A small inn standing in a bustling city, deserted, quiet and deserted. On the street in front of the door, people were coming and going. People walking in front of the inn were in a hurry, as if they were running away from death. No one dared to look up at the plaque on the lintel of the inn. I wonder if they had not seen this small inn, or they deliberately did not want to or did not dare to look.
The waiter was sitting at the door with a long bench, his white washed blue clothes shaking slightly in the wind. It was a beautiful March day, and the midday sun was particularly dazzling. The waiter leaned against the door and squinted at the people rushing by on the street. As he watched, he suddenly grinned, and his white teeth shimmered in the sun. "In chaos, there is a red thread; entanglement, a lifetime of love; love, hate, hatred, a smile and beauty; gold pouring fine wine, a thousand years of drunkenness..."