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On the Yangtze River Cross-sea Bridge, which was crowded with people during the Golden Week, I impulsively ran a red light and crossed the bridge, but lost my crucial satchel. In order to retrieve it, I had to fight back in a strong headwind that could almost knock someone into the river. During this desperate retrograde, I unexpectedly caught a glimpse of a strange woman who was also fighting in the strong wind just to grab a rolling blue thermos cup. At that moment, the two small figures briefly met in the storm of destruction, silently telling each other's desperate efforts. I was penniless and was forced to stay. By chance, I applied to become a part-time teacher in a studio. At the beginning of his employment, he witnessed the senior teacher Mr. Zheng severely reprimanding the students, emphasizing the rigid dogma that "primary school painting must be taught while drawing, otherwise it will be embarrassing." When I picked up a paintbrush and demonstrated how to paint the Yangtze River Bridge outside the window, the memory of the cold water under the bridge and the strong wind on the bridge instantly grabbed me. Under the uncontrolled brushstrokes, the giant steel bridge on the canvas twisted and rolled, just like the scene of the devastating storm that day. Facing the shocked children and teachers, I blurted out: "We need to draw the wind... The wind is the soul of this bridge. Standing on the Yangtze River Bridge shrouded in night, the river breeze is still there. The storm that almost swallowed me has not gone away. It has integrated into my painting brush, stirring up the calmness of the studio, attracting business opportunities, and even connecting to the heavy and secret destiny of a strange woman. Life is like a rushing river under a bridge, and I stand on the cusp of the storm. The direction of my painting brush is not only an expression of art, but also a questioning of the storm of life. When the next gust of wind blows, the answer may emerge, bringing salvation or a deeper whirlpool.