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The sun sets over the western mountains, and the setting sun is like blood. When the sun has set but the moon has not yet risen, it is often the darkest time in the human heart. Whether it is the desolate evening scene of the old man scavenging, or his screams, these dirt hidden in the city lurk in the darkness all year round, and slowly evolve into uncontrollable monsters deep in the heart. When night falls, where no one is looking, that is their carnival. A bowl of rice, stir-fried, stir-fried, stir-fried, stewed, stewed with half a lifetime of joys, sorrows, honors and disgrace; a plate of dishes, spicy with star anise, cinnamon and spicy, stewed with a lifetime of love, hate and resentment. Sixty-six dishes, sixty-six obsessions, when you reach the last moment of your life, which dish will be in front of you?