Humble life

 　　Part 1: Our Humble Lives

　　That day, I went out with a colleague. He was driving, and I was sitting in the passenger seat, happily talking on the phone with a friend. Suddenly, two cars that had collided whizzed past us. I could only see that the front of both cars was completely mangled; I couldn't see anything else clearly. I silently prayed that no one was injured; my family was still waiting for me to return home safely.

　　Every day, we hear about how many people die in traffic accidents, how many die in mining disasters, and how many are injured in accidents. How many people around us quietly leave this bustling world every day?

　　When I was little, I always thought death was a huge deal; when someone died, the sky collapsed. Until fourth grade, our homeroom teacher scolded a naughty boy in our class: "Even if you died today, it wouldn't be a big deal. The earth will still turn tomorrow!" I don't remember why the teacher said that to that boy; I only remember that those words stunned me. Death, such a big deal, how could the teacher say it wasn't a big deal? At that time, I always thought what the teacher said was the truth, but I think the teacher was wrong about that statement. That night I didn't eat dinner, I just kept thinking about this question, and in the end I still couldn't figure it out.

　　Considering death is indeed not an easy thing for a fourth-grade child to understand.

　　Nearly twenty years have passed since fourth grade, and I've encountered and witnessed too much death. Perhaps in the instant I see it, I feel a slight sadness, but after that initial sadness passes, I continue with my life as usual—eating, sleeping, going to school, going to work… The deaths of strangers don't cause me any heart-wrenching pain. Their deaths haven't really affected my life. It's not

　　a big deal if anyone dies; the earth will still turn tomorrow.

　　Gradually, I've finally come to understand my elementary school teacher's words, and sometimes I even use them to joke about myself. Although this is somewhat cruel for a fourth-grade child.

　　Death may cause unimaginable blows to loved ones, making them suffer unbearable pain. But for acquaintances, death, besides being a topic of conversation, doesn't have much impact. For strangers, it has no effect whatsoever. This is our humble life.

　　The insignificance of our lives lies in the fact that we are all the smallest specks of dust in this world, unaware of what the next moment will bring. The insignificance of our lives lies in the fact that the very thing we strive for is utterly meaningless in the grand scheme of things. The insignificance of our lives lies in the fact that our existence or non-existence has no impact on others; the sun will still rise and set. The insignificance of our lives lies in the fact that we cannot fight against death. Perhaps the manner of death will differ, but it is an inevitable outcome that no one can change. The insignificance of our lives lies in the fact that no one knows how death will arrive; the only thing we can do is accept it when it comes, whether we like it or not. This is our insignificant life.

　　In this insignificant life, we all experience our own unique joys and sorrows. For life, for education, for promotion, for… we fight fiercely for all sorts of things we believe are important, sometimes even risking our lives, but facing death, it seems nothing is of any use.

　　Death is inescapable for everyone. If we only focus on this outcome, then indeed, there is no meaning to our existence. But from another perspective, death is only the death of an individual; the continuation of the species continues. Perhaps this is the meaning of our lives.

　　"A person is born, and that is no longer a matter for debate, but simply a fact given to him by God; when God gives us this fact, He has already guaranteed its outcome, so death is something that need not be rushed, death is an inevitable festival." — Shi Tiesheng, *Me and the Temple of Heaven*.

　　The accidental nature of birth and the inevitability of death are things we cannot change.

　　Though humble, this humble life is only given to us once.

　　We live, whether humble or not, that is a fact. Our lives are fragile. Yet we still live. Our lives are humble. Yet we still live. Although we will all die. Yet we still live. As long as

　　death has not yet arrived, we must still eat, still study, still work… we must continue to live. Since the ending cannot be changed, we can only try to live our humble and only one life well.

　　Part Two: Even the Humblest Life Can Bloom with the Most Beautiful Flowers

　　This spring came late, with a sudden chill in the air. In previous years, people would have already been wearing flowing skirts and dresses at this time of year, but this year, people are still wrapped in sweaters. However, those tenacious lives still bloomed brilliantly despite the wind and rain. The campus was filled with red flowers like flames, white flowers like tides, and yellow flowers like waves, tree after tree, patch after patch, a magnificent and pleasing sight, attracting butterflies and bees, and drawing crowds of onlookers. People looked, smelled, and praised; the flowers were quite intoxicated. I seemed to hear their clamorous competition, buzzing between heaven and earth, somewhat unsettling.

　　Don't bow your head, for even the slightest breeze or rain would cause these flamboyant flowers to wither and fade instantly, leaving behind a carpet of heartbroken petals. Onlookers thronged, but apart from Daiyu, who would pay attention to these heartbroken, crystalline flowers, give them a flower grave, return them to their beautiful paradise, and prevent them from being ruthlessly blown away in decay or trampled into mud by onlookers?

　　I couldn't find better words to praise them, nor could I, in this utilitarian age devoid of romance and compassion, take up a hoe to bury the flowers. I could only distance myself, and distance myself from those who pointed and gossiped. As I walked further away, the clamor that offered a rare moment of peace faded from my ears. The sunlight felt warm to me, each ray of light like a soothing string to the soul, gently playing a melody of flowing water and towering mountains between heaven and earth. I walked slowly, gently closing my eyes, humming my favorite song, giving myself a moment of carefree enjoyment, a moment of personal pleasure.

　　Life is but a hundred years, yet some opportunities are the result of a thousand years of waiting. Like these flowers before me, I held my breath and tiptoed, afraid to disturb them, afraid to wake these little blue flowers that had been quietly blooming in a corner of the lawn.

　　My favorite color is blue; blue can calm one from extreme restlessness and anger, giving a sense of depth and distance. I like blue things, I like to set my computer screensaver to blue, and I like blue flowers, but those grown in flower beds, requiring careful nurturing, rarely possess this blue that belongs to the strong and resilient.

　　Little flowers, one by one, each plant can only bloom this one, blooming in this corner where no one lingers, blooming in a season of blooming flowers vying for attention. Who will notice the song they sing with their whole lives? Who will cup them in their palms, see their glistening tears, and give them eyes full of pity?

　　I was wrong. They have no tears, nor do they need people's cheap pity. In the breeze, the little flowers silently bloom, becoming the blue sky on the ground, becoming the blue sky in my heart.

　　I squat down, wanting to reach out and touch them, like touching their cheeks, like holding their hands. Looking around, I felt quite embarrassed. If others saw me, they would say I was being pretentious, or that I was too immature and showing my emotions too openly. Squatting down already made my face feel hot. I knew there were many eyes, indifferent, kind, pitying, malicious, mocking, and regretful, all attacking at once, making it impossible for me to stand up.

　　Very well, since these flowers need it, since I'm the only one willing to come here, since I'm the only one who can see their radiant smiles, then let me be the confidant of this little blue flower, even if only for this moment.

　　I picked a bunch of flowers and held them in my hand. Although I knew they would hurt, I thought they would also feel happiness. A scholar will die for his confidant, a flower will bloom for its admirer; perhaps I am its destiny. This small bunch of flowers lay in my palm, so fresh and vibrant, almost dripping with tears. I had thought I would have things to say to them, that my thoughts would flow like a spring, but at this moment, I realized how shallow I truly was. My mind went blank; my eyes were only on this bunch of blue flowers, and only on this bunch of blue flowers. It seems I am not its confidant either; I am just an ordinary person. Associating myself with others is sometimes wrong.

　　I gently placed the bunch of flowers in my pocket. Although they lacked the intense fragrance of those pretentious flowers, I thought that in my pocket, until they crumbled, until they vanished, they would give me a fragrance that penetrated my soul.

　　Looking into the distance, the blue flowers were also a radiant sight. I seemed to hear their whispered secrets; their time was short, and they could only seize this moment to strive to bloom in their bluest hue. The most popular plants here are still the invasive grasses, those pampered grasses called lawns. Perhaps tomorrow, the gardeners will remove them. They are so humble; humble lives have no power to control their own destiny. They can live as they please, but their deaths are at the mercy of others. But if given half a spring, even a quarter of a spring, wouldn't they bloom with the most brilliant and beautiful flowers?

　　Next year, they will still bloom brilliantly in their own beauty. In my memory, they have been here every year since some unknown year, even though they have been repeatedly uprooted and trampled.

　　There are a few peach trees here that only bloom but never bear fruit, their blossoms so hypocritical. There are also a few so-called pomegranate trees, straining to prepare their buds for blooming. But neither of them blooms as genuinely, sincerely, or breathtakingly as these blue flowers. I feel a deep hostility towards them. I don't know why, perhaps it's my inherent straightforwardness, but I always deeply abhor injustice and find it hard to hide my likes and dislikes, even though I dare not express them or fight back.

　　I saw the trampled little flowers, smothered and sticky, mingling with the soil. My heart ached; I felt as if each little flower was a reflection of myself. Dozens of blue flowers, trampled underfoot, their fragrance vanished, unable to struggle, too late to escape, their tragic fate a stark reminder of spring's vibrant life. Trampling—I truly don't know why our ancestors created this word. How many humble lives have been trapped in its abyss? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of millions? Or is it beyond human comprehension? There

　　's no need to calculate. Every humble life should seize its moment, blooming its own blue, just like these humble little flowers.

　　Part Three: Humble Life

　　After April, the nights came more slowly. Daylight slowly faded, a sliver of afterglow gradually sinking into the mountains. The entire sky was hazy, distant neon lights flickering, punctuating the quiet town.

　　In a farmhouse courtyard, the dim yellow light accentuated the desolate loneliness of the rural night. Sobs drifted from the dim light. A middle-aged man sat slumped on a long bench, half-drunk and trembling as if he might fall at any moment. A young woman beside him, head bowed, supported him, her face filled with sorrow, her lips twitching. "Dad, please reconsider! I really love studying, I can't just give up like this. Please let me study for two more years!" The man said, "No! I have no sons, only you two money-losing children. No matter how much you study, you'll all get married eventually. Besides, you have a younger sister. You're both daughters, and I must treat you fairly. You must eat and dress the same, and go to school on equal terms. I won't give you more money just because you love studying and have good grades. Otherwise, your sister will say I'm biased when she grows up. If you were a son, it would be a different story." The girl shook her head helplessly, knelt down, and almost begged, "Just let me study! I'll take care of you like a son in the future. Dad, I beg you, please think of something!" The man straightened his posture slightly, his voice becoming much calmer, filled with helplessness. "Child, don't say any more. There's no hope for school now, so go and rest. Get ready, you'll be heading south to Guangzhou with Uncle Wang Peng next door in a few days. I heard he's taking several girls with him and even offering them factory jobs. We already had enough people, but I had to beg him to let you come along. Don't complain or blame anyone, just blame your bad luck for not being born into a good family. Your father is powerless, so I can only ask you to make do. Your sister is starting junior high this year, and tuition is very expensive now. It'll be good for you to go out and work hard to help your father. Sigh! If only I had a son!" The habitual sigh rang out again, heavily impacting the young heart that should have been full of youthful energy.

　　Since she was old enough to understand, the most common thing Lingyu had heard was: "Sigh! If only I had a son, everything wouldn't be like this." "These words, like a tight band around her neck, tormented Lingyu for seventeen years, shattering her seventeen-year dream. They also gave her father an excuse to escape his responsibilities. At first, her mother tried to reason with him, to offer guidance, but once a mindset is ingrained, it's hard to change, and repeated efforts were futile. Eventually, he became numb to it. What's frightening is that everything became a habit; his family's tolerance became his justification for even greater recklessness, making gambling his home and drinking his days. Thinking about all this, I can't help but sigh! Not being able to go to school, going out is better; at least it's a kind of relief." During the plum rain season, the rain fell incessantly .

　　Lingyu tried her best to hide her grievances, bearing the heavy burden of life, and with her backpack on, she bid farewell to her hometown and boarded a train heading south. Her thoughts drifted along the train's trajectory, hoping everything would be alright!

　　Part Four: The Beauty of a Humble Life

　　[One]

　　During a holiday break, the weather wasn't sunny, but my mood was cheerful. A rare moment of relaxation, a set of heartwarming and touching pictures from the 360 ​​Library stirred ripples in my heart. It was hard to calm my emotions; I, who rarely cries, found myself weeping… Seeing this, my daughter took a tissue and said: "Mom! You are so gentle…" Even more beautiful! I was both amused and exasperated; my daughter was simply trying to capture my tender side.

　　It was a set of heart-wrenching pictures, scenes that would put humanity to shame. The title was "This Scene, How Can One Bear It?"

　　One set of images showed a soldier on the day he was discharged. His trained police dogs, "Daifa" and "Dahai," tugged at his luggage, reluctant to let him go. Finally, he got into the car, but "Daifa" jumped onto the roof, and "Dahai" barked wildly at the window. The car had to stop, and the driver, tears streaming down his face, had to stop the vehicle. Seeing the grateful police dogs... The pleading, affectionate look in her eyes, the overwhelming emotion in my heart, and tears welled up instantly…

　　Because of my profession, I have a special affection for police dogs; they are our partners and comrades-in-arms, with whom we spend every day!

　　I remember one year during a large-scale training exercise, we had to complete a 3000-meter cross-country run in the morning. At the sound of the starting whistle, 27 police officers dashed off. Perhaps because I usually pampered her and fed her good food, police dog number 29—"Lily"—didn't leave me. She kept looking back as she ran, as if encouraging me. I said to her, "Lily! Don't wait for me! Run!" Hearing my words, Lily nimbly sprinted off, and even after catching up with the group, she slowed down, waiting for me at a distance. My comrades said to her, "Lily, wait for Qiu Shi!" "A comrade who knows me well comforted Lily when she was caught in a dilemma. Once, during a heavy rain, I was running with difficulty in the rain when I slipped and almost fell. Lily rushed over and jumped on me, leaving mud stains on my training uniform. She was comforting me. Lily accompanied me all the way, running the entire muddy route. My comrades patted Lily's wet head and said, 'Lily! Well done!' Lily wagged her tail proudly and silently left to return to her pen.

　　From then on, a touching scene reappeared. Citizens who gathered by the roadside were moved by this heartwarming scene and stopped to watch with smiles. It became a beautiful sight. For three months, Lily was like a guardian angel, accompanying me through the arduous training life."

　　An unexpected incident gripped everyone's hearts. Lily had gone missing. The entire police force mobilized. Lily was one of us, and everyone was heavy-hearted. Brother Ma, who had taken care of her and developed a deep friendship with her, was usually very talkative but now silent. I comforted her, saying, "Don't worry! Lily has been through countless battles! She'll come back!" But deep down, I had no idea. As evening approached, no police officer went home, silently praying and hoping for that familiar, agile figure… A miracle occurred! In the twilight, Lily, bathed in the last rays of the setting sun, came running towards us. Lily was back! Someone shouted out the words of everyone's heart. Brother Ma could no longer contain his joy and ran to embrace Lily. Lily greeted everyone warmly, as if expressing the pain of their unexpected separation… At that moment, even these usually tough men shed tears of joy. I let my tears flow freely and embraced Lily!

　　Due to work, I had to part ways with Lily and begin a new journey. Those tough life experiences warmly embellished the galaxy of memories, adding color to my unique life. What remains unfading is the friendship I forged with Lily!

　　[II]

　　In another scene, over thirty employees were cooking and eating the meat of a dog that had been poisoned. "Saihu" smelled the poison and barked desperately to stop them from eating the meat. The ignorant people, misunderstanding, thought Saihu was just craving the meat and threw him a few pieces. Saihu didn't eat but continued barking, howling helplessly. Seeing that people ignored him and wanted to eat the meat, this intelligent dog, with tears in its eyes, let out a mournful cry, ate the poisoned dog meat on the ground, and collapsed and died from the poison! Deeply moved by the story, the general manager of a cemetery commissioned a statue for the heroic dog that had sacrificed itself to save lives. On the day of its reburial, over a hundred people braved the rain to attend its funeral…

　　Faced with a series of heart-wrenching scenes, a cuddly giant panda tightly embracing the legs of rescue workers, its indescribable reluctance conveying its deep affection for humanity; a majestic lion kissing its savior, rescued from a circus twelve years ago by this woman, and now, twelve years later, at an animal sanctuary, it… Two years of gratitude, unspoken words speak louder than words, repaying the kindness of our benefactor…

　　Life is full of heartwarming stories. In 2007, my family and I traveled to Hong Kong and Macau, entrusting a friend to take care of our Pekingese, "Sanxing'er." After the trip, I was filled with anxiety. Having not seen it for several days, it looked gaunt and listless. Seeing me, it suddenly became excited, kissing my neck and howling as if expressing its longing. I was deeply moved, and my eyes welled up with tears… My friend recounted how Sanxing'er had howled at the sky every day for five days, its cries so pitiful and heartbreaking! Every day was the same; when it was tired of howling, it would wait at the door, unmoved by any attempts to persuade it, still quietly gazing longingly. My friend, tears streaming down his face, said, "It's so touching! This isn't just a dog; it's stronger than a person…"

　　Yes! A seemingly insignificant and fragile life, bearing the weight of humanity's deep affection and boundless kindness. Yet, humanity's treatment of them is often cruel, filled with bloodshed, a sight that cannot help but chill the heart and fills one with shame for the beauty that blossoms from humble lives.

　　Calming down, listening to the gentle music of "The Lion King: Love Without Limits Tonight," its beautiful, ethereal melody flows with themes of friendship, family, and mutual love, touching the warmest and purest part of the soul.

　　"The Lion King," produced by American filmmakers using the most advanced 2D animation technology of its time, coupled with a magnificent symphony orchestra and blending with indigenous African music, won two Academy Awards in 1994: Best Original Score and Best Original Song, becoming one of Disney's milestone animated works. It tells the story of Simba, the young lion king, who, with the companionship of many loyal friends, experiences the most glorious moments of his life, as well as the most difficult challenges. Through trials of life, death, love, and responsibility, he finally ascends the throne of the jungle, embodying the true meaning of life in the cyclical and ever-renewing nature.

　　This is how humanity, with its ingenious and beautiful sentiments, has endowed the animal world with these sentiments. The message is that we all share one Earth, sharing the beauty of life, the cycle of life, the rise and fall of all things. Treating all living beings kindly is treating ourselves kindly! Life goes on, beauty blossoms!

　　Fifth passage: Let the sunshine warm humble lives

　　. One morning, my wife and I were driving to an intersection when we saw a burly man with a little boy, begging for money from passersby. All the pedestrians hurried past—perhaps people had seen this too many times and knew it was a scam—not a single person stopped to give him a penny. During the several seconds he waited at the red light, not a single person offered him even a tiny bit of charity. After circling around, everyone either said they didn't have any change or turned their heads away, ignoring him completely. When the burly man walked up to my car and held out his hand, I hesitated for a moment—of course, I knew he was one of those beggars you often see on the street, but I still wanted to give him the few coins I had. However, seeing so many passersby around, I hesitated again—knowing it was a scam, why should I fall for it? Others would surely scoff—"Fool, a scam, don't fall for it, do you think you're a millionaire?" Just as I hesitated, the light turned green, the cars in front started moving, and I crossed. After walking for a while, I said to my wife, "I really should have given him some money." My wife looked at me and almost simultaneously said, "Because of that child."

　　One winter morning, the wind was biting cold. My son and I came out of a KFC. A woman with a little girl reached out to me, begging for money. They had clearly been standing in the wind for a long time; the little girl's face was red from the cold. I knew they were beggars because I often saw them before. But in front of my son, I didn't want him to know it was a scam. I didn't want his pure heart to be deceived. I'd rather he believe it was real, that these were people who genuinely needed help, thus planting a seed of kindness in his young heart. But knowing they were scammers, wouldn't giving them money make me seem foolish and stupid? So, I thought for a moment, looked at the little girl's red, frostbitten face, turned around, took off my son's hat, and put it on the little girl's head.

　　In front of the commercial building, I often see an old man with a white beard and tattered clothes, always kneeling on the ground, head pressed tightly to the ground, silent, with a worn bowl in front of him, occasionally containing a few coins. When I pass by, I always slowly squat down and gently put a few coins in—when I don't have any change, I always choose to pass through the commercial building to avoid seeing him. Firstly, I'm not wealthy enough to spend lavishly, and more importantly, I don't want to bear the weight of his kneeling; he's begging from passersby with his dignity compromised. An elderly person, so old, kneeling before you—can you really remain indifferent? His dignity, the most important thing about him as a human being—can you really ignore it and trample on it so wantonly? Perhaps we've become accustomed to such things, no longer surprised, but I still want to do something, even though I don't care about that little bit of money. Even if the 100 people I encounter are all scammers trying to swindle money, as long as I keep doing this, I believe the 101st person I meet will be someone who truly needs help.

　　I remember once seeing a monkey trainer on the street with my son. He had several small monkeys on a leash, and he gave them various commands to perform different tricks to amuse passersby and earn them money. I often saw this kind of show when I was little, but it's rare to see it now. Those cute monkeys immediately caught my son's attention. Seeing a crowd, the trainer became more enthusiastic, making the monkeys perform a series of tricks. However, these monkeys weren't like professional circus performers and couldn't perfectly execute the commands. Whenever a monkey made a mistake, the trainer would immediately whip it. With ropes around their necks, the monkeys couldn't dodge, and when the whip struck, they would scream in pain. The other monkeys watched the trainer's whip with terror, fearing it would fall on them. Every time this happened, my son would ask, "Dad, why does he always hit the monkeys?" —I didn't want my son to watch anymore, so I pulled him away. Just then, the city management officers arrived and took the monkey trainer and the monkeys away. But I didn't know how to explain it to my son. Could I say that monkey trainers shouldn't mistreat monkeys? But monkey trainers need to make a living, and human life is always more important than animal life. His wife, children, and elderly parents depend on him for this skill to support them. Just like when my son sees tigers and other wild beasts hunting small animals on TV, he always hopes the small animals can escape the tiger's hunt. Because he doesn't understand that this is the law of nature; if the tiger can't catch its toy, it will starve to death. You can't expect the tiger to eat grass too.

　　One gloomy summer day, I was walking down the street when a sudden downpour came. I hurriedly took shelter in a small roadside shop. It was a very ordinary little clothing store, selling very common clothes; I had never even heard of any brands. Because of the bad weather, there were few passersby, and I was just a passerby who happened to walk in. A young woman who looked to be under 20 years old saw a customer and immediately came over with a professional, ingratiating smile, introducing her clothes to me. I knew I would never buy such cheap clothes, but since I was taking shelter from the rain in someone's shop, I had no choice but to patiently answer the young woman's questions, making it seem like I wasn't there to escape the rain but rather like a genuine customer. Clearly, this young woman wasn't a seasoned businesswoman. A casual question I raised about her merchandise left her speechless, only able to repeatedly explain: "Sir, I'm new here, there are some things I don't know. Sir, take a look, our stuff is quite good. Sir…" From her pleading eyes, I could clearly sense how desperately she wanted me to buy something; perhaps her boss would praise her, maybe even give her a raise… She showed me around the shop, but I remained unmoved. Seeing that the rain outside was lessening, I hastily and hastily fled. I was afraid that if I stayed any longer, I wouldn't be able to resist the young woman's eager smile and pleading gaze and would actually end up spending money. I took shelter from the rain in someone's shop, accepting their kindness, yet I did nothing in return and simply walked away. I felt truly uneasy. Like the old man kneeling in front of the shop, even though he wasn't kneeling specifically for me, I still didn't want to walk past him. Walking past him meant I unintentionally accepted his kneeling, so I should at least do something in return.

　　One morning, while buying breakfast, a small dog followed me closely for a long time, probably drawn by the aroma of the steamed buns in my hand. It was clearly a stray dog, abandoned and filthy, its eyes pleading. I stopped and tossed it a few buns, which it devoured. I knew I couldn't take it home; all I could do was give it a few buns to fill its hungry stomach. Where would it wander tomorrow?

　　We all live in the same city, on the same land, under the same sun. Yet, there are always corners where the sun doesn't reach, some humble lives unable to enjoy its warmth. Let us open our fingers, letting the sunlight scatter between our fingers, sprinkling every ray of sunshine into every cold corner, warming those humble lives.