(单词翻译:单击)
Last September, I sat in on one of Li’s life-story sessions, which took place on the campus of Peking University.
去年九月，我旁听了李剑雄的一次生命故事分享会，这次活动在北京大学的校园内举行。
The topic was to “share a story about your name”.
主题是“分享一个关于你名字的故事”。
Twenty or so participants sat in a circle, with their shoes off and a box of tissues in the centre.
大约二十名参与者围坐成一圈，脱掉鞋子，中间放着一盒纸巾。
Most of Li’s clients, including those in this session, were women, ranging from fresh college graduates to people in their 60s.
李剑雄的大多数客户，包括这次活动中的参与者，都是女性，年龄跨度从刚毕业的大学生到六十多岁的人都有。
A chatty young woman in a silky Tang-style suit kicked off the session.
一位穿着丝绸唐装的健谈年轻女性开启了这次会话。
The woman introduced herself as Jing, and told us that her name, which meant “surprise”, was often misspelled as the word for “competition”.
这位女性自称惊，她告诉我们，她的名字意为“惊喜”，却常被误写为“竞争”。
Since she was young, she’d been frustrated that her name never sounded as feminine as she’d wanted it to.
从小时候开始，她就因名字听起来不够女性化而感到沮丧。
While still telling her story, Jing began to cry unexpectedly.
在讲述故事的过程中，惊突然哭了起来。
Nothing in her story had hinted at such distress.
她的故事中却并未透露出任何对等的痛苦。
The Heartify volunteers handed her tissues, and when she’d caught her breath, Jing explained that she’d been swept up by unwelcome memories of being an elder sister.
“心愈”志愿者递给她纸巾，等她平复呼吸后，惊解释道，她突然被作为姐姐的不愉快回忆所淹没。
In traditional Chinese households, women and elder siblings are expected to sacrifice their personal ambition for parents and younger siblings, and so the eldest sister carries a dual burden.
在传统的中国家庭中，女性和年长的兄弟姐妹往往背负着为了父母和年幼的弟妹而牺牲个人抱负的期望，因此长姐承担着双重负担。
No one replied to Jing’s disclosure.
没有人回应惊的坦白。
Li has imposed strict rules, including a ban on commenting after someone’s story, to make it easier for people to share without fear of judgment.
李剑雄制定了严格的规则，包括禁止在别人分享完故事后发表评论，以便让人们更容易分享，不必担心被评判。
Yet Jing’s story seemed to alter the nengliang, the energy, of the room.
不过，惊的故事好像改变了房间里的能量。
A sullen-looking woman who sat across from Jing revealed her own personal troubles in a gradual digression from the prompt.
一位坐在惊对面的、神情阴郁的女人，逐渐偏离了主题，透露了她自己的个人困扰。
She was also an elder sister, as well as a mother of a child in elementary school.
她也是一位姐姐，同时是一个小学生的母亲。
With her husband away on a work trip, and her kids getting out of school at noon each day, she was at her wits’ end.
她丈夫出差，而孩子们每天中午都会放学，她无计可施。
She had no choice but to leave her child at a friend’s house to attend the session.
她只能把孩子留在朋友家，才能来参加这次活动。
“My husband’s even worse,” another woman interjected.
“我丈夫更差劲，”另一位女人插话道。
She was attempting to offer commiseration, but caught herself, remembering the no-comment rule.
她试图表示同情，但突然停下了，想起了禁止评论的规定。
Like Li’s very first salon, a quiet momentum had taken hold.
就像李剑雄的第一次沙龙一样，形成了一种安静的氛围。
There was something underwhelming about Heartify’s activities: I was surprised at how many of the activities resembled childhood games and corporate icebreakers which, in the west, would likely not have been more enticing than a hot yoga class.
“心愈”的有些活动并不那么吸引人：我惊讶地发现，其中有许多活动类似于童年游戏和公司破冰活动，而在西方，这些活动可能并不比一堂热瑜伽课更有吸引力。
At one point last autumn, I joined a drama therapy class where the instructor led us through a game of tag, musical chairs and a bean bag toss, all while requiring us to impersonate animals.
去年秋天的一个时候，我参加了一堂戏剧治疗课，老师带领我们玩捉人游戏、抢椅子和扔沙包，同时要求我们模仿动物。
Li, the former tech savant, bleated like a sheep and growled like a wolf.
那位曾经的技术专家李剑雄，竟然像羊一样咩咩叫，像狼一样咆哮。
Yet even though some younger participants acknowledged that they, too, were disappointed, many other Heartify customers, especially the older ones, reported near-spiritual conversions.
不过，虽然一些年轻的参与者认为有些失望，但“心愈”的许多其他客户，尤其是年长的那些，却表示他们出现了精神上的转变。
At the dance class, Li told me that “very few Chinese have ever done anything like this, to really get in touch with their bodies”.
在舞蹈课上，李剑雄告诉我，“很少有中国人真正与自己的身体接触过”。
While many of Li’s clients arrived to his classes wary, with their guard up, they also seemed most willing to shed their defences at the faintest invitation.
虽然李剑雄的许多客户刚来时都心存戒备，带着防御心态，但哪怕给他们一点最轻微的邀请，他们都会放下戒备。
They were not searching for sophistication, but something more prosaic: a chance to exit their societal roles – be it the colleague, the mother, the elder sister – and a space to simply, and unabashedly, be.
他们要找的东西并不复杂，反而更平凡：一个摆脱社会角色（无论是同事、母亲还是姐姐）的机会，以及一个可以简单而无畏地存在的空间。
One woman I met in a dance class last summer, who was in her mid-30s, visited Heartify after recovering from a severe bout of depression.
去年夏天，我在舞蹈课上遇到了一位女性，她三十多岁，刚从一场严重的抑郁症中恢复，她来到了“心愈”。
When I spoke to her again a few months later, she had become a Heartify volunteer.
几个月后，我再次与她交谈时，她已经成为了“心愈”的志愿者。
The dance instructor, she said, had made her feel seen in a way that she’d rarely felt in her previous life as a broadcast journalist.
她说，舞蹈老师让她感受到了被看见的感觉，这是她之前作为广播记者时很少体验到的。
After class one night, she told me, she dreamed about confronting someone who had belittled her.
有天晚上下课后，她告诉我，她梦见了自己直面一个曾经贬低她的人。
She felt as though her subconscious had started to “heal old wounds”.
她感觉自己的潜意识已经开始“治愈旧伤”。
The community component seemed critical to Heartify’s success, which explained the popularity of Li’s life story sessions.
社区元素对“心愈”的成功似乎至关重要，这也是李剑雄的生活故事分享广受欢迎的原因。
A volunteer named Bingyu told me that her life had felt untethered before Heartify, as though it were “a piece of grass, drifting without roots”.
一位名叫冰玉的志愿者告诉我，在加入“心愈”之前，她的生活感觉像是“无根的草，随风飘荡”。
After a particularly probing sharing session, which Li had organised at a farmhouse last summer, Bingyu has felt far more stable and confident, enough that she’d finally asserted her boundaries against the entreaties of a salesman who worked at a cosmetic store she regularly visited.
去年夏天，李剑雄在一个农舍组织了一场深入的分享会，之后，冰玉感觉自己更加稳定和自信，甚至终于能够坚定地拒绝她经常光顾的化妆品店的销售员的恳求。
“Outwardly, I hadn’t changed at all,” she told me. “But somehow, the feeling inside was different.”
她告诉我：“外表上，我没有任何变化，但内心的感觉却不一样了。”
