The Cliff

There is a trail from a small shrine to a fishing village. There is a cliff on the road. In between, a sheep's intestine path of more than two hundred feet long passes by the edge of the sheer cliff. The cliff is above and the sea is below. Pedestrians have a slight step, will be tens of feet high from the wall tumbled down to the sea, by the sea rocks smashed head, by the mess of seaweed such as female ghost hair tangled arms and legs. Once the body falls into a deep, cold pool, it will be numb, silent death, no one knows.

Cliff, cliff, life is full of cliffs!

One

A certain year, a certain month, a certain day, there are two people standing on the path by this wall.

The one in the back is "he". He is my friend, friend of bamboo horse - but also my enemy, the enemy of heaven.

He and I are from the same town, born in the same year and the same month, swinging a swing together, attending an elementary school together, competing for a young girl together. At first we were friends, more brothers, no, more than brothers. But now it has turned into an enemy - a mortal enemy.

"He" succeeded, "I" failed.

The same horse, from the same starting line, because the footing is different? Once running, that horse lagged behind, this horse advanced. Some deviated from the track, out of range, some fell to the ground, the real safe run to the front, the winner is very few. Life is the same.

In the race track of life, "he" succeeded and "I" failed.

He took the straight and narrow path to his present position. His family was rich and wealthy, and his parents loved him. He went from elementary school through middle school, high school, college, and then to graduate school, where he earned his doctorate. He had status, got a government position, and gathered so much wealth. And wealth often earns one fame that is usually hard to come by.

While he was climbing up the ladder of success, I was sliding down the ladder of failure. The family's wealth was dwindling, and my parents soon died. Before I reached the age of 13, I had to live on my own. However, I had an unworthy desire to strive for self-improvement. But just as I was about to graduate, the lung disease that was stripping away my life suddenly struck me. A kind-hearted foreigner, who took pity on my sick body, took me to that country where the climate was warm and the air was fresh when he returned home, and my illness gradually subsided. Under the supervision of this benefactor, I was preparing my homework for the university entrance exams, when my benefactor suddenly died of an emergency. So I was left alone, wandering in a foreign country. I had to work as a maid to earn money to find a place to study. At that time, I became ill again and had to return to my homeland. When I was desperate to die, I found a way to live again. I worked as a translator and followed a foreigner to a beach and met him 20 years ago.

Twenty years ago, we parted in front of the gate of the elementary school, and 20 years later, we met again. 20 years had passed since we parted at the gate of the elementary school, and 20 years later, we met again, and he had become a prominent and important person, while I was still a half-dead translator. Can I be convinced?

Success can turn everything into money. The low hanging head of the loser is ravaged. The victor's every action is called a virtue. He boasts that he has not forgotten the old days, he calls me "you", he talks about the past cheerfully, he says "sorry" when something new is mentioned, but he looks smug with contempt on his face. Can I be convinced?

I was invited to visit his summer residence. He was full of children, his wife came out to salute him, and he looked like a flower. Who would have thought that this was the same maiden with whom he and I had fought. Could I be convinced?

Is it easy to carry the burden of misfortune, though it is destined? I will never stop until I achieve my ambition. Even if it is destiny, I will not rest until I have achieved my goal, not having become a family, not having become famous, and having left my half-dead body in the world. Yet now I have him standing in front of me. I remember him from the past, and I see him laughing at me today. I have burdened myself. Anger is bearable, but laughter is unbearable. The sky is laughing at me, and he is laughing at me.

Isn't it said that the heavens are sentient? How can I not be angry in my heart?

Two

On a certain month and a certain day, he and I were standing on the road of the Jedi wall.

He was in front, I was behind, only two steps apart. He was raving, I was silent. He threw his fat shoulders and walked, I dragged my thin body step by step gasping and coughing.

My eyes couldn't help but look down at the wall. The cliff was ten feet high, the blue pool was a hundred feet. If I move my finger, the "man" on the wall will become the "ghost" at the bottom of the pool.

I turned my head, eyes still looking at the bottom of the pool. I finally sneered, looking at his broad back, always staring, always sneering.

Suddenly there was a loud noise, a shriek into my ear hole, his body has slipped down the cliff head. In order not to make himself fall, he desperately grabbed a handful of thatch. Although the hand grabbed the thatch, the body was hanging in the air.

"You!"

Within this second, his pale face was suddenly swept with terror, disappointment and grief.

Just within this second, I stood on top of the wall, my heart suddenly surged with the pleasure of past and future revenge, pity. A variety of complex emotions wrestled in my heart.

I looked down at him and stood motionless.

"You!" He wailed and grabbed the thatch. The grass rustled and the roots looked like they were going to be pulled out.

In a flash, I was on my back on the path of the wall, not caring about my sick and weak body, I mustered all my strength to drag him up.

I was red-faced and he was pale. A minute later, we both stood facing each other on top of the wall.

He stood for a moment in frustration, and held out his bloody hand to shake mine.

I retracted my hand, stroked my violently beating chest, stood up, and looked at the trembling hand again.

Was it him who was saved, not me?

I stared at my hands once again.

Three

The next day, I stood alone on the road to the wall, thanking the heavens that it had saved me.

The cliff was ten feet high, and the blue pool was a hundred feet.

Ah, did I ever stand on top of this precipice yesterday? Is this not the precipice of my life?