The soul is a foreigner on the earth. We set out from the place where life originated, keep moving forward, find a way out in the wind and rain, and carve out another appearance under the knife and pen of the years. We resist, complain, compromise, and accept fate in the turmoil, until the edges and corners of youth are worn away one by one, and we become one of the countless living beings. At the end of the day, we sigh, "I was young and frivolous at that time." There are countless twists and turns, but after the flowers bloom, the mountains and rivers are silent.