On Sunday, the little rooster went to visit its good friend, the little duck. It walked to the riverside and saw a little fish swimming back and forth in the water. The little rooster said, "Hello, little fish!" The little fish replied, "Hello, little rooster! Where are you going?" "I'm going to play with the little duck!" After saying this, the little rooster added, "I have to go now, little fish! Goodbye!" "Goodbye, little rooster! Have fun!" said the little fish. The little rooster continued on its way. It reached a tree and saw a little dog playing in the shade. The little rooster said, "Hello, little dog!"

It was time for Little Mary to go to bed, but when she lay down, she just couldn't fall asleep. The little bear beside her pillow told Mary that counting sheep was a very effective method. Mary diligently started counting sheep, and the little sheep jumped very hard. When Mary counted to 200 sheep, something strange happened—a little angry sheep jumped out and said to Mary, "Are you going to sleep or not? I'm almost dead tired from jumping!"

n the forest lived many small animals: nightingales, larks, canaries, and a little rooster. One day, the little rooster's father said to him, "You've grown up, and it's time for me to pass on our family's skill—crowing—to you." The little rooster replied, "No, I don't want to learn crowing. I'd rather learn to sing. Listen, the nightingales' songs are so beautiful, and they often hold concerts!" His father said, "Alright then. Anyway, I'm old now and can't crow anymore. If you want to learn singing, go ahead!" So, the little rooster happily went off to learn singing.

A young woman wrote: "I live in Taoyuan and work in Taipei. I have to spend three hours every day commuting by car. Even though I have a seat, the vehicle is noisy and shakes violently, so I can't listen to music or read books during the ride. I don't want to move house, change jobs, or drive myself. I always get a full night's sleep the night before, so I don't need to catch up on sleep during the commute. How can I save these three daily hours?"

Someone was driving home in the evening for dinner and made a quick phone call to let their family know—just over forty seconds. In that brief span, the car veered onto the sidewalk, struck three pedestrians, hit a tree, and overturned. All three pedestrians died from severe injuries. The driver has since been legally arrested. Using a mobile phone while driving is extremely dangerous. Studies show that driving while on the phone is even riskier than drunk driving; research indicates that making a phone call instantly reduces reaction ability as if aging 50 years; studies also show that a driver’s attention drops by 37% when talking on the phone...

In the Fuwa community of New Mexico, USA, three homeless men held begging permits and had lived in this community for 13 years. On November 6, 1998, the New Mexico state government passed a bill to revoke the begging permits of beggars who had been begging for over ten years, claiming they had become so wealthy that they no longer qualified to beg. As a result, the three homeless men were forced to leave New Mexico and head to Florida. Upon hearing this, Father Sam of the Fuwa community immediately voiced his opposition and wrote to the state government, demanding that the three beggars be brought back. He stated that a community cannot exist without beggars, and that the government's presumptuous action was a complete desecration of good-hearted people, showing indifference and disrespect toward human nature. The bill must be revised.

Throughout history, the handkerchiefs used by three individuals alone are worthy of being recorded for eternity. The first is Vincent van Gogh. We shouldn't only remember him for painting "Sunflowers." After a heated argument with Gauguin, Van Gogh cut off one of his own ears, wrapped it in a handkerchief, and gave it to a woman. If that handkerchief still existed today, it would certainly be worth more than "Sunflowers." The second is Lin Daiyu, who, on her deathbed, burned her manuscripts—poems she had once written on handkerchiefs. As the lyrics go: "This poetry-laden handkerchief was always with her, wiping away so many of my old tears. Had I known human feelings are thinner than paper, I would regret keeping this poetic handkerchief until now..." The third owner, Pavarotti, does not represent a tragedy. Every time he stepped on stage, he held a white handkerchief in his right hand, creating a striking contrast—black against white, heavy against light—with his 300-pound frame and thick, dark beard. This not only offered a visually impactful unity of opposites but also made him seem like the ambassador of handkerchiefs.

A former Tibetan serf once complained: "I herded sheep for my master for twenty-five years, yet never knew what mutton tasted like." This feeling is deeply unsettling. From a worldly perspective, to face meat walking before your eyes every day and yet never taste it seems unbearable. Later, this serf became a monk and had an epiphany: "On the sky burial platform, vultures eat human flesh to carry the soul to heaven; humans eat mutton merely for taste, and as a result, the sheep lose their bodies while humans lose their souls. Those meat-eaters may have long since died, but I, the monk, am still joyfully alive." This story also brings me joy. When I dine at restaurants, I often wonder: those hard-working servers who bring delicious dishes to tables every day—have they ever tasted those flavors themselves? My heart once felt injustice for their plight. But SARS changed my view: diners who ate civet cats faced a collective uprising of the SARS virus, which rebelled within their bodies, while nearly all the servers remained unscathed—only one chef who secretly sampled the dish不幸 drew the short straw. If everyone refrained from eating meat for twenty-five years, not only would they avoid becoming serfs, but some might become living Buddhas or simply joyful, healthy people. The animals spared from becoming human food might even joyfully reincarnate as humans.

A mountaineering team was climbing a snow-covered mountain. This was an exceptionally treacherous peak; the slightest misstep could send them tumbling down to certain death. Suddenly, the team leader lost his footing and began to fall. He wanted to let out a final cry of despair, but he knew that any sound would startle the others, destabilize their climb, and cause more to fall. Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to remain completely silent. Thus, he fell silently into the deep icy ravine below. Only one team member witnessed this tragic scene.

I still remember some events from my childhood in Chongqing. My family lived on Shizi Mountain in Nanshan, from where we could visit the higher Zhenwu Mountain. On Zhenwu Mountain, there was a particularly dangerous stretch of path—on the inner side was a steep cliff, and on the outer side, a deep precipice. That day, I was having a lot of fun. On the way back, I deliberately walked close to the edge of the cliff, hopping and jumping, even leaping forward in a skipping gait. At seven years old, I didn't yet understand the preciousness of life. My actions were partly motivated by a desire to make my mother anxious when she saw me. Below the cliff in the valley, a strange rock protruded from the wild grass. The stone naturally formed a coiled snake shape, with a raised section in the middle resembling a snake's neck and head. According to legend, married couples who threw stones from the cliff and hit the body of this stone snake would have a son. Naively, I thought I understood adult matters. Hearing such talk from the adults and recalling my games of playing bride and groom with a neighbor girl, I actually picked up a stone and threw it forcefully down the cliff. Not having good control over my throwing balance, my posture looked even more perilous from the side.