January 11th.

You, I'm really so tired now. You're not by my side, and besides you, I really don't know who I can talk to about these things.

Wandering beneath the stars for so many years, besides You, I have very few friends because my personality is too solitary, indecisive, lacking a subjective viewpoint and my own judgment, sensitive and fragile.

I'm very worried, whether it's my call, or someone else's call to me next, about hearing bad news of someone familiar. This cold world is a parallel line, so I always stand outside of this parallel line, cautiously observing where it may extend to.

Therefore, whether as an apprentice or during my time at Starry Arts Academy, I always walked alone, alone, alone in isolation, cast out from the lively buzz, immersed in my own world, constantly thinking of a new melody, a tune, even though I know I've become disconnected from the world.

My melodies, my tunes have long been outdated, people nowadays prefer passionate, free-spirited, romantic, yearning for poetry and the distance, rather than melodies full of internal strife and pettiness, I'm just comforting myself, comforting myself that I'm doing something, even if it's just futile.

Because I was always immersed alone in my own world, I missed a lot of things, missed the student council selection, missed the college singing competition, missed the Starry Arts auditions, missed Marlene's signing event, missed many paths leading to a better future.

One must face oneself, I must say things in a letter that I never dared to think before.

All this time, I've been doing self-righteous futile work.

A person detached from the world's parallel line for too long will eventually be caught and devoured by the monster of loneliness.

The time before meeting You was really agonizing for me, there were times I thought of abandoning everything I had, turning away from the path of chasing dreams, had many immature, escapist thoughts.

Perhaps, I'm not just an ordinary girl, it's me who used heavy gray paint to cover my own colors, making me look ordinary, to convince myself to stay ordinary.

In any case, You, you are really important to me, without you, it's you who brought light to this dim star, who showed me so many moving facets, who took my hand and led me out of the boundary of solitary dusk, bringing me back to the world's track.

January 13th.

You, every time I hold a pen, I can feel you are right by my side, my heart beats fast, the hand gripping the pen tip trembles slightly.

Although the image is not very clear, my heartbeat recognized you before I did.

The widely spread rumor online of the Dark Gold Rose, it's you, right?

I won't mistake it.

At least, my heartbeat won't mistake it.

January 17th.

Do you remember when you were so tired that you fell asleep at the office desk?

At that time, I held your hand and told you, a writer I really like once said

"The past life has already died, I have great joy in this death because by it I know it once lived."

"The dead life has decayed, I have great joy in this decay because by it I know it wasn't void."

Every ordinary person is like wild grass.

Ordinary in solitude, decaying in solitude.

The current situation of the Star of Art is dire, yesterday artists resurrected for the second time, casualties turned into a shocking number, people fear art, suppression leads them to do terrible things, yesterday someone rushed into the hospital, attacked patients in the corridor, has already been taken away by the Tuner.

The hostility among everyone on the curtain has become heavy, arguing over small things, blaming and cursing each other, harsh and unpleasant words I've seen many.

Artists hang like the Sword of Damocles over everyone's head on the Star of Art, the association has confirmed that it could be born in any artistic creation, the association can't truly kill it.

This is fatal for the people of the Star of Art, we all bless the Stars, inspiration flows continuously, creating many works praised by others, yet we also curse the Stars, once a day comes when our inspiration dries up, we'll become monsters decayed all over.

People's attitudes toward art have changed from resistance to fear.

No one knows whether their artistic creations will give birth to an artist, but they have to create, to prevent one day inspiration drying up.

Creating in fear of artists, drying up in creation, despairing in drying up, artists feed on despair, bringing fear.

We're all trapped inside a black wall, it's a terrifying Möbius loop.

The association is powerless against this, if not abandoning the Star of Art, can only adopt more aggressive measures.

These days, people's pain, despair, fear linger in my mind, like countless faces of drowning people, the birth of artists is no accident, it is the result of long-term suppression of self by the people of the Star of Art, killing one artist will lead to the birth of millions of other artists.

I can understand people's pain, I can understand people's despair, can understand their suppression with nowhere to vent in fear.

Ordinary wild grass cannot control the wind that blows them chaotic, cannot control the sunlight, the cutting, cannot control whether someone has stepped over.

I was once ordinary wild grass myself, so I can understand all their sorrow and helplessness.

I once suffered much injustice, oppression, cursing against which I was powerless, helplessly choosing to escape.

Because I have endured much pain, I can understand more.

Because I saw the root of everything, I cannot coldly look on.

You, I want to try to burn myself, to melt the snow on Lindong's field, allow this field to soak again in warm sunlight, fight for a better tomorrow for the wild grass.

I will make a very bold choice.

Even if my power is very weak,

I want to save everyone.

Perhaps after doing all this, I won't change anything, maybe after doing all this, I will be treated as a witch, burned on the judgment gallows.

Perhaps after doing all this, I will fall into the endless black abyss, yet I firmly believe my choice, my end is meaningful. After wild grass is burnt, it can melt the snow completely, when the soul emits light, it can plant a seed in everyone's heart, waiting until spring warmth blooms to take root and sprout.

Decayed grass can become glowworms, shining in summer nights; withered and decayed can become a lamp, pointing the way towards tomorrow.

And my grass seed will drift towards the Starry Garden.

I will blossom thousands and thousands of times in the Starry Garden.

Ordinary wild grass cannot change anything,

Ordinary wild grass can change everything.

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