0.5U for $MERL is like a door that keeps knocking but no one answers. The lights behind the door gradually extinguish, and the footprints in front of the door are chaotically piled up—three attempts, three fadeaways, enthusiasm burnt to ashes.

On the other side of the shadow, brand new ammunition is being loaded into the rifling: the December cold wind carries seventy million sleeping coins that are about to awaken, their cost as low as dust, just waiting for an exit.

This is not a contest; this is a scale that has long been tilted. The person on the city wall holds a worn rope trying to escape, while the person outside the city wall looks up dreaming of treasure. Don't reach out to catch that tile that is about to fall.