作者：彭小梅（全程参与者）
編輯：Geoffrey Jin 责任编辑：刘芳 校对：程筱筱 翻译：吕峰
出发前，我对这趟旅程的理解其实很简单。我以为这只是一场行动——一场为了呼吁追责、唤醒良知的公路巡游。我没想到，它会让我重新理解“信念”这个词。
一、从洛杉矶出发
2025年9月6日的洛杉矶，自由雕塑公园的风很大。那天阳光刺眼，旗帜翻飞，空气里混着汽油的味道。我站在人群里，看着那座巨大的“中共病毒”雕塑被固定在卡车上。金属的刺突在光里闪烁，像一道道沉默的伤口。陈维明老师坐进驾驶位，那一刻我才知道，他不仅是雕塑的作者，更是它的驾驶者。
引擎启动的瞬间，我心里突然一紧。这不仅是车队的出发，更像是一场信念的启程。我不知道未来三十一天会看到什么、经历什么，但我知道，这条路注定不会平凡。
二、在路上，看见世界
穿越沙漠的那几天，我第一次感到“孤独的壮阔”。公路两侧什么都没有，只有风和阳光。我坐在车窗边，看着那辆雕塑车在前方闪闪发亮。它像一面镜子，映出每个人的疲惫，也映出我们的坚持。
路上的人们常被吸引。有人举起手机拍照，有人竖起大拇指，有人低声说“God bless you”。这些瞬间，让我第一次感到：原来自由不是一个国家的专利，而是一种共通的语言。有时候，一个微笑，一句“Thank you for speaking the truth”，比任何口号都更有力量。
三、我学会了沉默地前行
这一路并不轻松。烈日、暴雨、机械故障、身体的疲惫……但让我最受触动的，是陈维明老师的沉默。
无论白天黑夜，他几乎都坐在驾驶位上。别人劝他休息，他只是摇头。有时候给他递水，他笑笑说：“放那儿吧，我得开。”那一刻我忽然明白——有些人不需要喊口号，他们的行动本身就是语言。他在用车轮，把艺术从雕塑的底座上推向世界的路面。
四、在米德兰的阳光下
德州米德兰的那天，阳光刺得人睁不开眼。市长和国会议员来了，陈老师在雕塑旁讲解：“这是一座纪念碑，也是一份起诉书。”我站在人群后面，看着那金属在阳光下发亮。一瞬间，我感觉那光像是从地底升起来的。
后来我们拜访了对华援助协会。牧师傅希秋说：“信仰与艺术，在真理的道路上殊途同归。”这句话深深刻在我心里。我开始明白，真正的力量，不只是控诉，而是把记忆留给世界，让遗忘无处藏身。
五、当夜色降临
我最喜欢夜行。公路上空无一人，天空深得像墨。雕塑车的灯照出前方一条窄窄的银线。风吹进车窗，我看见陈老师的剪影在光里一闪一闪。那一刻，我忽然觉得，那辆车不仅载着雕塑，也载着我们这一代人尚未熄灭的良知。
有时候我会害怕——害怕这条路太长，害怕努力太微弱。可每当想到那些被压制、被噤声的人，想到无数个被遗忘的名字，我又觉得自己不能退。哪怕这世界只有一点微光，也该有人去守着。
六、归来
2025年10月7日，我们回到了洛杉矶。那天是中秋。圆月升起，照亮了那座历经七千英里的雕塑。陈老师下车，拍了拍车头，轻声说：“它该休息了。”我看着那金属的刺突在月光下闪闪发亮，忽然有一种难以言说的宁静。
我知道，我们走过的每一段路、每一次停靠，都不是为了喧嚣。那是为了让世界记得——有一群人，用自己的方式，让真相重新被看见。
七、我学到的
有人问我，这趟巡游让我收获了什么。我想了很久，答案其实很简单：我学会了什么叫“信念”。
信念不是喊出来的。它是一种在黑夜里仍愿意前行的姿态。它是陈维明老师不言不语的背影，是金绣红女士拄着拐杖仍在讲述真相的坚持，是那辆车轮滚动的声音。
夜色依旧在。雕塑车已停在自由雕塑公园，但我知道，它的路还没走完。因为信念，仍在路上。
The Heart of a Night Walker — What I Saw and Thought During the Virus Sculpture Tour
Author: Peng Xiaomei (Participant throughout)
Editor: Geoffrey Jin Executive Editor: Liu Fang Proofreader: Cheng Xiaoxiao Translator: Lyu Feng
Abstract: On the road toward democracy, one breaks free from restraint, searches for the true self, and is reborn and awakened amid the unknown.
Before setting off, my understanding of this journey was actually quite simple. I thought it was just an action— a road tour to call for accountability and awaken conscience. I did not expect that it would make me understand the word “belief” all over again.
I. Departure from Los Angeles
September 6, 2025. The wind was strong at the Liberty Sculpture Park in Los Angeles. The sunlight was piercing, flags were snapping in the air, and the wind carried the smell of gasoline. I stood in the crowd, watching the massive “CCP Virus” sculpture being secured onto a truck. Its metal spikes glinted in the light—like silent wounds etched into steel.
Professor Chen Weiming climbed into the driver’s seat. Only at that moment did I realize—he was not only the sculptor, but also the one who would drive it forward. When the engine roared to life, my heart tightened. This was not just the departure of a convoy— it felt like the beginning of a journey carried by conviction. I didn’t know what the coming 31 days would bring, but I knew this road would not be ordinary.
II. On the Road, Seeing the World
Crossing the desert for days, I experienced for the first time the grandeur of solitude. There was nothing on either side of the highway—only wind and sunlight. I leaned against the window, watching the sculpture truck shimmer in the distance ahead. It was like a mirror—reflecting everyone’s exhaustion, and also our persistence.
People on the road were often drawn to it. Some held up their phones to take pictures, some gave us a thumbs-up, and some whispered, “God bless you.” In those fleeting moments, I realized: freedom is not the patent of any one nation—it is a language shared by all human hearts. Sometimes, a smile or a quiet “Thank you for speaking the truth” is more powerful than any slogan.
III. Learning to Move Forward in Silence
The journey was far from easy. Scorching sun, thunderstorms, mechanical troubles, physical fatigue… But what moved me most was Professor Chen’s silence. Day or night, he was almost always behind the wheel. When others urged him to rest, he just shook his head. Sometimes, when we handed him water, he would smile and say, “Just leave it there—I need to drive.”
In that moment I understood— some people don’t need to shout slogans, because their actions are their language. He was using the wheels to push art off the pedestal and onto the roads of the world.
IV. Under the Sun in Midland
In Midland, Texas, the sunlight was so harsh it was hard to keep our eyes open. The mayor and a congressman came. Standing beside the sculpture, Professor Chen said, “This is a monument—and also an indictment.” I stood at the back of the crowd, watching the metal glisten in the sun. For a moment, it felt like the light was rising from the earth itself.
Later, we visited ChinaAid. Pastor Bob Fu said: “Faith and art may take different paths, but they meet on the road to truth.” That sentence etched itself into my heart. I began to understand that true power lies not only in accusation— but in leaving memory to the world, so that forgetting has nowhere to hide.
V. When Night Falls
I love traveling by night the most. The highway was empty, the sky as dark and deep as ink. The headlights of the sculpture truck cut a narrow silver line into the dark. Wind blew through the window, and I saw Professor Chen’s silhouette flicker in the glow of the dashboard. In that moment, I felt— that truck was not only carrying a sculpture, but also the conscience of our generation that refused to be extinguished.
Sometimes I was afraid— afraid the road was too long, the effort too small. But whenever I thought of those who were silenced, of countless forgotten names, I knew I could not turn back. Even if the world holds only a faint glimmer of light, someone still has to guard it.
VI. Returning
October 7, 2025—we returned to Los Angeles. It was Mid-Autumn Festival. A full moon rose, casting its light on the sculpture that had traveled seven thousand miles. Professor Chen stepped out of the truck, gently patted the front of it, and said softly, “It’s time for it to rest.” I watched the metal spikes glimmer under the moonlight, and a quiet, indescribable peace came over me.
I knew that every road we traveled, every stop we made, was not for noise or spectacle. It was to remind the world— that there are people who, in their own way, make the truth visible again.
VII. What I Learned
Someone asked me what I gained from this journey. I thought for a long time, and the answer is simple: I learned what “conviction” means. Conviction is not something you shout. It is the posture of one who keeps walking through the night. It is the silent figure of Professor Chen. It is Ms. Jin Xiuhong, leaning on her cane, still speaking the truth. It is the sound of rolling wheels on asphalt.
Night is still here. The sculpture truck now rests at the Liberty Sculpture Park, but I know—the road it started has not yet ended. Because conviction is still on the move.
