In a valley shrouded in thick fog all year round, everyone is used to gray skies. Only one person named Xiao Yu didn't believe it - he climbed up the highest cliff with a small oil lamp at night, trying to shine through the fog.
The lamp was too small, and the flame was so small that it looked like it would go out at any time. The villagers laughed, and even I doubted it.
Until an old man on his way wrote the word "" on the sand——
"This word is like fire flying."
Xiao Yu no longer tries to show off anything. Just light the lamp every night and keep it on quietly. One day, two days, one year, two years...
Until the winter solstice night of the third year, the moon rose from the cleared fog.
People ask: How do you know you can see through it?
Xiao Yu looked at the cluster of flames still dancing in his hand and said softly——
"The light is like a spark, and the light is as bright as ever."
Intention: The dim light will not go out, and the long night will be bright.