Fighting, hesitating, panicking.
Wandering, confused, shaky.
Gardenia, died young.
In my memory, there is a courtyard.
Every time in autumn, when the flowers bloom, the tree begins to grow persimmons.
Those persimmons are so fragrant...
He remembered that Mrs. Huang from Dongtou steamed rough-faced steamed buns with sesame oil and made them fluffy and soft...
There is also Old Liu who often digs worms in the fish pond in the west of the city. He always carries a gourd of realgar wine with peanuts, pillows on his arms in the tall grass, and sings operas...
Nanny, oh, yes, there is also his Nanny...
The last time I saw her seemed like a long time ago...
His memory was tightly wrapped in a layer of golden mist. In his mind, the iron box representing the past exuded miserable firelight from the cracks. Perhaps, except for himself, no one knew that it was stuffed inside. What is burning?
"Are you satisfied?"
I don't know where the voice came from. It was gentle and kind, and I couldn't tell whether it was male or female.
Like Buddha?
He was confused for a few seconds, and his mind jumped to an unknown wasteland.
He lost his father and his mother at an early age.
Young people lose their sons and spouses.
The evil star.
When going out, others are like this. They try not to look at him, but they can't hide their sympathetic eyes, they are cheerful, but they think they are quiet.
He never thought they were stupid.
He has also seen countless talented people.
Those individuals who are inherently better than ordinary people will always make similar to almost overlapping choices in the end.
Deconstruct life, analyze cause and effect, separate from human nature, and reconstruct yourself.
Then, become a "god" within a specific scope.
He never thought they were smart either.
He always respects others.
Good guys, bad guys, bad guys, villains.
He treats everyone equally.
Society is like an arc-shaped pine needle, and the weight of people will always condense into dew, pressing on one of its end points, and then dive and drip.
Both Android and Apple are available. 】
It is staged and has a unique set of rules. Therefore, after analyzing the interference of nature, human specificity can actually be traced.
Of course he understood this, but the darkness in front of him prevented him from being as calm as usual. His overly hazy consciousness led him to open the door to memory one after another. He recalled many absurd things that actually happened in the past.
He knew that he had forgotten a crucial clue, but the revolving door and the beautiful things in the gaps of memories made him linger. He couldn't bear to leave here. Deep in his heart, he knew how precious this leisure was to him. .
"You actually like it here, right?"
That voice was really gentle, and he knew it did not mean any harm.
"You like to read the newspaper with your wife's freshly squeezed apple juice while bathing in the sunshine in the coldest winter."
"You like to take your granddaughter to the top of the mountain to watch the stars in the spring moonlight."
"You like to tease the old cat who lives in Anjia deep in the alley. After buying groceries every day, you will habitually put a palm-sized crucian carp at the door of your house."
"Don't let it eat too much, otherwise it won't survive the winter."
"When your wife is confused, you say it."
The past was really beautiful.
But for some reason, he still couldn't see the light.
"Do you really want to leave?"
I should be leaving.
I couldn't stop for long.
"Why?"
Someone is waiting for me.
"who?"
There were many people, mostly children, but there were also old people and women.
In fact, they are all people who cannot take care of themselves.
They are waiting for me.
"Do they know they are waiting for you?"
I know, just know.
"You see, the current situation is like this."
"There is a tree covered with flowers. I don't know what flowers they are, so let's call it a rose tree."
"It's a very delicate tree, and a gardener discovered it and saw it in full bloom."
"So the gardener started taking care of it."
"Water and fertilize, prune and cut leaves, day and night, endlessly."
"Winter is coming, and a severe drought is coming."
"And it withered."
“The gardener had pity on it, and watered it with flesh and blood, and paid with its bones.”
It sounds so silly.
How can there be rain that cannot wait?
How can there be endless snow?
everything will get better.
Although, this means that things will always get worse, however, everything will be fine.
“The gardener knows it, all the gardeners understand it.”
"But he still does it day after day, year after year."
"He longed to see the rose trees in bloom, but the work was hard. Whenever the flowers bloomed, he always worked hard."
“The rose tree does not care about the gardener, and the gardener should not care about the rose tree.”
“That tree has been there so long that it bloomed without a gardener.”
"So, answer me a question."
“Is it worth the gardener’s efforts from beginning to end?”
Probably... not worth it?
Suddenly, the laughter of children appeared in his ears.
God has made things happen, and everything comes naturally.
Everything will move upward according to the law.
Blue sky, white clouds.
Driven by desire, human beings interfere with nature and control the rules with clear purpose.
Green mountains and green water.
The instinct given by nature and the soul cultivated by civilization compete in the tiny body of human beings, trying to break the fragile balance between them in order to achieve staged victory in the eternal struggle.
Sing high and mourn.
Eventually, when this is all over, civilization will defeat bestiality, and cities will defeat wilderness.
Breeze, whisper.
Everyone will face the world as a human being.
"So, your answer?"
not worth.
"What if you were a gardener?"
I'm not a gardener.
"Why?"
I am a farmer.
Sowing seeds, watering and fertilizing, and harvesting crops before the heavy snow comes is the whole meaning of my life.
I have never seen any rose trees, but wherever the crop owners fail to take good care of them, I will go and help them.
That's it, nothing more.
He looked up, and his eyes were still dark.
He's probably dead, he thought.
He had no regrets, and if he had, he should have forgotten them.
The past, the past, there is too much past.
Bloodshed, intrigues, everything, everything.
Throughout his life, when he was confessing, he only remembered the laughter of those children.
Because the rose tree is dying.
my friend.
My dear friend.
I vaguely remembered something.
I seem to have an agreement with you, and now you are probably asking for an answer sheet.
Your world is really beautiful.
Sunshine, white clouds, green trees, flowers, many times, I can find a simple peace in your world.
Here, for the first time, I met relatives who would not betray me, and it was also the first time that I died in the arms of others.
Thank you.
I'm really, really grateful.
I know you were trying to keep me, and you may have heard my stories in some places, which would have been too gloomy in other people's descriptions, so that when I came here, out of pity, you helped me.
But, in fact, those stories you heard, the story about the "villains", are actually wrong.
There is no villain who is busy rescuing living beings from endless suffering. He is not paranoid or crazy.
What he has done for thousands of years has never been noble.
He is not a savior, nor is he what you would call a gardener.
That's just a madman going crazy.
"But you're drying up."
"But you are withering."
"But you are compassionate and compassionate, but you never die well."
And the rose tree doesn't actually exist, right?
"..."
Everything is meaningless.
This is the only truth among thousands of planes.
Is it right?
I know better than anyone that I have nothing.
I knew it long ago, after that fire.
That day, there was such a big fire...
She set the fire for me.
After that, countless people came like her and left like her.
I shouldn't care.
But I still have to move forward.
I can choose to self-destruct, I can collapse, I can linger in tragedy again and again, and then sink forever, living in a dream and dying.
But I don't want to do that.
If even I am denouncing the unfairness of fate, then who will cry out for those who have truly disappeared?
Why can't someone mourn for them?
"..."
He stayed silent with it, as if waiting for some kind of sentence.
"You built my country, and now the people are singing for you."
"They couldn't accept your death, they said, and they couldn't accept your hasty departure."
"They were praying."
"They're trying to stay."
"If you really want to leave, then tell me what you got in return for everything you paid for it."
Fighting, hesitating, panicking.
Wandering, confused, shaky.
Gardenia, died young.
Rose tree, withered.
After an unknown amount of eternity, he recalled his life completely for the thirteenth time.
When he remembered that early that morning, when he saw the smoke from cooking fires beside the Yellow River and thousands of miles of farmland rising from the ground, he gave his answer.
Long live the people.
