I rented a plot of vegetable land on the outskirts of Beijing—turning the soil, sowing, watering, and clearing a small garden. After a little over a week, the little garden finally began to look like a garden. The seedlings are thriving; the chives have already been cut several times and eaten, and in another ten or twenty days the lettuce and rapeseed will be on the table.For someone who grew up in the countryside, growing vegetables is not difficult. But having not done it for more than twenty years, I was a bit rusty. Fortunately, the "neighbors" who had farmed plots beside mine for several years were very warm; after a few pointers from them, this long-neglected husbandry was picked up again. It is just that this first plot I planted is more or less uneven. But the vegetables are not picky and do not care whether I planted them neatly or not; as long as there is sunlight, air, and water, they grow vigorously.In Romance of the Three Kingdoms, when Liu Bei was down on his luck and submitted to Cao Cao, he also grew vegetables in the backyard of his residence in Xuchang—supposedly to hide his ambitions and avoid arousing Cao Cao's suspicion. In the end Cao Cao, with his discerning eye for talent, cooked green plums and warmed wine to discuss heroes, saying, "The heroes of the world are but you and Cao." This startled Liu Bei, who feared Cao Cao would kill him to eliminate future trouble. Liu Bei was so frightened that he dropped his cup; just then a thunderclap struck, and Liu Bei used it to explain that he was afraid even of thunder, a mere coward rather than any hero—and with that fabrication he got away.I grow vegetables simply to grow vegetables, not to hide my ambitions and avoid being envied by anyone. No one envies lowly me. What I love is pastoral life; being close to the earth makes me feel grounded. Having planted the seedlings, I look forward to the early harvest.The earth does not speak, yet all things flourish. Humanity is anthropocentric, and its narrow heart cannot compare with the broad earth, let alone with the boundless cosmos. Being close to the earth may shed a little of humanity's bad habits, so that one need not live an unreal life, scrambling after petty gains. The person who is self-sufficient and free of desires has the inner strength not to bow to anyone for the sake of a few pecks of rice—whether that person be a powerful figure or a commoner.Everyone is but a speck of dust in the universe. Unfortunately, people always think themselves extraordinary, having created too many symbols of identity and status in the human world, and they have perversely turned a simple human society into something endlessly complex, turning the life that should be light and joyful into a chaotic mess.
In his later years, Mr. Ji Xianlin returned to simplicity and strenuously declined the various lofty titles that society placed on his head. Around his nineties (I cannot recall the exact time), Mr. Ji wrote an article specifically about how, after firmly refusing all kinds of titles, he felt light without any hat on, at ease in body and mind.
I have read Mr. Ji's Niupeng Zhayi (Random Notes from a Cowshed) several times; each reading deepens my understanding of human nature and society. I greatly admire the calm state of mind Mr. Ji attained after weathering many storms—a state tempered by having bumped into many walls and struck many dead ends. His eagerness to flee empty fame and profit earns my deep admiration.Not coincidentally, when Mr. Liu Shahe wrote his Zhuangzi in Modern Language, his state of mind was very similar to Mr. Ji's. Ever since I read his Zhuangzi in Modern Language in high school, I have been unable to put it down and have reread it many times. Liu Shahe's mind is also calm and detached, his writing witty and humorous, sweeping and unbridled, much like Zhuangzi himself.It was truly fitting that someone who had lived through the storms of the Cultural Revolution should write Zhuangzi in Modern Language. Reading Mr. Liu Shahe's Zhuangzi in Modern Language, I am reminded of a saying by Chan Master Dahui Pujue: "I once saw Guo Xiang annotate Zhuangzi; a discerning person remarked, 'Rather, it is Zhuangzi who annotates Guo Xiang.'" As for Liu Shahe and Zhuangzi, I cannot tell who is annotating whom.I do not have the talent of these two elders, but I too have lived through the storms of life, and now, more or less, I can be counted as calm and detached. I have finally seen through life's empty fame and profit and let them go, and I know what is truly worth cherishing. That is why such trivial things as reading and growing vegetables can bring me endless joy.Forty may be a watershed in life. Confucius said that at forty one is free of perplexity. Having eaten rice for forty years and wrestled in society for forty years, a great many things become clear, and the ability to recognize places of right and wrong is already sufficient. I need not distinguish right from wrong; I need only distinguish the places of right and wrong. Right and wrong are hard to distinguish—sometimes it takes several generations to settle them—but the places of right and wrong are not so hard to recognize. The vast majority of the time, stepping into a place of right and wrong is a very unwise act.If the life before forty was more emotional than rational, then the life after forty ought to be more rational than emotional. Past forty, one must have the resolve to keep oneself from stepping into places of right and wrong that benefit neither others nor oneself, and no longer be swayed by the outside world.A plot of vegetable land, just a few dozen square meters, is not hard to obtain. Sow the seeds, follow the seasons, and there is naturally a harvest—how very natural a thing. A hundred-year life is also like a white horse glimpsed through a crack. With few desires and little demand, content to be ordinary and toil in obscurity, whether there is a harvest or not, one does not care; what burden is there?Having let go of the attachments in the heart, there is nothing left to grieve over. However treacherous the outside world may be, "I" simply walk on in silence; decades hence, this world will no longer bear the shadow of "me," this passing traveler. In the endless river of time and space of the universe, "I" are even more insignificant.Du Fu wrote: "Your persons and your names shall all perish, yet the rivers and streams flow on for ever." But even the rivers and streams have their time of "perishing"; the undifferentiated, self-sufficient cosmos has never cared a whit for the rise and fall of rivers.People suffer because of the ego, yet they do not know they suffer. If one could shed anthropocentrism and egocentrism, enter a state of no-self, not take the self too seriously, be humble, follow nature, and demand less, there would be far fewer troubles.