Jiang Yong, a man from the neighboring county, used to say that he had loved the color red since childhood. From the inside out, from what he wore to what he used, he would have nothing that was not red; even at meals he preferred red peppers. One day Jiang Yong went into town to shop. A sudden gale rose up, and a billboard being installed by the roadside was blown down, knocking over a passerby walking beside him. A ruptured vessel in the man’s neck sprayed half of Jiang Yong’s face with blood, hideously bright red. Jiang Yong fainted on the spot from fright. From that day on he could no longer bear the sight of red. He dressed all in plain white from morning to night, and even changed his watchband to white.
On another day Jiang Yong was out traveling when he happened upon a traffic jam. Seeing a crowd gathered together, he grew curious, squeezed through a gap, and looked hard. It was a dead man who had been run over, his head crushed and white brain matter spilled all over the ground. After returning home, Jiang Yong ceased to fuss over colors at all. Red, white, whatever suited him, he would wear it. Everyone has his own likes and dislikes, and there is nothing wrong with that. But if one puts too much emphasis on such preferences, the loss outweighs the gain.