Story of the Foreign Fairy Chapter 75

Once upon a time there was a proud teapot. It was proud of its porcelain, its long mouth, and its big handle. There's something in front of it and behind it! There's a spout in the front and a handle in the back, and it's always talking about these things. But it doesn't talk about its lid. It turns out that the cover was broken long ago and was nailed back later; so it has a shortcoming, and people don’t like to talk about their own shortcomings, of course others will. The whole set of tea utensils, including cups, cream pots and sugar bowls, clearly remembers the weakness of the teapot lid. Talk about it more than you talk about the intact handle and the beautiful spout. The teapot knows this.

"I know them!" it said to itself, "I also know my shortcomings, and I admit them. This is enough to show my humility, my simplicity. We all have shortcomings; but we also have advantages. The cup has a The handle, the sugar bowl had a lid. I had both, and the one thing they didn't have was a spout; that made me queen of the tea table. Servant of sweetness, I am the one who appoints everyone. I spread happiness to those who are thirsty. In my body, the Chinese tea leaves are scented in the tasteless boiling 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 hand opened its lid. But this very white and tender hand was very clumsy. The teapot fell, the spout broke, the handle broke, and there is no need to talk about the lid again, 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.

"I will never forget this experience!" Teapot said later when he examined his life's work. "People called me a patient and put me in a corner; one day later, they gave me to a woman who was begging for leftovers. I was reduced to a pauper; inside and outside, I didn't say a word. However, at this time, my life began to improve. It was a blessing in disguise. For a teapot, it was like being buried in the soil. Root. I don’t know who put it in or who brought it in. But since it was put in, it finally made up for the loss of Chinese tea leaves and boiling water, and it was also regarded as a reward for breaking the handle and spout. The flower roots lie in the soil, lie in my body, and become my heart. I have never had such a thing as a living heart. I now have life, strength and spirit. It rises, the roots sprout, it has thoughts and feelings. It blooms into a flower. I see it, I support it, and I forget myself in its beauty. This is a happy thing. It didn't thank me; it didn't think of me; I was so happy that it was admired and praised; how happy it must have been one day when I heard someone say that it should have a better flowerpot! It was just right to match it. So they gave me a slap on the waist; it really hurt me! But the flower moved into a better pot.

What about me? I was thrown out into the yard. I lay there like a pile of broken pieces but my memory was still there and I couldn't forget it. "