The valley is full of lonely travelers, who pour sweet love into bottles, children who break the sky spit out fireflies, drag the dead on the table to avoid barking dogs, flow along the fog, and the shadows float in the desert ocean.

If the universe is a poem, each of us is a role in this poem. We love each other and multiply, and then each character becomes one sentence after another. This poem can go on forever. When this poem is long enough, one day, we can understand the meaning of our existence in this cosmic poem.

In endless dreams, rice walls and bird clouds in bowls are full of spells, covering the tired bones of all beings.

The fox is whispering on the hillside, the Nian beast on the stove is hibernating repeatedly, the terminator's thread cuts the fingerprint of the earth, and the water grass is entangled in the wind, freezing the recursion of dreams.

The hidden explosion swallowed up the dust, white cloth danced in the gap of the wooden shed, and the elephant's usefulness never showed its greatness, with its fingers pointing to the canyon.

Smash the ears of wheat into dust, cross the border in deep chewing, trap the balloon of the wind and start a colorful journey. The cicadas are all over the riverbed, and people gather on the shore in autumn. In a big fire, beside the feathered haystack, I saw the returning steed, and the moonlight with broken eggshells was taken back to the deep sea by the tide. In exchange, the jellyfish went up the mountain to cover the flowing windows.

The bird in the breast bypasses 100,000 suns, taking away the doused lightning, clouds and tides, God's whispers, rooted anchors, oxidized love songs, Shan Ye's revenge, gold and silver treasures, wishful thinking, sleepwalking footprints, the eternal fire of moths, everyone's names, and the transformation of rainbows.