Chapter 39 teapot

teapot Once upon a time there was a proud teapot, proud of its porcelain, proud of its long spout, and proud of its big handle.There's something in the front and back of it!A spout in the front, a handle in the back, and it's always talking about these things.But it doesn't talk about its cover.It turned out that the lid had been broken long ago, and was nailed on afterwards; so it had a fault, and people don't like to talk about their own faults--of course other people do.The cup, the creamer, and the sugar bowl—the whole tea set—remembered the weakness of the teapot lid.Talk about it more than that good handle and nice spout.The teapot knows this.

"I know them!" said it to itself, "I know my faults too, and I admit them. It is enough to show my modesty, my simplicity. We all have faults; but we also have good points. The cup has a The handle, the sugar bowl has a lid. I have both, and the one thing they don't. I have a spout; which makes me queen of the tea table. The sugar bowl and the cream pot are ordained to be Servant of sweetness, and I am the ordainer—the lord of all. I spread happiness to those who are thirsty. In my body, the Chinese tea smells in the tasteless boiled water." These words were spoken by the teapot in its fearless youth.It stood on the tea table covered with a tablecloth, and a very white and tender hand lifted its cover.But this very white hand is very stupid, the teapot fell, the spout was broken, the handle was broken, and there was no need to talk about the lid, because a lot has been said about him.The teapot lay unconscious on the ground; boiling water dripped all over the floor.It was a serious blow to it, and the worst part was that everyone laughed at it.Everyone just laughed at it, not at the clumsy hand.

"It was an experience I will never forget!" Teapot said afterwards, reviewing his life's work. "They called me a sick man, and put me in a corner; a day later, they gave me to a woman begging for leftovers. I was reduced to a pauper; inside and out, I didn't speak a word. However, at this moment, my life began to improve. What a blessing in disguise. I was filled with earth; for a teapot, it is quite equivalent to being buried. But in the earth I buried a flower. Root. I don’t know who put it in and who brought it. But since it’s put in, it can finally make up for the loss of Chinese tea and boiling water, and it can also be regarded as a reward for breaking the handle and spout. The root of the flower lay in the earth, in my body, and became a heart in me, a living heart—I never had such a thing. I have life, strength, and spirit now. The pulse beats, the root sprouts, thoughts and feelings come into being. It opens into a flower. I see it, I support it, I forget myself in its beauty. Selflessness for others—it is a A happy thing! It thanked me not; it did not think of me; it was adored and praised. I was very happy; how happy it must be! One day I heard a man say that it should have a more A good pot should have gone with it. So they beat me in the back; and it hurt me so badly! But the flower went into a better pot.

As for me?I was thrown out into the yard.I lay there like a heap of broken pieces—but my memory was there, and I couldn't forget it. "