
A reader once asked Xuemo a very simple yet profound question:
“What keeps you writing, year after year?”
Xuemo’s answer has never been about fame, money, or recognition.
He once said:
“Writing is not something I do. It is how I stay alive.”
For Xuemo, writing is a way of saving life — first his own, and then, perhaps, others’.
He grew up in extreme poverty in the deserts of Northwest China. As a child, his world was once “no bigger than a grain of rice.” Books expanded that world. Writing gave it meaning.
He does not write to escape suffering.
He writes to enter it fully, to look straight at fear, loneliness, desire, death, and the human heart.
Again and again, in his novels and essays, Xuemo returns to the same quiet conviction:
“If I can light one lamp in the darkness, then this life is worth living.”
This is why he keeps writing.
Not because the world is easy —
but precisely because it is difficult.
Not because people always listen —
but because someone, somewhere, might need these words.
For Xuemo, writing is not a career. It is a vow.
A vow to stay awake.
A vow to stay honest.
A vow to leave behind a light for those still walking in the dark.


