The surrounding scenery suddenly changed rapidly, and finally he saw the haze-shrouded city, with corpses strewn all over the field, and the soil dyed red with blood. With his back to the city gate, the young general was pierced by thousands of arrows, but he did not fall. He stood with his sword. After the enemy's thousands of troops, the general's body was gone, leaving only a broken sword. Not far away, she was dressed in fluttering white clothes. Her appearance remained the same. She stared blankly at the broken sword, and suddenly she covered her face and cried. She was so sad that the world had lost its meaning.
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Another early morning, I opened the curtains and quietly looked at the pot under the sunlight. There was a pot of green jasmine next to it, forming a sharp contrast. One pot was with dead branches and the other was green. When a friend came to visit, he accidentally saw it and asked him.
"What is planted in this pot? It can't grow again after it's been dried like this, right? Why are you still putting it here?"
Sometimes he wonders, what? What exactly is it? ． ． ． ． ．
Conception: