Layer by layer, the gray-yellow pencil painted a blurry and wasted background on the film that was slowly pulled out from the memory. The clear and colorful past whizzed past in front of my eyes, leaving the deep-rooted silhouette and hoarse murmurs. Chasing into the depths, I was startled and the ground fell red. Time passed by on the other side and I grew old. Who was standing in the beginning of the three thousand years of weak water, waiting for me to go back?
Concept: The silence and silence of youth are thousands of knots that have never been untied.