The Bitter and the Sweet of Life: From a Bowl of Red Bean Paste to the Taste of Reading bittersweet-reading-life-en

 What flavor is life? Everyone has their own answer. As children, we only liked sweetness — candy, cake, soda, anything sweet was good. As we grow up, we slowly discover that what truly lingers is often that bittersweet taste. A bowl of tangerine peel red bean paste is the perfect metaphor — the dense, sweet softness of red beans, with a hint of bitterness from the tangerine peel brushing across the tongue, much like life itself: sweet but not cloying, bitter but not harsh, with the two flavors intertwining to create a deeper, more layered sensation.

Regarding the charm of this bitter-sweet dialectic, I recently read an article that analyzes the flavor of life from the perspective of classical Chinese literature. Using "tangerine peel red bean paste" as an entry point, it connects the rich tradition of writing about "the interweaving of bitter and sweet" in classical literature — from Su Shi's "the taste of the world is pure delight" to Du Fu's "true feeling seen in bitter poetry" — revealing the unique Chinese culinary philosophy. (Read the original article) The article points out that classical Chinese literati never shied away from bitterness; on the contrary, they found in it a pathway to profound understanding.

Reading itself is a journey interwoven with bitter and sweet. Opening a weighty classic, at first it might be obscure and difficult, like biting into a fruit that hasn't ripened yet. But when you settle down and read page after page, those initially dry words slowly unfold into a magnificent tapestry in your mind. This is the "tangerine peel effect" of reading — bitter first, sweet after, with a lingering aftertaste.

I especially enjoy reading on rainy days. The sound of rain pattering, a cup of hot tea at hand, opening a paper book — the unique scent of ink mixed with the damp air creates a closed, comforting atmosphere. Reading a good novel is like living someone else's life — you cry for the joys and sorrows of others, tasting the bitterness in the words; but when you lift your head from the story and look at the rain outside, you realize that your own life has become richer because of this "others' bitterness" — and that is sweetness.

Qian Zhongshu once said, "Bitterness is the deepest底色 (background color) of literature." But it is precisely this background color that highlights the preciousness of sweetness. Just like a good bowl of tangerine peel red bean paste — without that hint of tangerine's returning sweetness, the red bean's sweetness would seem thin. The setbacks, waiting, and losses in life — those moments that feel "unbearably bitter" — will ultimately become the most weighty annotations when you look back.

If you're going through a rough patch, try cooking a bowl of tangerine peel red bean paste and opening a book you've always wanted to read. Bitterness and sweetness are never opposites — they are two sides of the same coin. What reading teaches us is precisely how to taste sweetness within bitterness, and not to forget bitterness when tasting sweetness.

Life is like a book — bitter and sweet, you cross alone.