The smoke of war is not confined to the battlefield. It lurks amid song and dance, amid a riot of color. Those lost beneath the glittering lights and lavish feasts are no different from puppets. Who pulls the strings behind the scenes, another person or themselves? The world is mud, and people of a feather flock together. Is the mire their only fate? Even wolves can have a true heart. Must people exploit every last trace of goodness beneath their shells? In Beiping, where darkness settles, a performance unfolds on the raised stage of a restaurant.
Come on, the writing is great, I look forward to the next chapter.
Faster, faster, more. Bang the bowl.
The writing is beautiful, and I will urge you to write it every day.
Cheers to the author, the writing is very good.