A married woman was having an affair, and every time her lover came over, she would lock her 9-year-old son in the closet. One day, when the woman heard a car drive up the driveway, she casually locked her lover in the closet as well. Inside the closet, the little boy said, "It's really dark in here." "Yeah!" the man replied. "Wanna buy a baseball?" the boy asked, picking up a ball at random. "No, thanks," the man answered. "I think you'll want to buy a baseball," the little blackmailer said.

It was the winter of 1941. That year, the fires of World War II raged fiercely. The entire world was bleeding, suffering, groaning, and struggling. That winter was especially cold. December 1941 was a season of freezing temperatures. On the streets of Washington D.C., the American capital, thick layers of snow covered everything, and the icy roads were treacherously slippery. Christmas was approaching, yet there was no sign of holiday cheer; people hurried along, focused only on their destinations. It was late at night. Robert Oppenheimer, the "father of the American atomic bomb," wandered alone through the empty streets. He didn't know where to go or what to do. He didn't want to go home, even though it was warm and his beloved wife was waiting for him. He truly didn't know how to face President Roosevelt. He had exhausted every possible way to explain to the president what an atomic bomb was, what atoms were, what atomic nuclei were, and what nuclear fission was. The great president had zero knowledge of nuclear physics.

When Kaspar's family was taken away, the residents of the entire alley watched them from afar. Chen Amao was tightly held back by his mother, while the bayonets of Japanese soldiers glinted with a cold, pale light in the sun. Kaspar clutched a small bundle, closely following behind his father... 1 In 1935, the moist sea breeze at Shanghai's docks brushed against their faces. The whistle of the steamship made 7-year-old Kaspar feel a sudden fear. He gripped his father's old overcoat, burying his face deep into it—the fabric still carried the sweet, distinctive scent of their small Austrian town. His father straightened Kaspar's hat, lifted him up, and kissed him, telling his son this was where their family would live: "You'll like Shanghai." Holding his son's hand and carrying an old leather suitcase, he stepped onto this unfamiliar land, blending into the crowd of people speaking various dialects. For several weeks, Kaspar remained dispirited. His father, once a history professor, now worked as an English tutor for a wealthy Chinese merchant. His mother opened a small bakery. Kaspar was left to play alone. He dared not leave the rented attic room because a group of dirty Chinese children would always surround him, singing a mocking rhyme: "Little foreigner, can't talk, hired a monk to chant sutras, mumbling and incomprehensible." Each time, the older children knocked Kaspar to the ground, but he never cried. He would struggle to his feet, carefully brush the dirt off his clothes, and slowly walk home. But one rainy day, when they blocked him at the alley entrance again while he was mailing a letter for his mother, Kaspar decided he could endure no more.

One day, I spent the night in an abandoned car. The car had no engine, no steering wheel, no wheels, and no lock—so it was clearly abandoned. Why am I describing all this in such detail? Because a traffic accident happened. At night, I saw an imported car speeding down the highway—a Cherokee Jeep. My broken-down car was parked motionless in a drainage ditch 100 meters from the road, while the Jeep was driving on the highway, which had guardrails on both sides. It should never have caught up with me… but the driver was drunk, so he rear-ended me.

Late one night, a Chinese man walked into a barbershop at a railway station in a small German town. The barber warmly welcomed him but refused to give him a haircut. The reason? The shop could only serve travelers holding train tickets—it was a rule. The Chinese man politely suggested that since there were no other customers in the shop anyway, couldn't they make an exception? The barber became even more courteous and replied that even though it was nighttime and no one else was around, they still had to follow the rules. With no choice, the man went to the ticket window and bought a ticket to the nearest station. When he returned to the barbershop with the ticket, the barber regretfully told him, "If you bought this ticket just to get a haircut, then I'm truly sorry, but I still cannot serve you."

Leave yesterday behind. Cherish today. Strive for tomorrow. Hold on to what's right. Let go of what's wrong. 1. I never aspired to become exceptionally strong. I only hope to become that kind of girl who, no matter how much injustice she has endured or how many wounds she has suffered, still lives with a relaxed brow, an abundant and peaceful heart, and a clear, open-minded character. Occasionally sentimental, yet never artificial; sharp-tongued, yet never bitter or mean; never blaming fate or others, never harboring deep resentment. Sincere towards everyone, passionate about everything, believing that everything in this world will gradually get better. 2. When studying, I always thought the farther from home the better, believing that was true independence. But after years of working, I find myself wishing to go home every single weekend, because nowhere else seems to offer that solid, grounded feeling except home. 3. The worst feeling in the world is having to doubt something you once believed in without question. 4. Mutual warmth only works when both parties have warmth to give. Time can only save those who save themselves. Why should someone else warm a person who never tries and remains cold to the core? First, find your own frequency, then you can find someone who resonates with yours. First, become someone you don't dislike, then meet someone you don't need to please. When two people are together, cherish it deeply; when alone, fight on as if you were an entire team.

Among millions of people, meeting the one you are destined to meet; across millions of years, in the vast wilderness of time, neither a moment too early nor a moment too late, but simply encountering each other—connected and warmed by mutual understanding—what kind of fate is this? Understanding is the most beautiful connection in life. — Preface A gentle drizzle passes through a serene summer day, washing away the dust of time, moistening the heart, and leaving a touch of coolness to the season. The wind weaves thoughts into the plain white pages of time, filling sleeves with hidden fragrance. In these shallow moments, the petals of time quietly bloom, perfuming the years of delicate fingers; a water-like sentiment mists a curtain of quiet dreams, lightening a stretch of time between fingertips.

More than seventy years ago, a young Norwegian man crossed the ocean to France to apply to the prestigious Paris Conservatory. During the exam, although he did his utmost to perform at his best, the examiners still did not accept him. Penniless, the young man went to a bustling street not far from the conservatory, tightened his belt, and began playing his violin under a banyan tree. He played one piece after another, attracting countless passersby to stop and listen. Eventually, hungry and exhausted, he held out his violin case, and the onlookers generously placed money inside. A hooligan contemptuously threw some coins at the young man's feet. The young man looked at the hooligan, then calmly bent down, picked up the money, and handed it back, saying, "Sir, your money has dropped on the ground."

Endless unexpected tasks every day leave countless professionals overwhelmed and stressed. Don't forget: "Efficiency determines competitiveness." Maintaining a clear mind and arranging your daily work reasonably might just give you an edge and achieve twice the result with half the effort. Japanese efficiency expert Yukio Matsumoto suggests that when faced with a mountain of tasks, you should first categorize them and identify priorities. Using the two criteria of "urgent" and "important," handle "urgent and important" tasks first, then quickly complete "urgent but unimportant" ones. Tasks that are "important but not urgent" or "neither urgent nor important" can be temporarily set aside.

People come into this world, and there will always be many disappointments and many injustices; there will be many losses and many envies. You envy my freedom, I envy your constraints; you envy my car, I envy your house; you envy my job, I envy your regular rest time. Perhaps we all suffer from farsightedness, always living by looking up to others; or perhaps we are nearsighted, often overlooking the happiness right beside us. In fact, in this vast world, no two faces are exactly alike. If you observe carefully, there are always subtle differences. Among animals, the rabbit is small and delicate, while the ox is large and sturdy; among birds, the eagle soars high, while the swallow flies low. People inevitably differ in intelligence and luck; we are always constrained by our environment and reality; someone will solve a math problem in seconds while you're cutting a fruit platter; someone will reflect on the gains and losses of their day while you're asleep; someone will always run faster than you...