Looking at the world from such a desolate sand dune, the sky is just a gray-white porcelain bowl turned upside down on the earth. The afterglow of the setting sun is a smear of egg yolk on the edge of the bowl.
That famous museum of epitaphs of the Tang Dynasty, a pile of wild excrement beneath the history, piled there pathetically!
My mentor and lover, a blind woman who studied history, once predicted when she was dying: The day I find this museum will be the day I understand the true meaning of history. After saying that, she seemed to have unloaded a heavy burden and passed away peacefully; but for these words, I have shouldered a heavy spiritual mountain and embarked on an endless road of search.
Conception: