Chapter 3 in a hurry

in a hurry The swallows are gone, and there is a time to come again; the willows are withered, and there is a time to be green again; the peach blossoms are withered, and there is a time to bloom again.But tell me, wise one, why should our days be gone and never return? —Someone stole them: who is that?Where is it hidden?If they escaped by themselves, where are they now? I don't know how many days they gave me; but my hands seem to be growing empty.Counting silently, more than 8,000 days have slipped away from me; like a drop of water dripping from the tip of a needle into the ocean, my days have been dripping into the stream of time, without sound or shadow.I couldn't help dripping with sweat and weeping down my cheeks.

The things that go go, and the things that come come; how hurried is the time between going and coming?When I get up in the morning, the slanting sun marks its presence in my small room in two or three oblongs.The sun has feet, Qing Qiao moved quietly; I also twirled along in a daze.Thus--the day flows away through the sink when I wash my hands, wears off in the bowl when I eat my meal, and passes away before my day-dreaming gaze as reflect in silence.I could feel him going away so hurriedly, so I stretched out my hands to hold him back, but he passed by my withholding hands again. When it was dark, I lay on the bed, and he strided over my body and flew past my feet, nimbly. went.When I open my eyes and see the sun again, another day has slipped away.I covered my face and sighed.But the new day begins to flash by in the sigh.

What can I do in a world full of thousands of households in the days of flying away?Nothing but wandering, nothing but haste; in my eight-thousand-day rush, what else have I done besides wandering?The past days are like light smoke, blown away by the breeze, like mist, evaporated by the morning sun; what traces have I left behind?Have I ever left a trace like a gossamer?I came to this world stark naked, in a blink of an eye, shall I go back stark naked too?But I can't get over it, why did I have to go through this life in vain? You wise, tell me, why are our days gone and never returned?

March 28, 1922 (Originally published on April 11, 1922, Issue 34 of "Current Affairs News·Literature Weekly")