"Wisdom and death, their only and most important value is to enlighten people on how to live."
“ 智慧和死亡，唯一且重要的价值，是启迪人们如何去生活。”
I've always had a small appetite—skinny as a bamboo pole. I care nothing for good food; even if someone blended a feast into a paste, it wouldn't strike me as absurd.
我天生“鸡肠小肚”，吃不了多少饭，一根消瘦的“竹杠”。对美食没有追求，哪怕全打碎做成食流，对我来说不算是难以接受的荒谬。
I'm amazed by people who don't cook often but know so much about it. They can tell if an ingredient is fresh, understand its temperature properties, know which restaurants serve the best version, and argue fiercely about "the only right way" to make it.
我惊叹有些人，并不时常出没厨房，却很了解烹饪。既知道它的热凉温寒，还能细细品出一种食材是否新鲜，也了解能吃到它的店，更是面红耳赤地笃定它“最好做法”应是怎样。
I'm already thirty and have no such skills. I'm also sure I'll never put effort into learning them.
话说我也有三十的年纪，就没有这方面的造诣，而且深信自己以后也不会在这方面发力。
Three hundred years ago, when Franklin was a printer's apprentice, he always chewed bread while reading. A large part of his vast knowledge came from those moments.
三百年前，富兰克林还是印刷厂学徒时，总是嚼着面包看书，他一生博览群书，相当一部分是如此而来。
Influenced by him, I often think or do other things while eating. My dad hates this—he says eating requires focus, otherwise you'll get indigestion. His reason didn't convince me, so I kept doing it my way.
受此影响，我吃饭的时候常常想事情，或者干点其他事。我老爹对此颇有微词，他认为吃饭应该专心，否则容易消化不良。这理由不充分，就没听进去，依旧我行我素。
But lately, I've found an eating game.
倒是这阵子里，我找到一种吃饭游戏。
It started with sushi. The wasabi was so spicy I had to close my eyes and endure it. Amid the burning rush to my head, I tasted the sashimi's freshness, the sweetness of the crushed cold rice, and the saltiness of the soy sauce.
起源是，有一次吃寿司，芥末太辣我不得不闭眼挺住，在呛上脑壳的冲劲里，我品味到刺身的鲜、嚼碎凉饭团分解出的甜、酱油中盐分的咸。
Turns out closing your eyes focuses your attention on your tongue, teeth, and throat—making you taste food more deeply. These days, I'm worn out, especially my eyes. I've tried closing them when thinking, taking elevators, entering doors, walking on tactile paving—until I did it while eating too.
原来闭上眼，注意力聚集在舌头、牙齿和咽喉上，会令人更能品味食物。尤其这些天，实在有些疲倦尤其是双眼，思考闭眼、上下电梯闭眼、出入门闭眼、走盲道闭眼，直到吃饭也闭眼。
Okay, I just wanted to rest my eyes. But by accident, it concentrated my attention on my mouth, letting me savor food more delicately.
好吧，我只是想让眼睛休整一会，无意中又把注意力聚集中口腔内，更细腻地品尝食物。
Take a bite of fresh squid, eyes closed. The flesh is crisp—like biting a sausage, the thin outer membrane bursts easily under your teeth. Squid is firmer than fish, with a faint bitterness from its ink.
咬下一块新鲜的鱿鱼，闭上眼。肉质比较脆，就像咬下香肠，表层的膜不受压力，牙尖一压就破。鱿鱼的肉感比鱼肉更结实些，含有黑墨的一丝苦涩。
This must be wild seafood, not farmed. In murky green seawater, it propels itself forward with its tentacles. When a predator appears, it sprays ink instantly, clouding the water to escape unseen.
这应该是海鲜，而不是人工饲养。在浓浊绿色海水里，触角一蹬一蹬往前穿梭。天敌一出现，瞬时喷射黑墨搅浑四周，神不知鬼不觉逃脱掉。
This firm flesh holds the memory of countless escapes, countless shrimp and small fish eaten, countless miles swum. Its home must be in a rock crevice—changing color like a chameleon to match the stone, dark gray, becoming part of it.
这一圈圈长结实的肉质，包含着多少次逃脱，包含多少小虾小鱼，游过多少海里海域。它的老巢应该打在石缝里，变色龙般贴在石头上，就是暗灰色，成为一部分的石头。
Without a high-def camera spotting its rolling eyes up close, or other fish detecting its faint scent, it would stay safe even under a shark's nose.
若没有高清摄像头近距离发现它滚动的小眼珠，或者其他鱼类捕获到它微弱的身体气味，哪怕鲨鱼眼皮底下，它依旧安恙无事。
Now a stalk of flowering cabbage. Bite down—it's crisp too. The chef peeled the rough root skin, removing most of the tough fibers. True "flowering cabbage." There's a raw aroma, unique to plants—the same smell you get when breaking a branch or tearing a leaf as a kid. Is it from bursting cell sap?
来一根菜心吧。一口咬下，也脆，根部的表皮被大厨精心削掉，少掉很多植物粗糙的纤维，真“菜心”。有一股生味，植物所特有的生，小时候在树上折断树枝，撕碎树叶，所闻到的便是这味，是植物的液泡破裂散发的？
I don't know. When chewed thoroughly, it turns slightly sweet, no bitterness at all. Since 6 or 7 in the morning, the sun has been shining—warming the topsoil while the earth below stays cool and moist. Half in sunlight, half in darkness.
我不懂。菜心嚼烂后，有一些清甜毫无苦涩。阳光从清晨六七点起开始照射，表层土壤升温，而底下保持低温的湿润。一半没入阳光，一半扎入黑暗。
The roots draw cool water, sending it upward like an electric current, carrying trace elements as building blocks for cells—slowly transporting them to every cell. At the same time, individual plant cells divide and multiply, one becoming two, two becoming four.
根部汲取了清凉的水分，若电流一般向上导送，其中还有微量元素，作为搭建细胞的结构材料，一点点从根部转送至各个细胞单位。与此同时，单个植物细胞开始拆家分裂，一分二，二分四。
Millions of tiny pores on the leaves open and close, "eating" sunlight for photosynthesis? No, wait—what I read says they absorb carbon dioxide and release oxygen.
叶片上千百万个孔，极细微地一张一合，大口吃下一份份阳光，来进行光合作用？不对，按书上所写，应该是吸收二氧化碳分解出吐出氧气。
Chewing flowering cabbage in my mouth is like a small vegetable chopper—click, click, click.
口腔内咀嚼菜心，就像在一台小型剁菜机器，咔咔咔地切。
Pick up the rice bowl. Don't eat yet—smell it closely. It's the aroma of cooked rice. Morning bun shops have a similar smell, but it's impure, mixed with minced meat or fillings. The purest aroma of cooked starch must be rice.
端起饭碗，先不要吃，放在鼻子下细细去闻。是米粒煮熟后，散发的香味。早晨的包子铺里，也有这种香味，但是不纯粹，里面添加肉末或者配料，最纯粹的淀粉烹饪后的味道，应该是米饭吧。
Take a bite, roll it with your tongue to the back of your teeth, chew slowly. Soft and glutinous—don't swallow in a hurry. Let the tip of your tongue taste the sweetness as it breaks down. For a single grain of rice, being chewed into glucose means the end of its form, the end of its journey.
拌上一口，摆动舌头，令饭团落在牙后跟，多嚼动几遍，软软糯糯，不要着急咽下，继续用舌尖去品尝它分解后的甜味。对一粒稻谷来说，被嚼烂分解为葡萄糖，此前它还算有一个形态，此后就是一生旅程的终结。
Rice holds the essence of the rice plant. If the plant had consciousness, what would the rice mean to it? A part of its body? The meaning of its life? Nothing at all?
水稻的精华集中在稻谷上。如果水稻有意识，稻谷意味着什么。身体的一部分？它生命的意义？无所谓是什么？
Chew a few more times. From the law of conservation of mass and energy—isn't this mouthful, sliding down my throat into my stomach, a form of energy once known as sunlight? Feel it—sliding down the throat, settling in the abdomen.
再嚼多几口。从质能守恒来说，这顺着咽喉缓缓咽下的，是不是一份前身为阳光的能量？感知它，顺着咽喉咽进，沉在腹部。
It's just me and my girlfriend at home. Quiet. We sit across a table from each other. On it: two plates of fresh dumplings, a plate of pan-fried sand smelt and cod, a dish of blanched lettuce, and a bunch of sun-ripened grapes.
没有其他人，就我和女朋友在家。家里很安静，我们俩隔着一张桌而坐。中间摆着两盘新鲜饺子、一盘油煎沙尖鱼和鳕鱼、一碟白灼生菜、一大串阳光葡萄。
The cooked dumplings have an aroma you can smell but not taste. It's the smell of cooked dough—but not quite.
煮熟的饺子，凑近闻有一股香味，只能闻无法用味觉品出来。是面食煮熟的味道但是，面似乎没有。
Dumplings dipped in wasabi hit differently—intense, a rush that shoots from the mouth to the head, lifting it up.
饺子沾芥末，非同一般、可见的上头，一股刺激从口腔直冲上天，直把人的脑壳提上去。
Switching between wasabi-dipped and plain dumplings, I finally understood why Cai Lan, the Hong Kong food critic, said hot pot is "the most uncultured dish that should disappear."
在沾芥末和原味吃法中，我理解了为何蔡澜（香港美食家），说火锅是最没文化、应该消失的料理。
His reason: hot pot reveals no care from the cook. You just slice ingredients and boil them. You can't even tell if the ingredients are fresh.
他的理由是，火锅很难看出烹饪者的用心，只需要切好菜倒进锅里煮一下就可以了，都不知道那些食材是否新鲜。
I can handle a bit of spiciness—it whets my appetite. Spicy and wasabi are unique seasonings; you can't find their boldness elsewhere. And they're the same in one way: they cover up the ingredient's original texture and flavor. You can never taste what the food itself is like.
我稍微能吃辣，它开人胃口。辣和芥末都是非常独特的调味，你很难找到在另一种调味上找到这种霸道。而二者都是一个吊样，掩盖住食材的口感和味道，你怎么也品不出食材本身。
I hear Lingzi chewing lettuce—crunch, crunch—crushing fish bones and sucking the juice from them. My own breathing, swallowing, lip-smacking, burping—all so clear. I remember a female mortician in China who avoided meat and babies for years.
我听见灵子嚼烂生菜，吧唧吧唧地嚼动，咬扁鱼骨头，吮吸骨头里的汁。我的呼吸、吞咽、抿嘴、打嗝，太过清晰。我想起国内有个入殓师，女生，常年不吃肉、不碰婴儿。
I also think of the movie Departures. When the young mortician first started, he couldn't eat meat at all—he'd throw it up. It makes sense: the cold body, the smell of death, and the meat in his mouth—how could that not make him sick?
又想到电影《入殓师》。刚入行时，年轻的入殓师根本吃不下肉，全吐出来。这很容易理解，冰凉的尸体、死亡的尸味和口中的肉，再合理不过的恶心倒胃。
You often hear this line: "With such a big thing happening, how can I eat?" It's true—sometimes eating feels trivial. Skipping a meal is no big deal. "Take it away—I'm not in the mood." To be able to eat amid life's ups and downs takes real ease.
常有这样的对白，“现在发生这么天大的事情，我哪还吃得下饭？”可不是嘛，有时候吃饭是一件多么无关要紧的事情，少吃一顿也不少见。“拿开拿开，我没心情吃”。在大大小小的事情面前，还能吃得下饭，真得有闲情逸致。
Later, the mortician overcame his fear of death. He played the cello in the wilderness, lost in the melody of life. When he got home from work, he ate fried chicken with great enjoyment. As I chew dumplings and tear cod, that's the image I see—them eating heartily. We're all doing the same thing: tasting food, nothing more.
再后来，入殓师清除死亡的恐惧，在旷野里拉起大提琴，沉浸在生的旋律之中。下班回家，还把炸鸡吃得津津有味。我嚼饺子、撕裂鳕鱼片时，想到的正是他们吃得非常香的画面。我们各自所做的，应该是同一件事，就是品尝食物，仅此。
The more carefully you perceive existence, the more you notice its uniqueness. Like kissing—lips touching, tongues tangling—you can't get that touch anywhere else. Eating food, smoking a cigarette—each is a unique experience. Isn't life made of all these small details?
愈细致地感知存在，愈能发现事物本身的独特。像两人接吻，嘴唇贴近舌头缠绕，在其他地方就找不到这种触觉体验。吃食物，也没有雷同的体验，抽一支烟也独特。生活一切细节构成了存在本身，不是吗。
I also remember kneeling before my teacher's coffin, kowtowing three times. The coffin was inside the house; the dining table was outside, where dozens of people chatted loudly. After breakfast, some carried the coffin, others held wreaths.
还想起，老师死后我跪在她棺材前磕了三个头。棺材在房内，餐桌在门外，几十人好生热闹。吃完早饭，抬棺材的抬棺材，举花圈的举花圈。
I took only one bite of food that day, then stopped. Half from grief, half from how bad it tasted. If that meal had been better, maybe I could have grasped the wisdom I understand now back then.
饭我只吃了一口，就定格在那。悲伤压一半，难吃压一半。如果那饭再好吃一些，可能那时我就能领略到如今才领略到的智慧。
This is not like Zhuangzi drumming on a basin and singing after his wife died—reversing grief and joy. What I've realized is: grief is grief, joy is joy. Life and death are different. But on a more abstract level, they are the same—death and eating hold equal meaning.
不同于庄子在老婆死后的鼓盆而歌，把悲喜颠倒。我所领悟到的，悲是悲喜是喜，生死有别。更抽象一层来看，生死无别，死亡和吃饭是同等意义的事。
Death seems more important than eating. Its emotions are heavier, and it supposedly makes us cherish life more. But that's a paradox: how can you cherish existence if you don't dive deeply into living?
看似死亡比吃饭重要，死亡及其带来的情感更为沉重，似乎更令人珍惜生。这却是个悖论，没有深深投到生之中，怎能算是珍爱存在。
Death illuminates life, but the delicate texture of life can only be touched by living mindfully. Love for life is not an emotion or an abstract idea—it's a careful act.
死亡照亮了生，但是生的细腻纹理，唯有细致生活才能触碰到。生之爱，不是一种情绪，某种抽象的理念，而是细致的行为。
I've always thought: the only and most important value of wisdom and death is to enlighten people to live more fully, more carefully, and more broadly.
智慧和死亡，唯一且重要的价值，我总认为是启迪人去更投入更细腻地生活，更广博地存在。
Even in daily things like eating—done day after day.
诸如吃饭，这类日复一日之事。