National Treasure Library of Chinese Literature Six Records of a Floating Life

Author: Shen Fu (Qing Dynasty) / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-05-01
Features: When I was a child, I could stare at the sun with my eyes open, see the finest details, and observe the textures of small objects. Therefore, I often found joy beyond the ordinary. During summer, the buzzing of mosquitoes sounded like thunder. I privately imagined them as a flock of cranes dancing in the sky. With such thoughts, they became thousands or hundreds of cranes indeed. Looking up at them, my neck would often become stiff and aching. I also often kept mosquitoes in my mosquito net, slowly spraying smoke at them, watching them fly and chirp amidst the smoke, as if watching cranes flying in white clouds. It truly felt like cranes singing from the clouds, bringing me great joy. In the uneven places of the earthen walls and among the tangled flowers and grass, I often squatted so that my eyes were level with the platform, focusing intently. I would regard the weeds as forests, the insects and ants as beasts, the raised soil as hills, and the hollows as valleys, and immerse myself in this world, feeling content and at ease. One day, I saw two insects fighting in the grass. I was deeply engrossed in watching them when suddenly a huge creature, overturning trees and mountains, came charging—turns out to be a toad. With one flick of its tongue, it swallowed both insects whole. I, being young and absorbed in the scene, was startled and screamed. Once my senses returned, I caught the toad, whipped it several times, and drove it to another courtyard. When I grew older, I reflected on the incident. The fight between the two insects was likely about mating, with one refusing. As the old saying goes, "Adultery is near to killing." Is this also true for insects? Out of my fondness for such play, one time, my testicles (in Jiangsu dialect, the male organ is called "") were bitten by a worm, swelling so much that I couldn’t urinate. I brought a duck, opened its mouth, and blew into it, causing the swelling. Once the maid accidentally let go, the duck shook its head as if swallowing, scaring me into crying out loud, which became a topic of gossip. All these were my youthful whimsies.
When I grew older, I became obsessed with flowers and loved pruning pot plants. I met Zhang Lanpo and began to master the art of pruning and nurturing branches. Later, I learned the techniques of grafting and stacking stones with flowers. Among flowers, orchids were my favorite for their subtle fragrance and elegance. However, orchids with petals good enough to be classified were rare. When Lanpo was on his deathbed, he gifted me a pot of white orchids with plain centers, all with evenly rounded petals and broad leaves, thin stems, and clean petals, perfectly suited for classification. I treasured them as precious gems. While I was traveling for work, Yun was able to personally water the plants, and they flourished beautifully. Yet within two years, one day, they suddenly withered and died. Upon examining the roots, they were all white like jade, and new orchid shoots were sprouting. At first, I couldn’t understand it, thinking I was unworthy of such blessings, and sighed in despair. Later, I learned that someone had tried to take some but was refused, so they poured boiling water on the plants to kill them. From then on, I vowed never to grow orchids again.
P38-39