Urban Spirit Planter: I Grow Immortal Fields in the CBD

Writing this book is like slowly growing a pot of flowers over two years. At first it was just one person. A social worker, working overtime until late at night in a cubicle in the CBD, came home and saw the pot of dying pothos on the balcony. He reached out and found that he could hear it speaking. From this small miracle, the story grows on its own. As I write, there are more and more people. Yun Tingyue came with the piano, Lu Qingya came with the computer, and Lao Zhou came with the "Shou" in his arms and walked out of the ground. Ordinary people - Aunt Zhao, Lao Cao, old ladies - also walked into the courtyard one by one. They don't shine, but they guard. Guard a pot of flowers, a plant of grass, a person, and a city. What I want to write about most in this book is actually "keeping". In this era where everything is pursued fast, in pursuit of more, and in pursuit of winning, I want to write about people who are willing to slow down and hold on. Keep those things that cannot speak, keep those invisible warmth, keep those days that may not shine for the rest of your life, but you have been working hard to live. I cried many times while writing. Gui tasted sugar for the first time, the "Shou" when Lao Zhou got married fell on A Fang's shoulder, Xiao Guang came out of the ground and had a name, the tree in Gui's hometown was still shining, and in the last chapter the little girl stretched out her hand and said "They know me." Every time I didn't mean to be sensational, I was touched first as I wrote. Of course, this book has many shortcomings. The pace is too slow, the battles are not exciting enough, the emotional line is too weak, and the supporting characters are somewhat underdeveloped. I know all this. But if someone asked me, what do you hope readers take away from this book? I would say: a pot of flowers. It's not a real flower, it's the kind of thing that makes you look twice at the pot of pothos on the balcony in the future. It's that kind of thing - when I feel lonely in the future, I will think of those light spots and the feeling that they said "we are always here". Two years, 110 chapters, and more than 700,000 words. Those people are still in my heart now. Hua Shiyan was still watching the sunset under the sycamore tree, sitting in the corner eating candy, and the twelve light spots were still shining. They will always be there. As long as there are still people willing to believe in those tiny lights.

Farming and raising flowers in CBD? This setting is so to my liking! The protagonist awakens as a spiritual planter from the 996 social animal. He does not fight or show off, but quietly listens to the plants talking on the balcony and awakens the polluted soil. Watching the conversation between him and Himawari made me cry for no reason. The names of the three protagonists are all very nice, with the moon hanging over the green cliff and the moon still in the sky, and they have an ancient charm without being pretentious. Suitable for watching slowly late at night, it is healing and heartbreaking - it turns out that poetry can really be grown in steel and concrete.

It's like drinking a cup of warm honey water, which warms your throat and your heart. Gui tasted sugar for the first time and said "sweet", Lao Zhou's "Shou" fell on A Fang's shoulder, Xiao Guang stretched out his hand and said "They know me" - these moments made the eyes wet and dry, dry and wet again. After reading it, I feel not only happy, but relieved. I want to go to the balcony and look at the potted flower, and I want to say to it: Let's guard it together.

Like a glass of warm water, drink it slowly and it will warm your heart from your mouth. It's not a thrilling article about fighting and killing, but the kind of healing that after reading it, you will go to the balcony to look at the pot of pothos and find that it is also glowing. Those ordinary people, those tiny lights, make me believe that if you guard something, the days will be warmer.

Farming in the city is so healing! All things have animism, and every plant is breathing. It makes me want to raise a pot of pothos.