Tree, why aren't you angry?

     Tree, why aren't you angry?

    You once filled the earth, your roots spreading everywhere, your tendrils overflowing...

    Now, your territory has been carved up, you can no longer thrive, and you're forced to grow in the squalid cities, breathing in the smog and pollution. Perhaps you still naively believe that it's just a matter of seeds being sown in the wrong place, and that one day you can return to the primeval forest. I tell you with tears in my eyes: "No!"

    Tree! Why aren't you angry?

    Humanity's footsteps are stained with blood and mud, driven by the mentality of "man conquering nature," ruthlessly slaughtering living beings, leaving behind a scene of devastation. Humanity thinks they've built a cluster of prosperous cities, but in reality, they've created a filthy wasteland, barren of everything. When they're at their wits' end, when black storms and green rivers frequently appear in their cities, they suddenly think of you. This is the ecological evil of the "triangular trade." Humans kidnap you from the forest, keep you in hellish dens, waiting for you to be exhausted from the cycle of inhaling toxic gases and exhaling oxygen, until you collapse, used as firewood, burned, and reduced to ashes. And humanity survives. And you may depend on it for your own demise. It's not that you are weak, it's that the human world is too cruel. You are like black slaves, and humanity is like pioneers, a group of shameful pioneers…

    Trees! Why aren't you angry?

    In the days of your ancestors, there was a clear blue sky, chirping birds, and drifting clouds. You happily soared upwards, trying to rival the heavens. Now, humanity has used black smoke to seize the blue sky, toxic fumes to kill birds, and airplanes have smashed white clouds to pieces. The sun is angry; with the small window to the ozone layer opened by humanity, the scorching sunlight penetrates human pores, causing cancer. But unfortunately, humans are too clever. To make you thrive on their corpses, perhaps we'd need to send in a solar wind or a meteorite. Particles smaller than 2.5 micrometers in diameter clog your crescent-shaped vents; you must be sneezing non-stop for a whole month. Few birds perch on your majestic arms; you must be silently weeping in the quiet of the night. Although humans kindly paint you a layer of pristine white in winter, it's actually a poetic tragedy. You still want the life you used to have, don't you? To prevent you from growing too tall, humans cut off your head, leaving your lower body as just your head. You grow backward like a headless fly, growing like a mushroom, casting clusters of shadows. Humans laughed, but by what right do they deprive you of the right to grow taller…

    Tree! Why aren't you angry?

    The roar of factory machines heralds this era, a vibrant and prosperous scene. You are the lungs of the city, and also humanity's soundproof wall. The music you hear isn't the melodious strains of a flute, nor is it lively pop; it's a erratic, hissing voice. Many times, I've seen your body tremble. My heart, already shattered like glass, is gripped and squeezed until it bleeds.

    The noise is fine, just bear with it, it will end. My heart aches for your feet, as if they're being cut off inch by inch. You might be lamenting how, in your youth, your temples are already gray, your limbs weak, as if your body has been hollowed out. No matter where your roots extend, they will always encounter liquid heavy metals, which will clog your throat and suffocate you. The factory gears turn round and round, dripping lubricating oil and gasoline. Oil overflows onto the soil, and they run rampant, filling every inch of yellow earth. The residents' washing machines turn, and after washing, the owners smile as they look at the bright white clothes, ignoring the sewage pipes beside them. The new generation of human architecture cannot do without metal, and metal smelting cannot do without chemicals; the source of those heavy metals is in the factories. Open your eyes and look! You can die in peace now. Your roots rot away inch by inch, pollutants surge in wave after wave. Humanity evades you time and time again. You live in smog, you die in smog.

    Trees! Why aren't you angry?

    Humanity always finds reasons to destroy you. To promote education and print more test papers, trees fall one after another; to improve people's living standards and quality of life and make more wooden furniture, two trees fall one after another; to build a fancy house to increase tourism development, ten trees fall with earth-shattering force. For the global celebration of Christmas, countless trees let out a mournful cry and enter their death countdown, even if in the period before their death they are decorated with lights and ornaments, looking magnificent and luxurious. Humanity, I will also let you be adorned with powder and rouge, let you shine like stars, and then let you die. Ask yourselves, are you willing? You are afraid of death! Aren't the trees afraid? You have dignity? The trees do too!

    Trees! When will you finally get angry?

    In the city, your arms are covered with clothes, barbed wire digs deep into your skin, pressing on your veins and causing root nodules to grow. Your backs are slashed open by sickles, revealing tassels. You have an extra layer of bark, humans use ash to make you "cute."

    Your roots are sealed into concrete roads; your roots struggle to push through the surface, only to be severed. Your green leaves reach out amicably into other people's windows, only to be mercilessly burned or torn off. Your positions are often inappropriate; sometimes they bring disaster upon yourselves. Trees

    ! Please, just be angry! It would make my heart ache.

    On a typhoon night, the wind howls, a tree falls, smashing ten cars, nine confirmed total loss…

    In the forest, a worker makes a mistake, a tree falls head-on, the worker dies…

    Sandstorms in Beijing and Harbin have caused… deaths…

    Humans! Just laugh!