The Blooming Flower of Fate
The Blooming Flower of Fate
Oh flowers, you bloom and wither, but after withering, you bloom again the next year; oh jade trees, you blend light and heat, year after year blending into new memories; oh seasons, you bloom after being frozen, blooming into hundreds of summers and billions of dreams. My life, like these flowers, these trees, these seasons, goes round after round, withering and then blooming, and now it is time to bid farewell to this round.
Here, I drain all the literary talent of my life, year after year; here, you let all the beauty of your lifelong learning bloom, time after time. I or you, here we cry about our failures, denounce the injustice of fate, and also celebrate our successes, praising the greatness of love. Praising not only maternal love, but also the power of life itself. You carefully observe the details of this world, good or bad, and pour them out here in my way. I came from contradictions, and where should I go?
Under the torment and praise of fate, hot tears stream down my cheeks. This drop of tears contains my pain and joy, struggling, shouting, weeping bitterly, silent, and finally discovering myself. I asked the sages, 'Where should I go?' The sages responded with great waters and great mountains. The great waters flowed turbulently; I went forward to ask, but they flowed away into the distance. I shouted to the great mountains, but the mountains were silent, not a word to say to me.
I went upstream. Along the way, there was no gentle stream, no quiet mountain forest, only howling wind and angry waves. I was knocked down by the wind countless times, doubted the sages' answers countless times, until I changed direction. The wind that had defeated me became my help. I rowed a small boat along the river toward the ocean. Those turbulent, arrogant waters became gentle on this small boat, nurturing generations of children. This is the sage's 'the highest good is like water,' and also what I have realized: 'When the tree desires stillness, it harmonizes with the wind.'
After understanding the reason the sage responded with great waters, I stepped into the mountains to find the reason for the response with great mountains. Deep into this silent mountain, this seemingly dead forest, yet it nurtures thousands of animals, tens of thousands of insects, and contains countless sources of life-saving water. Surely this is why the sage responded with great mountains: loving silently, nurturing infinite life.
I finally discovered myself, a self like the great waters and great mountains. But new questions followed. I finally understood who I am, but to whom shall I show this self?
You are a demon, torturing me in purgatory. Looking back at me from the past, I never appreciated or praised you. You tortured me all over, and I was powerless to resist, longing to escape this painful purgatory. I was never disappointed in you, because I never had hope. You swung the long whip of love, striking my flesh; you used the chains of love to imprison my soul. I could not escape, I could only hide deep in the mountains, leap into the waves, find a corner without people, and silently wipe away my tears. Family, why are you not my gentle harbor, but my purgatory?
I pour everything here. I cry to you, you listen to my story, with a thin layer of your body, bearing all my pain. Paper, I use the pen to tell you bit by bit about the pain in my family. Can you answer my confusion? Paper is different from the abundant mountains; it only shows me its white body. Paper is also silent like the mountains, waiting quietly.
Perhaps you are waiting for my exploration, but you are not as mysterious as the mountains, not as turbulent as the waters. You silently show me everything, leaving nothing to explore. I lie on your body, drop by drop of tears fall. The tears soak you, I wipe them dry, but you cannot return to your original state. The colorless teardrops stain my color, becoming ink, and trace a line across your body. I draw line after line, suddenly they become words, reflecting that self like great waters and mountains. This is your answer.
I write my heart and my soul on your body, and present you to that demon. The demon also shed tears, the tears cleansed the demon, revealing his true form: a white angel with shining feathers. Angel, I once wronged you, now I recognize you, and in the future I will praise you. I showed you my true form, and you finally showed yourself. You finally became my harbor. No, you have always been my harbor, with great fatherly and motherly love, sheltering me, waiting for my wings to grow full like yours, shining with light, and then spread them and fly high.
I finally showed myself to my family, proved myself. I also discovered my true posture. This cold heart of mine finally became hot, as hot as the sun. To whom should I give this excess heat?
The cold world kills everyone in despair; the generous world carries every life on its shoulders; the complex world weaves everything into a big net. In such a world, how many people less tragic than Sister Xianglin still die in despair? My pure heart cannot bear it, and deeply rejects this world.
The tears of desperate people soak the earth. My tears mourn the pitiful people. How to save the people torments me, tossing and turning. I asked the sages again, but they did not respond. I asked the paper, and the paper grudgingly showed itself. Everything is cold, silent.
When all things in the world are silent, my hot heart has never cooled. I choose to enter this society in my own way. With pen and paper, I commemorate life, write about insignificant dust. I struggle against the cold society, saving all the lives I can save. As long as I have a ray of light, I emit a bit of heat. I have been on this road all along, and I have met a group of people with the same hot souls as me. We have all felt pain, and therefore are more eager to help more people escape from pain, just like Shi Tiesheng saved countless people with physical disabilities like him, using his own light to warm this society. I finally integrated into this society.
Our tears have watered a flower of fate, drop by drop. Our passion has warmed a flower of fate, bit by bit. This flower of fate that belongs to me, under these tears and passion, has finally bloomed! Its branches and leaves are lush, showing its beautiful posture to me, to my family, to society.
Here, it is about to end, like 2023. I came from contradictions, struggled with myself, with family, with society, with fate. After the struggle, I turned into a blooming flower, a flower that blooms in all seasons. Fate has finally blossomed for me. The beautiful flower of fate has bloomed.