In March 2015, I rushed from the north to the small city of Jiangyin. On the way, I met an octogenarian man who was sitting by the car window and reading Kafka's book. After several conversations, we gradually became familiar with each other. He asked, young man, are you still in school? I shook my head and denied it, saying that I wrote independently and sold my soul. He looked at me steadily for a long time and said, I had such a sad ideal when I was young. I looked at his eyes, which were emitting a faint blue light under the scorching sun. It was an abruptness that went against nature. I can understand his contradiction. He couldn't withstand the test of reality, so in his gray years, he still read Kafka's words. It was from then on that I seriously pondered the meaning of the novel. After throwing away the gorgeous rhetoric, "Three O'clock Shock, Four O'clock Coolness" appeared in front of you as if it were nothing.