Human Yang

Some places exist only in absent-minded corners. For example, an alley with no name and an old wooden door that is always ajar. When you walk in, time slows down and there is a sticky silence in the air. There was a pot of indescribable soup simmering on the stove, and there were a few untouched dishes and chopsticks on the table. The light is dim, illuminating a few unfamiliar faces and also illuminating those thoughts in your mind that you have forgotten. Li Mu just broke in. A food deliveryman, on an ordinary day, turned into a road from which he could not go back. He soon discovered that the "rules" here were terrifyingly simple and terrifyingly heavy. Each one is like a mirror, forcing you to see the part of yourself that you least want to admit - maybe it's greed, maybe it's fear, maybe it's a "possibility" that has been buried by your own hands. This is not a one-man game. Those sitting at the same table with you are the fragments in the mirror, the other you at the fork in the road, and the shape formed by all the "ifs" quietly condensed. Some people want to pick out the "best" version of themselves here and throw away the rest; some people just want to escape with their eyes closed. Li Mu chose the stupidest path. He didn't want to throw it away or run away. He wanted to pick up all the bowls on the table, regardless of whether they were sweet or bitter, clear or turbid. He wanted to recognize every "my" face in the broken mirror. This road is not easy to walk. There is more lost than gained, more questions than answers. But in this fog woven by obsession and forgetfulness, perhaps this is the only solid path. The so-called human world is just learning to drink the bowl of warm and cold soup slowly under the gaze of thousands of yourself.