The world is moving very fast, and the end of a century is always accompanied by the beginning of another new century. Beijing is like a gear, rotating rapidly in the huge machine of the century. It cleverly cooperates with the speed of other gears around it, and bites tightly with each other moment by moment.
Buildings that had risen were torn down one after another and then rebuilt. Dust floated in the air, reflecting the pale and helpless faces of the people. When the bell rang at 8 o'clock in the morning, all kinds of white-collar workers and executives crowded into the newly built buildings like ants. Their steps were firm and fast, and they never hesitated, because this scene had been repeated countless times, and this time was just one of the hundreds of thousands of similar scenes in the past, present, and future.
I remember there was an investigation where a dying person was put on a scale and his weight was 21 grams less at the moment of death. People speculate that these 21 grams are souls that have gone away. Of the 21 grams of soul, 20 grams carry various emotions, while the remaining 1 gram holds the memory of this world. Jian Xia, a woman who lived with many rich and handsome people, cried, laughed, complained and cursed with them. She lived with them in this century that belonged to them, and wrote about their memories.