PDLP Chapter 389 Simple Yet Abundant
Chapter 389 Simple Yet Abundant
Zi'an gently pushed a copy of Walden to Xiao Sizi. The cover was pale green, like a lake flattened by time. Xiao Sizi picked it up, flipped through a couple of pages, frowned slightly, and then closed it again.
“Even if it’s a book from another time, I can’t get into it,” she said, her voice tinged with guilt and frustration. “I recognize all the words, but when they’re put into sentences, it’s like looking through a fog.”
Zi'an smiled, fine lines appearing at the corners of her eyes. She reached out and moved the book back in front of her, looking at Thoreau's portrait on the title page.
“Many people start out like this,” she said, as if stating a well-known secret. “We in the future world live too full and too noisy lives. Cell phones vibrate in our pockets, billboards flash incessantly, bills lie under mouse pads, and love and hate tear at our nerves—how can we, like this, understand a silly little fool who would rather live in a lakeside cabin, surrounded by bean sprouts and wild rabbits?”
Little Si Zi clutched the hem of her clothes, muttering, "No Wi-Fi, no takeout, no weekend parties... What's the point of this life? What's he after? It's not as fun as it was in the Tang Dynasty..."
“I thought the same way when I was young,” Zi’an looked out the window as dusk slowly settled. “Back then, I just felt that life was about chasing after more money, more intense love, and higher positions. Thoreau’s words were like an untimely autumn wind, sweeping across my burning cheeks, and I only felt cold, not understanding the clarity within them.”
Xiao Sizi twisted the pages of the book, and the scent of lake water and moss wafted from between the pages.
"Until later, when life had poured cold water on us enough and we had seen enough of the glitz and glamour, we began to yearn for something simple. We started to understand the value of tranquility and realized that freedom was more precious than wealth. Only then did we discover that Thoreau was not teaching people to suffer—he was showing us another possibility for living."
Xiao Sizi remained silent, her gaze unconsciously returning to the book. Zi An's voice grew even softer, as if she were talking to herself:
"Some books can only be truly appreciated after one has experienced the bitterness of life."
The twilight light slanted in, bathing the spine of the book in a golden hue. This time, Xiao Sizi did not look away.
Zi'an rinsed the teacup, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You've hit the nail on the head. Besides making a living and seeking leisure, people ultimately need a sense of value—like Maslow's pyramid, at the top stands the desire for self-actualization."
Sizi turned to a page in Walden and pointed to a sentence that had been underlined: "Brother Zian, look, Thoreau also wrote: 'Happiness does not come from forced acceptance, but from heartfelt approval; not from passing the days, but from creative work.'"
Xiao Sizi muttered to herself, "My sense of self-worth and accomplishment... seems to have always been very low. So I often feel empty, like walking on clouds, unable to exert any strength, and unable to land."
Then he suddenly straightened his back, as if trying to shake something off, and forced a smile: "So—from today onwards, I'm going to work hard! Hehe!"
That dry "crackling" sound seemed somewhat lonely in the air.
Zi'an did not respond immediately, but simply gazed at the other person with a soft yet bright look in her eyes.
“It’s not because of other people’s expectations, nor because society tells you to work hard,” Zi’an thought for a moment, “but because you finally want to build a bridge for yourself—from the chaotic shore to the uncertain other shore. But the process is the most precious. You work hard not to be affirmed by anyone, but to affirm yourself through repeated self-confidence.”
Xiao Sizi lowered her head, the twilight light lingering on the spine of the book, warm and silent.
At that moment, she understood: true sense of accomplishment might not be the moment of thunderous applause and glory, but rather the light she could see in the dead of night—quietly burning, just for you.
Seeing the flicker in her eyes, Zi'an knew that behind that "work hard" lay not only determination, but also unspoken confusion. He didn't respond directly, but instead gently pushed Walden back in front of Xiao Sizi.
“Reading this book doesn’t have to be like completing a task, tackling each page one by one,” Zi’an said, as if sharing a secret. “You can open a page at will on a sunny weekend afternoon or in a quiet moment before bed. Don’t look at the progress or follow the plot; let Thoreau’s words flow over you naturally, like lake water.”
Little Sizi was slightly taken aback: "Wow, just like that... reading it casually?"
“Hmm,” Zi’an smiled, “because it’s not a book you should rush to finish. You might think his life in seclusion was boring and unbearable? But if you randomly turn to a chapter, you’ll find how he built his wooden house, cleared land to plant beans, felled trees to make fire, fished and watched birds… In nature, every action carries the trace of focus, and every day is clear and specific.”
He paused, then noticed that Xiao Si had unknowingly picked up the book again.
"You'll also read his sharp critiques of literature, his philosophical reflections, his interpretations of nature, and even—" Zi'an chuckled, "a sudden 'sharp tongue' to satirize those who blindly pursue fashion but don't know how to truly live."
Xiao Sizi's brows relaxed: "So Thoreau wasn't always a serious hermit."
“He’s not teaching us how to live,” Zi’an said softly. “You don’t have to agree with him, but you can see another possibility for life through him.”
Xiao Sizi didn't answer again. But the way she turned the pages of the book was much gentler than before.
The daylight outside the window gradually faded into the night, and a candlelight quietly fell into that person's eyes...