Night falls.
Moonlight shines on the tree shadows, twinkle twinkle, no one cares even if you cry.
In the distant Hetao Plain.
A man pats the child in his arms, peeking through the gaps at the distant walls, his eyes full of resentment and regret.
The broken walls can't block the wind, the roaring wind biting his face with pain.
These are two broken walls, forming a stable triangle.
He dares not make any noise, the occasional zombie roar in the surroundings forces him to cover the child's ears as best as he can.
One foot firmly braces against the iron sheet outside, preventing it from collapsing.
An endless bitterness wells up from the depths of his heart, he doesn't understand why hearts could be so vicious.
Alas....
In the night sky, he softly sighs, tears shimmering at the corners of his eyes, unseen by anyone.
.....
November nights are very cold.
During the day the sun's radiation is strong, very hot.
