They were scrambling and impatient. Men rush to the crops, stuff their bags with crops, and look forward to having plenty to eat and drink for the rest of their lives. Women climb to the hills and bend over to chew the loess, hoping to have a beautiful face. Scholars came to the pool, lay down and drank heavily, just to understand that one by one makes one, and two by two makes four. These are not half as exciting as the latter. The old man carries a sword, walks hobblingly, and spends all his strength to kill the people of the city. He cuts off their raw meat and puts it into his mouth as if chewing it. His mouth is full of blood, hoping to survive for a few more years. Disabled people can take advantage of the heat to throw away their crutches and suck the blood of the deceased to regain their full body. The city-state was filled with wailing, and blood flowed all over the ground, even flowing into the pool and into the stomach of the scholar. A group of rabble watch the stars and the moon on the stage set up by life. They may be impassioned or furious, but then everyone disperses. These people, sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty, give up on everything, but in the blink of an eye they can vent their anger to the next scene. The wounds of Utopia will never heal.
Intention: Think about what is your own utopia