Anatomy of Death Tract

The world of reform is a canvas being painted over by madmen. The paint is paradox, the frame is poetry. The real world is a prison. The key is in each prisoner's hand, but they only use it to imprison each other. The world of ideas is a mirror. The Philosopher King chases his own shadow in it until he enters the eternal loop. And I, Mr. Owl, am the silent framer of these three worlds. I am responsible for customizing the final picture frame for those stories that are too brightly civilized or too dark - what I call the "destination". Now, my carving knife fell on a coin called "Xingrouliang". I'm curious about what kind of background he will reveal when the canvas of "meaning" he has been searching for all his life is taken away.