The orchid has withered, what should be done with the last orchid?

Promote Chinese orchid culture, spread orchid knowledge

Beside the empty paved path, people have gradually become sparse, and by the lonely telephone booth there are still two or three figures waiting tirelessly. I clutch the phone card in my hand, flipping it over and over as if shaking a machine of time. I look up at the northwestern sky, a meteor flashes by and is gone, "Another person has left this world, I suppose," I think, and before my eyes that orchid emerges once more...

That spring, I sat at my writing desk, pen in one hand, chin propped on the other, gazing out the window at a world of bright sunshine, singing birds and fragrant flowers. It was a large garden, with every kind of flower: noble peonies, thorny roses, delicate lilacs, pure jasmine... each one in bloom, and when a breeze came, it would carry wave after wave of fresh fragrance into my study. Yet every day I only admired them, never daring to pick one, even if it was not a flower but merely a leaf.

That day, a gardener came here, bringing many new varieties, new types; peonies, Chinese roses, baby's breath, carnations, one after another, the gardener transplanted them into the garden. When only the last one remained, the gardener carried it around, choosing a spot, and finally walked all the way to my window. "Hmm, this spot is very good, there is sunlight, and enough moisture, so I'll plant it here," the gardener murmured to himself. "Excuse me, what flower is this?" I asked curiously. "An orchid, the only orchid in the garden." "Oh, it's an orchid." I sized it up: tall and slender stems, emerald green leaves growing evenly upon them, and at the very top of the stem, the single newly sprouted bud, pure white and flawless. And so, that orchid took up residence before my window, and so, my heart gained one more concern.

Every day, I watered that orchid, pulled weeds, removed the old leaves from the stems, and the bud grew fuller and fuller, as if it had a spirit of its own; whenever I sat at my writing desk gazing at it, it would sway gently, and my study seemed to be filled with the fresh fragrance of orchid. The days passed one by one, and finally on a day at the turn of spring and summer, that orchid, that one and only orchid, unfolded its smiling face to me - it bloomed, pure white and crystalline petals gently spreading open. Though it was not fragrant, its purity was enough to make it stand proudly above all flowers; whether peony, herbaceous peony, or jasmine, before it they all lost their color. In my heart, from the very moment it appeared, it forever occupied my whole being; in my heart, it was beyond compare. Looking at that orchid, I smiled, my efforts had finally borne fruit, yet in an instant, tears had already wet those crystalline petals - I had not expected this result to come so hard.

In the days that followed, perhaps the happiest of my life, I looked and looked at that orchid every day, never able to look enough; it seemed to have become an indispensable part of my life, because it was the crystallization of my efforts and sweat. That orchid, amid the full spring splendor of the garden, showed me the purity, crystalline clarity, simplicity and flawlessness that only it retained. It had every virtue that belongs to flowers in the world, yet it was not delicate, not gaudy, not heavily made up, leaving only a white dress, a trace of fresh fragrance, a share of pure innocence - and these were enough.

Yet good times are always so brief. When a university admission letter was delivered into my hands, I had to pack my bags and prepare to step into another noisy world. In the remaining limited days, I guarded it every day, looking and looking, as if I wanted to remember every part of it by heart. That day, I finally had to leave. In the early morning, I went to visit that orchid one last time; though it was late summer and early autumn, the orchid greeted me with dew, showing me its most beautiful face, glistening dewdrops like its tears, emerald branches and leaves carrying an intoxicating fragrance. I could not help but draw it close, and for the first time in my life, and the last, kissed its cheek. I felt that the dewdrop was salty, salty. When I turned around to leave, a gust of wind blew past, and I turned back with a shudder, only to see that orchid, a single crystalline petal already drifting away in the wind...

In the days that followed, I spent them in the busy bustle of university. Yet I could never forget that orchid, and always wrote home saying: Don't forget, help me take care of that orchid...

In October, I finally had a few days of vacation, and I hurried home from school; the first thing I wanted to do was see that orchid. Yet when I once again approached the garden, everything had changed: a few branches in the garden were still blooming, but of that orchid, only a ground full of pure white petals remained, and its stems had all withered... "The second day after you left, it began to wither, and only yesterday did it drop its last petal, as if waiting for you to return. Actually the flower stem had long since died, no matter how I watered it, it was no use," my mother said softly behind me.

I was speechless, wanting to cry but unable to make a sound, only silent tears flowing down my face, dripping, falling onto those crystalline petals. How I wished this lovely orchid could revive under the soak of my tears. If it could come back to life, I would rather cry my tears dry, yet I knew all was in vain. I blankly guarded that long-withered orchid, from noon to sunset, and from sunset to sunrise, as if guarding my own life. When I came to my senses again, I was already in a hospital bed, surrounded by family waiting anxiously. I opened my eyes and turned my head slightly, only to find on the cabinet by the bed a pure white, flawless "heart" that my sister had arranged from the fallen orchid petals, and tears once again blurred my eyes. Once again I clearly realized: the one and only orchid in my heart had truly withered. When the last orchid withered, two hearts in this world broke at the same time...

Nearly a year has passed since that orchid departed, yet in my heart I can by no means forget it. I remember there was once a story like this: a prince on a certain planet kept the only rose on that planet, and he cared for it so tenderly that the rose developed a very bad temper; when one day the little prince could no longer endure the rose's domineering ways, he came to Earth, where he saw a whole flowerbed of roses, but none as beautiful as the one he had raised, because after all he had spent love and effort on that one and only rose. As for myself, though I am not like that little prince, and I still know there are many, many orchids in this world, and many, many flowers more beautiful than orchids, I still have a special affection for that orchid, because after all I poured love, effort and sweat into it, and gained a small harvest. Perhaps there are too many things in this world that do not go as one wishes, and too many things that cannot be foreseen, but after all I once possessed it, possessed that one and only orchid in my heart. Therefore, my heart can never forget, and I will still wait, wait for that withered orchid to bloom again before me...

Orchid Bar, your good teacher on the road of growing orchids