Today, it is raining in a certain city, and the blood stains and grievances of hundreds of thousands of compatriots that cannot be washed away suffocate the whole city.

There are veterans of a hundred battles dragging their sick bodies and standing silently sad.

A black and white, a solemn, a mournful.

The weight of the word national shame made how many surviving old people bend down and cry softly.

Thou hast walked on the road today,

Maybe it's a girl with a little flower umbrella.

Or a teenager wandering around the corners of the city with ambitions.

Even a man who is not confused when he is approaching, but still wants to climb and refuses to admit defeat.

Please be silent for a moment, and leave behind the prosperity and impetuousness of ambition and vanity.

Because, under the weight of the lives of 300,000 compatriots who died, there is no room for you and me to be silent.

I don't want us to talk about the NBA, the entertainment stars, or which novel is newer or not, or your LOL rank, or your Hearthstone Dust deck.

Set aside at least a few minutes to mourn for our fellow victims.

Because we are all descendants of Yan and Huang. If in a long or short life, no matter what height you are temporarily in this society at the moment.

But if not, there has been no anger at the humiliating history of this nation.

I have not grieved for those who have perished, and I think you are pathetic.

On this day, I mourn Nanjing, remember the national shame, and wish all the compatriots who died and the soldiers who died in the war rest in peace.

Heaven is free from wind and rain, and may you have no more suffering.

I wish me a Chinese and a boundless eternity.