Two passbooks

 　　Yes, I also have two secret accounts, two secret passbooks. I can't know the final accumulated or remaining total of either account. The numbers recorded in both passbooks change daily, like the electric airplane timetable hanging high in an airport terminal, the numbers constantly flipping.

　　I know two things: in one passbook, the number keeps increasing; in the other, the number keeps decreasing. The passbook with the constantly increasing number is mine; the one with the constantly decreasing number was given to me by someone else.

　　So one day, I took the ever-increasing passbook to see a financial expert wearing a black cloak who looked like a magician, and asked him how to make my passbook more valuable.

　　"Value?" He smiled mysteriously across the table, his upper body still, and suddenly he glided horizontally to the left side of the table. I followed closely with my eyes and turned my head, but he suddenly floated back to face me, saying slyly, "Miss, I can only tell you how to increase the 'numbers' here, but I can't tell you how to increase the 'value' of those numbers."

　　Numbers are not the same as value. In other words, with the same ten million yuan, I could throw it into a paper shredder, use it to buy eight magnificent paper royal ships and burn them on the sea as a sacrifice to the gods, or I could use it to set up an orphanage in Cambodia.

　　It's not difficult; I understand. I bent down and reached into my reusable bag to take out another passbook, but it felt like the person was no longer there. I sighed and slowly walked out of the bank. Outside, people were bustling about, their steps hurried. People walking quickly bumped into my shoulder as they weaved through the crowd, too lazy to even say "sorry," before they were already far away. A gentle breeze blew by, and I seemed to hear the rustling of leaves in the bustling city. Looking up, I saw a huge magnolia tree, covered in pure white blossoms, swaying in the breeze. Only then did I smell its sweet fragrance.

　　Under that fragrant tree, I leaned against the trunk, letting the crowd push and shove past me. I took out another bankbook from my bag, a bankbook no one could question. The cover was an electronic calendar. May 2008 had 31 small squares, each densely filled with small print:

　　05-01 09:00 High-Speed ​​Rail to Pingtung to visit mother; 05-12 18:00 Qian Yongxiang's dinner;

　　05-25 15:00 Ma Jiahui talks about articles; 05-26 19:00 Andre's dinner.

　　A light press revealed June's 30 small squares, also densely filled with print; another press revealed July's 31 squares, densely filled with print; August's 31 squares were all in English—Cape Town, South Africa; San Francisco, USA; Hamburg, Germany…

　　Without even opening it, I knew someone had placed an invisible hourglass inside the bankbook.

　　Because it couldn't be opened, I couldn't see how much sand was left in the hourglass, nor could I hear how fast it was flowing. But I was absolutely certain that the hourglass kept leaking, leaking, leaking…

　　A petal drifted through layers of leaves and landed on the cover of my savings account, landing precisely on the December 31st entry. The magnolia petal resembled a delicately carved white marble boat, or the slightly concave palm of Guanyin's outstretched hand, gracefully frozen on December 31st.

　　Suddenly, I understood: there was a definite inverse relationship between these two savings accounts. Every penny of "money" you accumulated in that account was exchanged for every inch of "time" in this account. Moreover, even more astonishingly, the two "currencies" of "money" and "time" were not interchangeable, not convertible, and unequal—once used, you couldn't use the "money" in that account to exchange for the "time" already paid out. No price, no number, could redeem it.

　　Yes, that's why my attitude towards withdrawing money from the two bankbooks is so different. I'm becoming more and more generous with money, but more and more stingy with time. I can give money to strangers passing by, but I only give time to those I love. December 31st, from today onwards, I'm empty. I held a petal between my fingers, about to lower my gaze to gently smell it, when out of the corner of my eye, I seemed to catch a glimpse of a black cloak fluttering by.