So at eight o'clock in the morning on a beautiful Saturday, a man with a small bamboo mat in his left hand and a plastic bag in his right hand rushed out of the gate of a high-end residential area with tears in his eyes. Sparkling fine dust rolled in the air, and the rising sun stretched his shadow very, very long... At this time, if this man's voice could be transformed into a physical object, there is no doubt that it must be ten million galloping grass and mud horses, screaming "See you later", leaving only the clatter of horse hooves. Ta-ta. Ta-ta. Ta-ta.