Wither and Flourish with the Turning Year
The Bletilla (Baiji) I planted on the balcony of my study has flowered. What I grow is a white-flowered variant given to me by a friend; its blossoms are pure white and elegant, resembling daffodils, and have become a sight in my study—a welcome surprise.
After the Guyu (Grain Rain) solar term, vegetables grow much faster. The garlic chives, cauliflower, lettuce and cabbage are all thriving, and the seeds I sowed myself—leaf lettuce, romaine, bok choy, Napa cabbage, red amaranth and crown daisy greens, as well as baby bok choy—have all sprouted. The crown daisy greens and romaine are already ready to pick and eat.
The first homegrown vegetables of this spring have already reached my table. As I pick vegetables in my little garden, my heart is filled with peace and joy. Life is a process of constantly adapting to change and adjusting one's expectations. An unexpected epidemic has altered everything. I am grateful that I am still alive, grateful that there remains a pure patch of earth in this world where I can take refuge; beyond that, I ask for nothing more.
After dinner last night, my wife and I went out cycling for exercise. As we rode to the front of the Summer Palace, my wife said it had been a long time since she had wandered around Zhongguancun, and suggested we cycle there and then ride home from that direction. I obeyed my wife's wishes without demur.
It had been a long time since I had seen the neon lights of Zhongguancun Square. On the square, young men and women were dancing energetic shuffle dances, full of youthful vitality; it felt as though their world and mine were two different realms.
As my wife and I rode along, we took in the scenery on both sides of the road. We saw a young man on a bicycle carrying his partner, and it reminded us of ourselves twenty years ago. Back then I rented a single-room bungalow in Shucun, Shangdi, and often cycled to the National Library to read. When my wife came to visit me, I would carry her on my bicycle back and forth along Zhongguancun Avenue between the rented room and the National Library.
In the blink of an eye, we have reached middle age. The bustling world outside lies only a stone's throw away, yet it now seems to have nothing at all to do with me. I spend my days within my own world—reading, writing, seeing patients, growing vegetables, planting flowers and grass; truly, “the cold has passed and I know not what year it is.”
Only the blooming and falling of flowers still reminds me, in their yearly cycle of withering and flourishing, that spring passes and autumn returns. My life is simple and utterly regular; 365 days a year are basically a repetition of the same routine. Yet because every day I read books by different authors, see different worlds in their pages and ponder different questions, I find my days rich and varied. I never feel bored, nor do I feel any desire to seek excitement in a world of glitter and revelry.
When young, one always longs for someone to applaud; vanity needs to be fed. Now I only wish for a tranquil heart and few troubles, a life as peaceful as possible so that I can read and write to my heart's content. Thus I have now essentially cut off all social contact. Of the three thousand rivers of water, I take but one ladleful; if I cannot manage a complicated life, then let me live a simple one.
With a distant heart, the place itself grows quiet; wherever I am, my mind dwells as though in a mountain temple. Occasionally I strike a singing bowl; its tone lingers, serene and long. In that vast, lingering sound, both poetry and faraway places are found. All that is beautiful needs no distant seeking; set your anxious thoughts aside, and before your eyes lies the Peach Blossom Spring.