Nothing to Do with the Hustle and Bustle

Preface: The wind blows and leaves fall The wind rises at the end of Qingping, its momentum is invisible, and its direction is unpredictable. Roll up a fallen leaf and make it spiral up or let it languish in the mud. What's wrong with falling leaves? What does the wind mean? It's just an encounter, an adaptation. When the impermanent wind suddenly tears apart the tranquility and sweeps away a living existence, leaving an echo of silence, people in the world are often like frightened birds, either mourning on the branches or building nests in the ruins, seeking anchors of meaning and confirming echoes of existence in the swamp of tears and angry flames. They embrace rituals, need gestures, and long for resonance. They weave sadness into brocade and forge anger into swords, pointing to the void and to the figure standing in the center of the storm but as silent as a deep pool. His name is Chen Mo. A man who tries to stay anchored in "existence" itself with absolute sobriety in the torrent of "live and die, live and die". When the body of his beloved turned into smoke, and when the surging malice nailed him to a "cold-blooded" cross, he refused to act sad or defend his innocence. He just stood and watched, as if observing the final trajectory of a fallen leaf, feeling the direction of the wind. With an almost cold clarity, he peels away the fog of emotion and looks directly at the absoluteness of death and the true nature of existence. His calmness, is it an abyss? Is it a barrier? Or is it another path to true loneliness? The story begins with an unexpected storm and a man who refuses to dance with the wind. The wind blows the fallen leaves, and they drift away. And where will the wind itself go?