17
Every stir of a blade of grass, every chirp of a bird, often moved me. I was moved by the beauty of life.
When I held one new life after another in my hands in the delivery room, their clear cries piercing the quiet sky and their bright eyes brimming with curiosity about the world ahead moved me even more. I was moved by how beautiful life could be.
Once, I was riding home, and as I neared the entrance to my neighborhood, a disabled little dog was crossing the road. Its black fur was matted and dirty, caked with thick layers of dust and grime. For some reason, it couldn't stand or walk on its hind legs; they hung bent beneath it. I didn't know what the little black dog was thinking or what it felt. I only knew that it held its head high, stretched out its neck, and puffed out its chest as its front legs strained to drag its body and hind legs forward. It swayed as it struggled along, all alone. Every car stopped. No one honked or made fun of it. Everyone watched in silence as the disabled but brave little dog slowly made its way across the road. In that moment, my heart surged and my thoughts swirled. Once again, I was moved by the beauty of life, by how extraordinarily beautiful life could be.
That's right. The beauty of life lies in its vitality, its brilliance, and its strength.
The sculptures carved by sculptors are beautiful, the paintings created by artists are beautiful, and the embroidery stitched by young women is beautiful. But what can their beauty amount to compared with the vitality and vigor of living things? Even a blade of grass by the roadside, an unknown flower, or a fluttering butterfly is more beautiful than the Venus de Milo, and more deeply moving than the smile of the Mona Lisa!
Dare you say otherwise? A solitary little tree in the Gobi Desert may be frail, yet it reveals the exuberance and radiance of life. It adds a touch of green to the desolate desert, and offers hope and light to weary travelers who have lost their way. It fears neither the sand sweeping across the sky nor the scorching sun and ceaseless winds. Its humble life blossoms with an extraordinary, steadfast beauty. When the wind carries a seed through the air and accidentally drops it on a steep cliff, that tiny seed quietly nurtures its life. When it breaks through the pressure of the rocks and pushes up through the soil, reaching eagerly toward the sky, how can you not marvel at the resilience and beauty of life?
The beauty of a stream lies in its ceaseless, tinkling flow; the beauty of the sea lies in its breadth and depth; the beauty of grass lies in its verdant profusion, which even wildfire cannot consume; the beauty of mountains lies in their solidity and stillness; the beauty of spring flowers lies in their delicate fragrance and the hope they carry; the beauty of autumn harvests lies in their richness and abundant fruit.
Since life is so beautiful, let's cherish this beautiful life.
If you are rain, you should nourish the earth; if you are a plum blossom, you should defy the winter snow and bloom proudly, head held high; if you are a great tree, you should rise into the clouds, lush and upright; if you are a river, you should surge without end, rushing onward for miles; if you are an eagle, you should spread your wings and soar, battling the winds and looking down upon the earth.
How brief our lives are. How should ordinary people like us make the most of our lives? How should we make our lives bloom with brilliance and beauty in the time we have?
I think only sincerity, kindness, tolerance, gratitude, and diligence; only indifference to fame and fortune, ceaseless striving, and endless devotion can make the lives of ordinary people like us beautiful.
77
One rainy night, I was burning the midnight oil at my desk when I suddenly heard a few buzzing sounds by my ear. I thought, Could a plane have flown all the way to my house to take a nap? I took a closer look. Well, would you look at that—a few tiny mosquitoes. I didn't care about them at all. They discussed where they should suck my blood. "I want his face. His skin looks so dewy; it'll be easier to bite through." "I want his thigh. There's more meat and more blood there." But I wouldn't let them. They tried to butter me up, saying things like how handsome I was. But I figured that was just the truth; even if they didn't say it, everyone already knew. I happened to be in a good mood, so I agreed to let each mosquito take just one tiny sip. In the end, they left after feasting to their hearts' content. About two hours later, they came back, brazen as you please, the same bunch as before. They said they ate five meals a day, and this was their last meal. They also promised they wouldn't overdo it like last time. After all, you shouldn't eat too much at your last meal, or you'd get fat; everything should be done in moderation. But I absolutely refused. As it turned out, I'd gone soft once again...
After feasting their fill once more, they left and even asked me for a toothpick. I swore I'd never let them suck my blood again, because my face was covered in the marks of their fiery red lips. But my vows usually didn't hold up. In the middle of the night, they showed up uninvited. They said they had a habit of eating a late-night snack, and asked me to let them have one last drink. "I want to find a 'barren wasteland' and have a proper feast." "I want to suck my fill and sleep like a baby." I was furious. Then I used the Sunflower Acupoint-Sealing Hand, and they started cursing at me. "Damn it, you won't even let us drink a little of your blood. What a fucking cheapskate!" one mosquito shouted. "People say you should be a stylish, classy cheapskate, but you..." As the old saying goes, when you can't take it anymore, you don't have to take it anymore. So my hand instantly became the Snake-Scorpion Hand. Just then, the rain outside the window grew heavier, as if on cue. Lightning flashed and thunder roared, heralding that I was about to do something earth-shattering, something that would make the gods weep. I pressed my palms together, focused my energy in my dantian, and fixed my gaze with steely resolve. Holding my breath, I slowly spread my hands apart. A crystal ball the size of a ping-pong ball appeared, and within it, I could just make out a two-headed creature, one head a scorpion and the other a snake. The crystal ball slowly grew larger, becoming more and more translucent, until I could see it clearly. It had already grown to the size of a soccer ball. I gathered myself, then thrust both hands back. The Snake-Scorpion Break burst from the ball. When the crystal shattered, glittering fragments flew out and sparkled all around, forming a barrier to protect me. The snake-scorpion monster shot venom at the mosquitoes first, then snipped off their wings with its pincers, and after that... (The scene was too bloody, so the description has been skipped.) After torturing them to death, all that remained on the ground were a few drops of blood—just a few drops from a human's perspective, but puddles from a mosquito's.
This time, I finally kept my vow. I turned them away, and after that, the mosquitoes never dared come back at night. Maybe the little mosquitoes hadn't watched that night under their parents' guidance, but the sight had left a shadow in their young hearts. The mother mosquitoes may have been so terrified that they ended up in a mental hospital, while the male mosquitoes all became househusbands, busy taking care of their wives and children, with no time to "visit" me. Besides, male mosquitoes only drink plant sap. Once in a while, I'd spot a few suicide squads—also known as the Women's Army—who came to see me under the banner of "using my blood to pay tribute to their fallen comrades." They were a little lacking in manners and didn't bring a gift, but they still ended up dying beneath my hand. Though countless lives had been lost, and I felt ashamed and guilty that things had come to this, I learned a lesson: if you keep giving in to something, your losses may only grow worse. On the other hand, if you refuse it, things can be resolved more effectively.