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One thought forgets the river, and all thoughts burn. If a mortal has no torch, he raises his own dim light; if there is no shore in the world, he builds his own city. The white clothes fall and the fire is born. There is no need to declare or make noise. A group of mortals, using their pens as their blades, their actions as their armor, and their hearts as their fronts, blaze a hot journey in this indifferent world. Don't be trapped in the quagmire, don't be afraid of desolation, don't be flattered by the world, and don't give in to power. From dormant rivers to gushing fire, from glimmers of light to raging prairie fires, they used their mortal bodies to perform heroic deeds and build an ideal country. He may not be born with arrogance, but he has an unyielding backbone; he may not have shocking abilities, but he has the courage to break through. Cross the river of forgetfulness to cross oneself, and cross the world with new life. Even if the road ahead is desolate and blocked by thousands of people, the glimmer of light will burn through the darkness; if the original intention remains unchanged, the thorns will be overcome - this world will eventually be reshaped by our own hands.