Chapter 178: 227 A large patch of flowers bloomed again before my eyes

227 A large patch of flowers bloomed again before my eyes...

272 chapters, a large patch of flowers bloomed again before my eyes...

――Liu Guozong's Spring Diary, entry eighty-three

Spring has arrived, and the children are still as lovely as flowers and jade. I love spring, and I love even more those children who are like flowers and jade. I shouted toward spring and toward the children: "I want spring, I want my flower-like, jade-like childhood!" As soon as my shout ceased, a large patch of flowers bloomed again before my eyes.

Faced with this expansive spring light, I recalled the small river of my hometown: pure and beautiful, forever reflecting the seven-colored blue of the sky.

Trees, vines, wildflowers, and mast shadows…… appeared floating on the water's surface of the small river through the four seasons.

Especially in spring, whenever dusk arrives, the earth and sky become hazy; cattle and sheep descend the mountain, chickens and ducks enter the pen, and the myriad stars gaze upon the village. At that moment, the wind rustling through the trees by the river carries my song and my longing and yearning for distant places, sweeping them onto the river's surface, drifting far away with the singing waves……

"Waving hand, I depart from here…… the fleeting clouds and mist, reckoning that among humanity, only you and I are true friends……"

Although spring is near me, the green willows are near me, the red apricots are near me, I paid no heed to their existence, just as in a bustling city of flowing carriages and horses, nobody notices my presence.

Because childhood is far from me, youth is far from me, at the far, far shore of the ages, the small river, reckoned as a true friend among humanity, only you and I remain……

"What concerns a husband enough to worry? To regard the universe as a grain of rice……" If human feelings are all perfected and worldly affairs fully understood, then it is no longer scholarship; it is called old slyness and craftiness.

Everything is fleeting clouds and smoke, including the universe. In that poet's eye, the universe is no more than a grain of rice—something to admire, to eat; what else could be of great significance?

"Ah, ocean! What is your motto? The ocean replied: countless issues await clarification……"

"Ah, small river! Why do you flow ceaselessly? The small river replied: my spirit must be constantly renewed……"