey that changed my life.

My motto is simple:

The step before success is called “persistence.”

I. The Beginning

The starting point of this journey goes back to 2012.

That year, at a trade fair in Shenzhen, I met Chen from Guangzhou (I always call him Chen).

He was the kind of boy whose smile was like sunlight.

He was 24 years old that year—haha, now he’s already become an “uncle.”

Over the years, through many encounters, we gradually became good friends.

He was known as the “Stake of the Track,” the one responsible for race safety.

Out of 18 events so far, he has participated in 16.

In 2018, Chen became a promoter of the 108-kilometer Dunhuang Gobi Desert Trek.

He began persuading me tirelessly:

“Antelope, come join us! Four days and three nights, 108 kilometers—you can definitely do it!”

But inside, I hesitated.

“108 kilometers? On foot? Four days and three nights? Just thinking about it makes me tired.”

“I can’t. I don’t have the stamina,” I always replied.

But Chen never gave up. He persuaded me almost every day.

Until one day, during a casual chat, we started talking about my birthday.

II. Starlight and Childhood

I said my birthday is in May.

I wished that on my birthday, I could see splendid fireworks and a sky full of stars.

As I said that, an image appeared in my mind—

a picture from childhood:

When I lived in the new village, my father would always move a canvas bed to the little courtyard in front of the kitchen on summer nights.

My younger brother and I lay on each side of him, resting our heads on his arms, looking up at the night sky.

The vast galaxy shimmered above us, and my father whispered stories softly.

Back then, the night sky was deep and pure, and the stars felt within reach.

As I grew up, the city lights gradually drowned out the stars.

They disappeared from the sky, but never from my memory.

III. The Promise

That day, during our chat, I said half-jokingly:

“If I could celebrate my birthday in the desert—with fireworks and starlight—that would be so cool.”

Unexpectedly, Chen answered seriously:

“I can arrange that. Five minutes of fireworks, a birthday song, and a bonfire… would you come?”

I was stunned.

Maybe he said it just to convince me—but for a moment, something in my heart lit up.

Of course, I still found excuses:

“I might not have the energy… I might not make it…”

But Chen remained patient.

Until one day, cornered by his persistence, I said half-jokingly,

“What do I have to do for you to stop pestering me?”

He laughed and said, “Just sign up.”

I paused for a few seconds and said,

“All right, I’ll sign up.”

And just like that, a single promise pushed me to the starting line of 108 kilometers.

IV. Crowdfunding and Challenge

The registration for this 108-kilometer trek was quite special—it wasn’t about paying money, but crowdfunding.

The organizers gave each participant a link to share with friends, to raise their registration fee.

You could think of it as asking your friends to “sponsor” your ticket to the challenge.

Many people questioned it:

“Why should I pay for you to have fun?”

But crowdfunding was never really about money—it was a mental challenge.

It forced you to step out of your comfort zone and do something you were afraid to do.

In the process of raising funds, you were already beginning your journey—

because you had to first learn how to convince yourself.

Crowdfunding was a strange but meaningful start.

In the registration stage for the 108-kilometer trek, this special experience became a kind of spiritual training.

There were many fun elements: who raised funds the fastest, who gathered the most supporters…

Behind every little achievement was a small emotional spark.

Some people raised more than 10,000 yuan within seconds;

others set symbolic amounts—like 10.80 yuan—and somehow ended up with 13,999 yuan.

What seemed like a numbers game was, in truth, a flow of energy between people.

During this process, you would often hear voices of doubt:

“108 kilometers? Can you even walk that far? It’s a desert—too hot, too dangerous!”

People are used to worrying, used to setting limits for themselves.

But they forget—the most worthwhile landscapes in life often lie within the unknown.

Instead of sitting at home imagining difficulties,

why not sign up bravely and walk it yourself?

The 108-kilometer trek is not just a physical challenge—it’s a cleansing of the soul.

Many people said:

“Crowdfunding? Impossible! I’ve been the one others come to for help, never the one asking.”

Others said:

“Trekking is my own business. How can I ask friends for money? That would be a joke—like online begging.”

But think again:

Every truly great human achievement—wasn’t it born amid doubt and ridicule?

A plan that no one questions often has no soul.

A dream that never faces rejection often has no strength.

“Crowdfunding” is not about asking for money—

it’s about rediscovering yourself.

When I finally gathered my courage to launch the crowdfunding campaign,

I realized that what trapped me was not the 10,000 yuan—it was my own “face.”

We speak so boldly at dinner tables, full of confidence,

but when it’s time to reach out and ask for help, we suddenly freeze.

At that moment, I asked myself:

Is my life truly unable to create even the courage for 10,000 yuan?

Am I guarding my pride, or missing a chance to redefine myself?

Crowdfunding lets you see relationships clearly.

Who are your true friends?

Who silently stands up for you when you need them most?

It’s a mirror that reflects both your circle and your heart.

We don’t live to please thousands of people who “like” us,

but for the dozens—or perhaps a hundred—who truly care.

They are the real support of your life.

And when you finally complete the crowdfunding,

you’ll be amazed to find that the version of yourself who once hesitated and feared misunderstanding has already changed.

Crowdfunding doesn’t teach you how to ask for money—

it teaches you how to face rejection, and how to face yourself.

It shows you that you’re not begging for help—

you’re inviting the world to witness the birth of a new “you.”

In life, success and failure always walk side by side.

What truly matters is finding the passion that lights your heart,

the mission worth dedicating your life to.

And for me, at the moment I pressed the “Launch Crowdfunding” button,

I had already begun my 108 kilometers.

Because the challenge doesn’t start with the first step on the Gobi Desert—

it starts at that very instant when you decide to be brave.

The constantly changing numbers on the crowdfunding list were not just about money—

they were a practice of trust, courage, and connection.

Among these stories, there was laughter and there were tears.

The one that touched me the most was from a sister who spoke about her “1-yuan miracle.”

She lived in the city—a gentle, smiling woman.

That day, holding the microphone, her voice trembled slightly:

“I once received a donation—just 1 yuan. And at that moment, I cried.”

The room fell silent.

She said it came from her elementary school classmate.

They hadn’t been in touch for over fifty years.

In her crowdfunding message, she had written: “Even 1 yuan is support.”

That classmate lived in a remote village and barely knew how to use WeChat.

When she accidentally saw the post, she wanted to help this long-lost friend.

But her phone was too old—it couldn’t open the crowdfunding link.

So she went to town, bought a new phone, asked the young people there to teach her how to download the app, register an account, and learn to make a payment.

It took her the entire afternoon.

Finally, she managed to send that 1 yuan.

After the campaign ended, the woman called to thank her.

The classmate laughed on the phone:

“I didn’t know I could give more! You wrote ‘Even 1 yuan is support,’ so I thought that was the limit!”

Both of them laughed—and both had tears in their eyes.

A friendship long lost for decades was rekindled by that 1 yuan.

That single yuan connected city and countryside,

and two distant hearts.

It weighed more than any amount of money—

because it represented someone willing to overcome every inconvenience in life,

just to support another person’s dream.

That is the true meaning of crowdfunding.

It is not a number of money,

but a touch between hearts.

It shows us that as long as one person is willing to take the first step,

there will always be another heart answering from afar.