The loneliness and sorrow of the past century have long since dissipated without a trace in the distant wind. Reading about those people and things again is like listening to flowers under the moon, quietly savoring the silent joy and sorrow in this noisy world.
"In a moment, the dust of a car grows on the branches of trees, and people on the rooftops of the buildings grow old in the dust."
We will all grow old slowly in the dust and smoke. In the smoke and dust in the distance, we inadvertently saw the familiar yet unfamiliar back again, but he just turned around and slowly disappeared into the river.