a selection of Zhu Ziqing's famous essays
1. Moonlight on the Lotus Pond
Along the lotus pond, it is a winding little cinder road. This is a secluded road; Few people walk during the day, and the night is even lonelier. Around the lotus pond, there are many trees, which are lush. On one side of the road, there are some willows and some trees with unknown names. On a moonless night, the road is gloomy and a little scary. Tonight is very good, although the moonlight is still faint. I was the only one on the road, walking around with my hands behind my back. This piece of heaven and earth seems to be mine; I also like to go beyond my usual self and go to another world. I love to be lively and calm; Love to live in groups and love to be alone. Like tonight, a person can think of anything and think of nothing under this boundless moon, and he feels like a free person. What must be done during the day and what must be said can be ignored now. This is the beauty of being alone, and I will enjoy the boundless moonlight of lotus fragrance.
on the winding lotus pond, I look forward to the leaves of Tian Tian. The leaves are high out of the water, like a graceful dancer's skirt. Among the layers of leaves, there are some white flowers dotted sporadically, some are blooming gracefully, and some are shyly budding; Just like a pearl, like a star in a blue sky, like a beauty who just came out of the bath. When the breeze passed by, it sent wisps of fragrance, like a faint song on a tall building in the distance. At this time, the leaves and flowers also trembled a little, like lightning, and passed across the lotus pond in an instant. The leaves were close to each other side by side, so there was a clear wave mark. Under the leaves is the flowing water, which is covered and can't see some colors; And the leaves are more exposed to the wind.
2. In a hurry
Swallows have gone, and there is a time to come again; Willow withered, there is a time to be green again; Peach blossoms have withered, but they bloom again. But, smart, tell me, why are our days gone forever? Someone stole them: who is that? Where is it hidden? They escaped by themselves: where are they now? I don't know how many days they gave me; But my hands are getting empty. Counting silently, more than 8 thousand days have slipped away from me; Like a drop of water on the needle tip in the sea, my days are dripping in the stream of time, without sound or shadow. I can't help but burst into tears.
whatever you go, whatever you come; What's the hurry between going and coming? When I got up in the morning, two or three oblique suns shot into the hut. The sun has feet, and it has moved gently and quietly; I also follow the rotation blankly. So-when washing your hands, the days pass from the basin; When eating, the days pass from the rice bowl; When I am silent, I pass by my eyes. I felt that he was in a hurry. When I reached out to cover my arm, he passed by the covered hand again. When I was lying in bed at dark, he crossed me and flew away from my feet. When I open my eyes and see the sun again, it will be another day. I covered my face and sighed. But the shadow of the new day began to flash with a sigh.