In appreciation of the snow scene he suddenly caught sight of the bent cypress, lie grumbled to himself. "The gardeners were indeed very negligent. They didn't even come out to patrol the campus in such a heavy snow as last night's. They should he held partially responsible for the ruin of the harmonious beauty of nature." The amateur artist was staring at the bent cypress when inspiration flashed into his mind. He quickly opened his sketch book and drew an outline of the cypress with his charcoal pen. He planned to develop the sketch into a cartoon, when he got back to the dormitory. He had even figured out a title for it, "A Cypress Complains.” He left with a sigh of sympathy for the bent tree and a flicker o# disappointment in his eyes.
In the dim sunlight, a young worker, with a worst bag on his shoulder, was hurrying to the Chinese Department to audit a selective course. All of a sudden a gust of wind blew over the bent cypress, shaking the overlaying snowflakes down onto the young man's head and shoulders. He looked up and noticed the tree. Then he slowed his steps, took a glance at his watch and hurried away.
In a short while, he came back with a spade, an old bamboo stick and a piece of rubber hand. He worked with his deft hands on the bent cypress, until it was straight again. The bell for class was ringing and he dashed to the classroom.
Silence reigned. Faint bluish footprints, of all shapes and sizes, farmed in the snow lines of illegible words with subtle implications. That cypress was quietly gazing at the snow, as if meditating on the mystery of beauty.