Rainy night, Taiping Mountain. I burned the first black card, burning a global live broadcast of "jumping off a building" - and burning an emotional virus called "Feather of Fire".
It falls on the roof of the Hong Kong Stock Exchange, on the corner of my mother's tears, and on every heart formatted by capital.
We laugh, we fly, we treat ourselves as chips, insert them into our father's host, and dismantle Zhenyuan's server.
When the ∞ era opened and the rain of order fell, I realized: freedom is not about breaking out of the cocoon, but about burning the cocoon into ashes, and then using the ashes to exchange for the next beam of fire.
Under the plume of fire, there is no savior, only a group of lunatics willing to pay to "be themselves" - and an eternal cycle of countdowns.
