Twilight Crossing the World

I hold a glowing oil-paper umbrella, guard an old mottled wooden table, place a glass cup containing the setting sun, and sit quietly in the afterglow of the setting sun everywhere in the world. Everyone calls me A Xi, I sell dusk in the world. We don't sell the glow of the setting sun, we don't sell the passage of time, we only sell an exclusive gentle dusk, and a just-right emotion. For those who have regrets, I pave the way for the afterglow of reunion; for those who have deep obsessions, I brush away the dust in their hearts; for those who are lonely and helpless, I light up the warm light of the setting sun; for those who are confused and wandering, I illuminate the direction of return. My bargaining chips are never gold, silver or jewels, but a wisp of sincerity, a tear of relief, a belated apology, and the courage to face the past. Every sincerity will turn into a glimmer of light and melt into the twilight ashes of the glass lamp; every reconciliation is a human heart, a gentle ending in the sunset. But the wind in the world is too warm, the light of the setting sun is too soft, the people I meet, the thoughts in my heart, and the hot sincerity all merge into my bones and blood little by little. My fingertips will feel hot, my eyes will feel warm, and my heart will throb. I slowly understand the joys and sorrows of the world, the weight of care, and the warmth of companionship. It turns out that what I sell is never dusk. Instead, use the gentleness of the setting sun to catch the regrets of the world; use the glimmer of time to heal the wrinkles in your heart. It turns out that this tens of millions of years of waiting has never been about saving others, but about saving ourselves. I sell dusk in the human world, not asking where I came from or where I'm going back. Take the setting sun as a contract, take sincerity as a promise, respect the fireworks in the world, and respect the dusk every year. The world is worth it, the sunset is gentle.