Twenty-four years old, just enough for the Chinese zodiac to complete two cycles.

The first twelve years were spent learning how to be a biological human, and the next twelve years were spent trying to be a sociological human. The completion rate for both is mediocre, but not quite a failure. Overall, I can still continue to participate in the next round of evolution.

Some time ago, I came across a perspective: China's thousands of years of history are nothing more than the lives of dozens of old men linked head-to-tail. Whether it is the rise and fall of dynasties or personal honor and disgrace, what history teaches us most is futility. Qin sweeping the six states only to perish in the second generation is futile; Xiang Yu, the Hegemon-King of Western Chu, committing suicide at the Wu River is futile; Yue Fei is futile, and Zhao Gou is also futile. They are not the protagonists of history, but merely the waves of history.

Then how should ordinary people, beaten by these waves, spend their lives? We can only ever grasp what we are capable of grasping. Looking at the starry sky is good, and burying one's head in deep sleep is also good. Detach yourself from the movements of the era and search for an eternity that belongs solely to you.

Hello, twenty-four years old amidst a cough, Those who say goodbye will meet again, Those who meet will meet again.