Mayfly Echo

Those delicate mayflies, with tails like broken silver threads and wings as thin as cicada wings, stagger when the wind blows. Their lifespan is only one day. From emergence to death, they don't even have time to see the cloud shadows reflected on the stream. The moonlight was excellent, and the silver glow was flowing on the water, as if someone had knocked over a box containing crushed mercury. The mayflies suddenly became restless, and the sound of thousands of flapping wings formed a fine net, which actually drowned out the soft sound of the flowing stream. They are not avoiding something, but flying in the direction of the rising moon - not just one or two, but the entire group. The wings smashed into the moonlight, and a little fluorescent light fell, like someone scattered a handful of diamonds in the dark night. They clearly knew that this little light could barely illuminate themselves, let alone compete with the bright moon. But they just want to fly, and they want to pounce on the out-of-reach clear light, even if they will fall into the stream in the next second and become dinner for the fish. Mayflies live in the morning and die in the evening, enjoying themselves to the fullest This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.