Xi Murong's prose "Shell"

At the beach, I picked up a small shell.

The shells are small, but very hard and delicate. There are small dots of darker or lighter colors in the middle of the swirling pattern. If you observe carefully, there is a complex pattern forming a circle around each dot. No wonder people in ancient times used shells to make coins. What lay in my hand was really a work of art, a treasure that I couldn’t bear to exchange with others!

When I picked up this shell at the beach, the small soft body that once lived in it had long since died. Under the washing of sunlight, sand and waves, the life in the shell remained. The traces have completely disappeared. However, for such a short and small life, for such a fragile and humble life, how exquisite, how careful, and how meticulous is the small center that God has made for it!

Compared to the life in the shell, can the time and space I can stay in this world be longer and more? Should I also use my ability to do what I can do more delicately, carefully, and meticulously?

Please allow me to leave something cherished and amazing.

After a thousand years, there may be people who will watch and play with the traces I left over and over again, and they can’t help but sigh softly:

"What kind of heart is this?" What a simple heart it is to be stubborn! "