The Inspiration of the Night-blooming Cactus

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　I have two epiphyllum plants in my home; both of them have lush branches and leaves. Recently, I noticed that on the irregularly shaped, thick leaves of one of the plants, there were signs of insect damage, and the leaves also appeared slightly yellowed. I was worried about its health and about applying pesticides and fertilizers to it, when I discovered two tiny buds appearing beneath the leaves, which surprised me greatly. In the past, my two epiphyllum plants each bloomed with one flower; sometimes they would bloom at the same time, but it was still quite rare for a single plant to produce two flowers at once. 　　Although I have been closely observing these two brown buds, I still don’t know when they grew from being the size of a little finger to buds that are five inches long. This afternoon, when I looked at them again, I noticed that the brown petals covering them had curled inward, while the inner, snow-white tender petals had begun to open slightly. Based on experience, this is the time when it’s about to bloom. The family immediately grew worried and moved the potted plant from the yard to the table in the living room. Some suggested inviting friends to come and watch it, but I thought that rather than having ordinary people gather around, it was better to let it bloom quietly and then fade away peacefully, so that its precious brief life could be one of tranquility and serenity. Moreover, the moment when the epiphyllum blooms always comes at night, as if to avoid the hustle and bustle of the day; therefore, I invited neither scholars nor commoners, and simply placed this epiphyllum on the table ； Put Tchaikovsky’s melancholic Violin Concerto in D major on the turntable, then brew a cup of bitter tea and wait for it to unfold. 　　Every time I wanted to see the night-blooming cereus in bloom, but things usually got in the way. This time I was determined to watch it bloom, so I held a teacup and stayed by it, gazing at it. Looking at those plump buds ready to bloom, my heart was suddenly filled with a sense of the wonder of life. 　　Thinking of the brevity and preciousness of life, a night-blooming cereus goes from blooming to withering; its beautiful life lasts only two or three hours. As the saying goes, it’s a brief appearance – life is truly short. It is precisely because of its brevity that it seems all the more precious. But this brief “appearance,” though lasting only two hours, makes me feel quite uneasy when I think about what the difference it is compared to a person’s entire life. Moses, who gave forth the Ten Commandments, lamented life in the Psalms: \"They are like grass that grows up; it sprouts in the morning and withers by evening... The years we live through are like a sigh.\" The number of years in our lifetime is 70. If one is strong, they may live to 80, but what is prided about in that is nothing but toil and sorrow, which vanish in an instant. We would then fly away…” In Moses’ time, it was common for people to live to 70 years old, but today the average lifespan is surely far below 70 years; what’s the difference between that and a flower that blooms in an instant and then withers away? If one lives 70 years in emptiness, with memories of a life that is dull and lacking in meaning, it is far inferior to the night-blooming cereus, which blooms for a brief moment, releasing the fragrance of life and sharing its beauty with others, thus leaving an indelible impression in people’s memories. The night-blooming cereus concentrates all of its life force into just two short hours, blooming brilliantly in the world. I believe that at the moment it blooms, it becomes one with eternity and becomes part of immortality. And then I suddenly realized that the value of a human life does not lie in the length of time it lasts, but rather in whether, within that short span, it can emit the fragrance of humanity and shine with its light, enduring through the ages to coexist with the universe and compete in brilliance with the sun and the moon. 　　I pondered the meaning of life, looking forward to the birth of two new lives. My relaxed expression gradually turned serious; when I looked up at the epiphyllum plant again, two new buds, white and fragrant, had already quietly blossomed before me, somehow without me even realizing it. 　　I gazed in awe at those two white blossoms; their petals were soft and delicate, somewhat resembling the white water lilies in the pond. I turned off the lights in the room to let the clear moonlight stream in; it gave them an appearance as if they were suspended in a gentle mist. They were more beautiful than water lilies—no, more beautiful than any other flower. The snow-white petals, hidden among the lush leaves, are like a cloud in the night sky, like the wings of an angel. From the center of the flower, a long, thin stamen extends out, emitting a gentle fragrance. Because its life is too short, it is beautifully enchanting like a dream, so beautiful it’s almost overwhelming. As I gazed at it, I was unconsciously touched by its ethereal atmosphere; I immediately broke free from the bonds of the gloomy night and melancholic music, and connected with eternal beauty.