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Reader's Note
Through delicately portraying the traces of the passage of time, the article "Hurry" expresses the author Zhu Ziqing's helpless regret for wasting time, revealing the complex feelings of young people in the old era who have awakened, but are depressed and wandering for the future. His reflections on the rush of time not only touched the young people of the time, but also had a great wake-up call for today's readers. I hope that the young people who relive "Hurry" again cherish the time, make a difference, do not sweat on their foreheads because of the years of great ambition and unpaid, and do not regret the lack of achievements for the wasted time.
Zhang Monroe
Class of 2008 Graduate of the School of Economics and Management
"Hurry" Zhu Ziqing
When the swallows go, there is a time to come again; when the willows wither, there are times when they are green again; when the peach blossoms are thankful, and there are times when they bloom again. But, cleverly, you tell me, why are our days gone forever? - Someone stole them: Who is that? And where is it hidden? They fled on their own: where are they now? I don't know how many days they gave me; but my hands did come to an end. Counting in silence, more than eight thousand days have slipped from my hands; like a drop of water on the tip of a needle in the sea, my days are dripping in the flow of time, with no sound or shadow.
I couldn't help but burst into tears. What goes is gone, what comes is coming, and how is it hurried in the middle of coming? When I got up in the morning, the cabin shot in two or three oblique suns. The sun had his feet, and it moved gently and quietly; and I also swirled in a daze. So when you wash your hands, the days pass from the basin of water; when you eat, the days pass from the rice bowl; when you are silent, you pass in front of your eyes. I sensed that he was in a hurry, and when he stretched out his hand to cover it, he passed by the hand he was holding, and when it was dark, I was lying on the bed, and he skillfully stepped over me and flew at my feet.
When I opened my eyes and said goodbye to the sun, it was another day. I hid my face and sighed. But the shadow of the new day began to flash in the sigh again. What can I do in a world of thousands of households in the days of flight? There is only wandering, only hurrying; in the rush of more than eight thousand days, what is left but wandering? The past days are like light smoke, blown away by the breeze, like mist, steamed by the first sun; what traces do I leave behind? How could I have left traces like gossamer? I came to this world naked, and in the blink of an eye, I will return naked? But if it can't be leveled, why do you want to go through this in vain? You're smart, tell me, why are our days gone forever?
Readers
Zhang Menglu, a 2008 graduate of the School of Economics and Management of Shenyang University of Aeronautics and Astronautics, was the director of Shenhang Voice Radio Station, and is currently engaged in financial work, serving as the senior director of the office of The Benxi Branch of Guangfa Bank.
Today's weekend time is here to say goodbye to everyone, the next issue at the same time, we will not see each other!
Author 丨Zhu Ziqing
Read aloud 丨 Zhang Monroe
Typography 丨Yang Ziling
Check 丨 Sui Changhong
Edited by 丨Sui Changhong
Responsible editor 丨 Zhou Yongliang
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【Source: Shenyang University of Aeronautics and Astronautics】
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