Part 1.

The clear qi rises, the turbid qi sinks.

The upper echelon manifests as absolute control over time and extreme filtering of information. They consume structured knowledge, classical aesthetics, deep logic, and cultural products that require "slow thinking."

The lower echelon manifests as short videos precisely fed by algorithms, emotional confrontations, fragmented entertainment, and addictive instant feedback. This "toxic information" is like cheap industrial saccharin, filling the spiritual void under the pressure of survival, yet it also robs the ability for deep thought.

On one side, the upper echelon pursues eternity in art and philosophy; on the other, the lower echelon wastes their lives in the slander and revelry of short videos.

I stand in the middle, silently watching all of this.

Part 2.

The more brilliantly a flower blooms, the deeper its roots must be in the soil. It draws nutrients from the base layer.

The flower needs roots, but it will never become the roots.

I saw how the bitter sap extracted from the soil gradually loses its muddy smell as it flows upward, finally becoming that dizzying red at the top.

Even the aesthetic inspiration of the upper echelon sometimes comes from the "collection" and reprocessing of the suffering or indigenous culture of the lower echelons, packaging it as high art before making it downwardly compatible.

I cannot bear to look directly at the struggle of the roots, yet I cannot deny the absolute beauty of the flower.

The heaviness, turbidity, and humus-rich nature of the earth (a tragic numbness). I cannot communicate, I cannot connect, and I cannot integrate into that already-sandy "humus" filled with toxic information and the hostility of survival.

The vanity of the "gorgeous flower," its language is elitist rhetoric, the logic of capital, and aesthetic narcissism, requiring you to wear that "refined" mask, otherwise your voice will be considered noise. I am unwilling to climb up and share.

The hypocrisy of the upper echelon and the turbidity of the lower echelon are doubly nauseating.

The "stem" also has a function; it must support the flower upward and extract from the soil downward.

I am like a prisoner sentenced to a fixed term, secretly carving words in the corner of a wall.

This "spiritual imprisonment" is inescapable, with no expectation of "sentence reduction," and it often requires forced participation in "reform through labor" to exchange for a space to exist.

Part 3.

Hope is a good thing, even if I don't know what this light is.

It has always been around me, quietly staying.