Chapter Revision for Prose

Everywhere were ceramics, bronzes, and tinware, along with numerous scrolls of paintings and calligraphy cramped together in large jars. The host finally led us to a sofa, which was also buried beneath piles of antiques. After some tidying up, we managed to sit down.

I struggled to find words to describe the feeling—so many antiques crammed together that it felt like being surrounded by a heap of rubbish. It made me realize that nothing should ever be in excess; once something becomes “too much,” it turns dreadful.

We all love butterflies, yet if a room were filled with them, it would lose its beauty. And then there would be caterpillars everywhere, which is terrifying. We all adore birds, but too many birds can be harmful. Thinking of Hitchcock’s famous film *The Birds* still makes my hair stand on end.

Lost in thought, the host brought out a plate—not of tea or coffee, but a platter of jade. Because my friend had boasted to the host that I was an expert, though I modestly denied it, the host took my modesty as humility and eagerly presented his collection for me to "appreciate."

So, I reluctantly examined each piece and praised them enthusiastically. When I came to a piece of tea-colored jade, I thought to myself: why isn’t this plate filled with tea?

After viewing the jade, we moved to the host’s bedroom to see ceramics and bronzes. Only then did I realize that the bedroom contained just one bed to live on; from floor to ceiling, every inch was packed tight.

Though these ancient bronzes were valued at over ten million each, their worth was lost amidst the clutter. Exploring several other rooms, I found the same—most astonishingly, even the kitchen and bathroom were piled with antiques. It was clear the owner hadn’t cooked in ages.

The antique collector told me he chose to live in a rundown alley to avoid attracting thieves.

He had installed many iron doors with various security features, making it impossible for outsiders to even glimpse his treasures.

My friend added, “His obsession with antiques drove his wife and children away—they emigrated abroad.”

The collector dismissed, “What do women and children understand?”

I asked him, “Your antiques are so valuable and numerous. Why not sell a few pieces, buy a larger display space, and let more people appreciate them? Then your house wouldn’t be so cramped you can’t even sit down!”

He replied, “I wouldn’t part with a single fine antique.”

“And besides,” he added, “what do ordinary people know about antiques?”

As we took our leave, I felt a twinge of sadness. No matter how magnificent antiques are, they are still just objects—nothing can compare to living, feeling human beings. To live in constant fear for one’s precious possessions, confined behind iron gates like a prisoner, dwelling amidst heaps of clutter like a beggar—what a miserable existence.

Moreover, everyone leaves this world eventually. Just as the previous owners of his antiques let go, there will come a moment when one must release all and carry nothing away. True possession does not require ownership; a true connoisseur need not be a collector. If you want to appreciate antiques now and then, a visit to the Palace Museum with a modest ticket fee is enough to see genuine treasures. When tired, you can enjoy a cup of specially selected oolong tea in the Sanxitang, savoring life’s simple pleasures. Returning home to a clean window and tidy table, without iron gates or battles for space with lifeless things—serving objects rather than being enslaved by them—is a true delight.

Our lives are fleeting. To plot and scheme brings trouble; attachment brings bondage; gain brings loss.

If we spend our time chasing wealth, we have no time for the soul.

If we run after desire day and night, we sacrifice our health.

If we become obsessed with pots, stones, jade, or antiques, we forget the preciousness of a world filled with feeling.

To enjoy a good meal, to joyfully sip a cup of tea, to live a day free of worries and sleep peacefully through the night—how valuable is that?

“To pass through a hundred flowers without a single leaf touching you.” Such a life is what we yearn for—amidst the flowers, there is warmth; untouched by leaves, there is awakening.

Misunderstandings and praise, criticism and acclaim, are like the misty rain of Lushan or the tides of Zhejiang—ultimately, they amount to nothing.

Last spring’s finest tea will lose its flavor if kept until this year; so this year, we must drink this year’s spring tea.

Every year’s spring tea is good, and this modest earthenware tea cup before me is fine too. Antiques, relics, diamonds, pearls, and all such burdens—let them be for those willing to bear them.

[Analysis]

When the heart is filled with worldly distractions, everyone clings to too many things and loses themselves, unable to find life’s true meaning. The more we are unwilling to let go of what we love, the less we truly possess it. Sometimes, even when we manage to obtain something by any means, it is merely a formality.

Lin Qingxuan’s essays do not rely on elaborate rhetoric; rather, they use simple, conversational language to softly sing Chinese-style reflections. His prose is beautiful, fresh, and deeply philosophical, forming a unique style all his own.

[Author’s Biography]

Lin Qingxuan was born in 1953 in Qishan, Kaohsiung, Taiwan. He graduated from the World Journalism College in Taiwan and has worked as a correspondent for the overseas edition of the China Times, an economic reporter for the Commercial Times, and editor-in-chief of Times Magazine. Since 1973, he has been writing essays. From 1979 onwards, he won the China Times Literary Award seven times consecutively, receiving honors for essays and reportage, as well as the Golden Tripod Award for newspaper supplements. His essays are fluent and fresh, expressing sincere and romantic sentiments with moving power in simplicity. His works include essay collections such as *The Lotus Blooms and Withers*, *Cold Moon and Bell Flute*, *Warming a Pot of Moonlight Wine*, *Mandarin Duck Incense Burner*, *Golden Impressions*, *Snowy Youth*, *Mahogany* (featured in the sixth-grade Chinese textbook), *In the Distance of Dreams*, *Above the Clouds*, and *Lilies in the Heart’s Field*. His collections have been reprinted over twenty times in a single year.