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The heaviness of youth lies in its confusion, like a wound that has been torn open repeatedly while still running with pain, which has been infinitely magnified and difficult to heal. Seeing that the youth feast that had ended long ago was sealed in the clouds. When the drizzle continues, I tell the earth that the blue sky and the yellow spring are flying apart, and the human face is in peach blossoms. The flowers are green in spring, and the leaves are falling in autumn. Things like the fate of the world often either return to the dust, or the fate is lost...