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.

When I told people I was going to walk across America, many said, "Wow, just saying it takes courage." Others said, "You can't do it." But weighing 181 kilograms, with a heavy backpack on my back, I've already walked 489 kilometers. I'm already a father of two, but obesity has been tormenting me. To lose weight, I decided to set off from San Diego and walk across the entire United States, with New York as my destination. Actually, weight loss isn't my only goal; I have a vague feeling that this journey is destined to change my life. I wasn't always overweight. When I was young, I served in the Navy fleet, once a handsome man with many friends, living happily every day in California. But at the age of 25, a car accident changed everything. Two passengers got off the bus at an intersection, and I didn't see them... I spent 10 days in jail for vehicular manslaughter. Since then, I've been trapped in deep self-blame, unable to face the families of the victims. As time passed, my guilt only grew stronger, and long-term depression caused my weight to rise uncontrollably.

Background: Her father, who had lost a limb due to injury, passed away when she was 21. Her mother supported their family of seven by working as a cashier at an ice rink. Who she is now: Senior journalist at *Paris Match*, France's highest-circulation magazine, and France's "quasi-First Lady." Senior journalist Valérie Trierweiler probably never imagined that the number of times she interviewed others in the first half of her life would be far fewer than the number of times she'd be interviewed in the second half. Resembling classic Hollywood star Katharine Hepburn, Valérie became the globally watched "quasi-First Lady" after her boyfriend, François Hollande, was elected President of France. Hollande was jokingly dubbed by the French public as the "President with Three No's": no experience, no distinctive traits, no wife. Valérie, too, is the genuine "girlfriend with Three No's": no background, no social standing, no patron. Yet, Valérie solemnly told the media, "I'm not Cinderella." She also declared her intention to follow in Hillary Clinton's footsteps to redefine the image of France's First Lady.

While traveling in Turkey, I quickly became fascinated by how Turks would argue endlessly over prices. I often found that in these disputes, the success or failure of the deal mattered more than the actual price itself. One day, at a rural bus station, representatives from two competing tour companies approached me. When I asked one of them about the cost of the journey, he replied, "My bus will cost you 600 lira." But as soon as he finished speaking, the second man immediately stepped forward and said, "Come with me! You only need to pay 500 lira." And so the competition began. The two men went back and forth, arguing intensely, while I stood silently to the side, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

A large department store in the city had just opened, launching a "Spend 200, Get 100" promotional campaign, and I was browsing the store with great interest. On the second floor, at the small appliances counter, I noticed two fair-haired, blue-eyed, high-nosed foreigners who seemed to be having some trouble. "I know, but, but..." the salesgirl was flustered, her face red, repeatedly muttering this junior-high-level English phrase. The foreigners, holding gift vouchers in their hands, kept pointing at an electric shaver behind the glass case and mumbling unclear English. It turned out they had their eyes on a shaver priced at 95 yuan and wanted to use their two 50-yuan vouchers to cover the cost. However, clearly displayed on the counter was a sign stating: "Only one voucher per purchase."

Once, when Cathay Pacific launched its direct flight to San Francisco, USA, they invited us to film a special feature, accompanied by Lydia Lee, Carol Cheng, and Christy Chung. "Is it true that Gu Long died from excessive drinking?" Carol Cheng asked. Mr. Ni Kuang replied, "Well, you could say that. Gu Long and I often drank several bottles of brandy in one night, sometimes so much that we had to get IV drips the next day. But the real reason was this: one time, Gu Long went to drink at Xinghua Pavilion, and a group of gang members asked him to toast their boss. Gu Long refused. As he walked out, a few henchmen stabbed him several times with long, thin knives. He lost so much blood that he was rushed to the hospital. The hospital’s blood bank didn’t have enough supply, so they were forced to buy blood from drug addicts on the street. The blood wasn’t clean, and as a result, he received blood infected with hepatitis."

Previously, my impression of the "poet" profession was: long hair, disliking washing their face or clothes, and being taciturn. But recently, this impression changed. It all started when I was invited to attend a gathering of "folk poets." As I entered the room, I first saw three bald heads. A poet friend I knew was also bald, and enthusiastically introduced them to me: "This is poet So-and-So, poet So-and-So..." After we sat down to eat, two more of their like-minded companions arrived, each entering with a bald head. If it weren't for the hearty dishes and vodka on the table, one might have mistaken this not for a poetry gathering, but for Buddhist disciples exchanging spiritual experiences. I asked, "Why have you all become bald?" They replied, "We don't really know why either. A couple of us shaved first, and everyone thought it was the in-thing within the circle, so we all followed suit."