The vitality of weeds, under the light, is infinitely magnified.

Some people say that fireflies are like stars falling on the ground, and some people say that they are named romantic rivers of light, but in Xiang Ye's view, they only serve as a light source to reflect the vigorous weeds, just a kind of accidental foil, and are not the most attractive protagonist tonight.

Xiang Ye and Dong Di sat side by side on the grass, talking without saying a word.

The grass falls with the wind and is criticized, but now the next leaf feels that it is flexible and contemplative, although the mind is not as good as water, and does not care about any shape, but it is growing slowly with a mindful mindset.

You say that this is an illusory delusion, because the grass can never throw off its shell and change shape at will, without joy or sorrow in things. It is like a hypocrite, stiff and unmoved in the second half, burying its roots deep in itself, and bending softly with its companions in the first half, pretending to be gentle and generous, deceptive and begging for a kind of pandering.

But Xiang Ye felt that it was far from enough for a species to undergo a radical change, and it was not enough to give it only a thousand years. In the illusion of people opening their eyes and closing their eyes, they may also be inspiring from generation to generation, and with a strength ten million times smaller than a drop of water piercing a stone, they are accumulating the causes of change. What's more, Xiang Ye understands that people are not worthy of being blamed, because the grass in that kind of "delusion" is no different from human beings, the world is so big, and no one is born in isolation.

She suddenly looked at the sky, trying in vain to see through the layers of floating clouds and thick dinghua, to see the world behind the sky, to see if there was a god there. With an unprecedented urgency, she wondered if there was a difference between God and grass.

Liuyue sat in front of the "reciprocating mirror" and listened to her heart.

He knew that only he could hear because she had no defense against him.

He didn't feel sad, because that was the price of the existence of the community, and even though he was a god and controlled the life and death of everything on a moon, he was no different from the weeds of the wasteland.

He's good, Xiang Ye is good, and grass is good. All of them can never attain the ultimate and complete truth and self, and the true self is more likely to be touched by others in some short, fleeting moment of wordlessness.

But he thinks he is smart, so he understands that he shouldn't chase such an illusory extreme.

Chapter 20 of "The Rising Voice of the Long Street" Takes the Yellow Submarine Jiao Dou Xing (1) is in the middle of the hand, please wait a while,

Once the content is updated, please refresh the page again to get the latest updates!