Xuan Chen Mo Shi Lu

They are all struggling in this world. It's just that some people's struggling postures are more beautiful. Love is when two people support each other and work hard to live in the context of a society that hates injustice. Cherish the incomplete jade and avoid the flowers from the poor land. When I fell into the mud, I didn't wait for others to reach out, but I still grabbed the blades of grass to get up; I knew the road was steep, but I still moved up step by step, shook my head when my spine was wet with sweat, and took a breath before walking. Like the buds in the cracks of the stone, pushing through the pressing soil, even if the waist is bent, the roots penetrate deep; like the plum blossoms in the cold winter, without waiting for the spring breeze, they gather their strength and bloom into a little red, making the cold wind bring a certain respect.

Faith has never been about right or wrong. It is the Beidou in the dark night. It does not have to be bright enough, but it can let people know which direction to take steps when they are lost. It never withstands suffering for others, but it allows people to still have the strength to clench their fists when they kneel down. The more severe the suffering, the heavier this strength becomes, like a root deeply embedded in the bones and blood. No matter how the wind blows, the waist will always be straight. Faith is never a light used to show off, it is an anchor in the dark, so that no matter how you sway in the waves of life, it will not become a driftwood with no home.

As title. For short stories, the title is basically equal to the introduction. For a full-length novel, without an introduction, readers will feel like they are going out with nowhere to go, or like they are in a desert with no roads.

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I love the rivers and lakes in my heart. When I was young, I often stared at the crowded city. In my mind, when the light of the knife split the moonlight, someone was playing the flute in the corner of the eaves, and the tune was wrapped in wet blood. The door of the tavern always leaves a crack for the knights who return late. The wine at the bottom of the jar is mixed with stories. One sip will make you choke on the wind and frost of your life. Some people use swords to clear up grudges, and some people use wine to extinguish love and hatred. Wherever the wind passes, only the scabbards are left empty, as if someone is shouting "treasure". The so-called rivers and lakes are just some people going to appointments with swords, and others waiting to return home with wine in their arms. The moonlight falls into the wine glass, and it is difficult to tell whether it is tears or rivers and lakes water. At that time, I was very young, my pockets were empty, and my dreams were heavy.

Look at this scar, it's ten years old and it still hurts on rainy days. Is it like the unspoken sorry that year? Always turning over at night, it makes people unable to sleep. Later I learned to walk around. But it bypassed the wound and why it fell so hard in the first place. Regret is knowing that 'if' is useless, but still can't help but retravel the path thousands of times in my heart. That pain is a monument at the end of the road, engraved with 'Don't look back' and 'Don't forget'.