Treabar

Tag: SG

  • That popcorn pot cannot cover up the cracks and sadness of the times

    The world has long changed. Ju Fufu stood in the cold wind on the corner of the street, with the rusty pot in her hand, like a symbol of her life – dilapidated but not discarded. She knocked on the pot lid, making a dinging sound, and the sound was faintly mixed with sadness and stubbornness. The popcorn exploded in the pot, like the fragmented hope, and also like the suppressed breath of this society.

    Her hands are no longer young, and her face is engraved with the ups and downs and scars of life. Ju Fufu is not a simple popcorn seller, she is a microcosm of the bottom of this society, an existence forgotten by the times. The sound of the pot is not just a shout, but more like a roar of life and an accusation of this indifferent world. She uses the simplest way to keep herself alive.

    “People have to have something to live.” She said to herself. But this “something”, for Ju Fufu, is this pot, the noisy pot lid sound and the popcorn explosion, which is the proof of her survival. The world is in a hurry, who can hear her voice that has been worn away by time?

    Once, she also had dreams, family, and expectations, but those beautiful things were like popcorn in the pot, fleeting. Her husband died early, her children moved away, and she was left with only this pot and the cold wind on the street corner. Society is like a huge machine, ruthlessly devouring the weak. The pot in her hand kept ringing, as if trying to piece together those broken dreams.

    The sound of her pot lid was not to please anyone, but for herself, for the meaning of life. Those popped popcorns were like scattered years, white, short, and fragile. Just like her life, it suffered countless blows, but still insisted on knocking in this cold corner.

    The pedestrians on the street were in a hurry, and no one stopped to see her or listen to her story. But the sound of the pot lid became clearer and clearer, like a silent protest. Every knock of Ju Fufu hit the wall of this city and echoed in every indifferent soul. That is a cry for survival, a sorrow for being forgotten, and a vague expectation for the future.

    She has no capital, no background, only a pot and an unyielding persistence. Her figure is stretched out by the light, like a lonely shadow, swaying on the edge of society. The smell of popcorn and the sound of the pot lid are all traces of her life and the language of her dialogue with the world.

    “To live is to resist.” She said softly. Resist those invisible pressures, ruthless times, endless poverty and loneliness. The sound of the pot lid is still loud in the cold wind, as if telling the world: Don’t forget this insignificant little person, her story, her existence.

    This sound of the pot lid is an accusation of reality, but also a tribute to life. Ju Fufu is not a hero. She has no lofty words, only the most real persistence. Those neglected corners and those forgotten faces have become warm and have sound because of the sound of the pot lid.

    She knocked on the pot lid, and the sound was like knocking on the sleeping conscience, reminding us not to forget those who are struggling on the edge of life. Popcorn popped into white flowers, just like the impermanence and fragility of life, but Ju Fufu still held on, and her knocking sound became the deepest echo of the night.

    Life is so difficult, and living is so hard. In this dark era, there are too many people like her, silently enduring suffering, but without a sound. The sound of Ju Fufu’s pot lid is the faint but firm starlight under the gray sky.

    She used the pot lid to knock on the pulse of life, knocking open the wounds of the times, and also knocking on the meaning of life. The indifference of the world cannot cover up the warmth and unyieldingness flowing in the sound of the pot lid. Every ding-dong is her life singing, and it is the simplest expectation for tomorrow.

  • Looking at the endless interweaving of modern people’s desires and loneliness from the complex materials of Mingchao Xiakong

    Xiakong, a five-star resonator who emerged in the Mingchao game. Her growth seems to be a long and tortuous road, paved with various materials and tasks, just like the entanglement of desires and loneliness in modern people’s lives. What kind of stories and people’s moods are hidden behind those seemingly simple materials?

    First of all, the four materials of low-frequency tidal eclipse sail core, medium-frequency tidal eclipse sail core, high-frequency tidal eclipse sail core, and full-frequency tidal eclipse sail core are not just game resources, but more like four stages in life. Low frequency is like the ignorance and struggle of childhood, medium frequency is the confusion and blood of youth, high frequency represents the passion and impulse of adulthood, and full frequency is the ultimate exploration of the true meaning of life. In order to collect these materials, players continue to fight in dungeons, just like people running under the pressure of life, trying to seize those opportunities that seem to change their destiny. However, there is no end to this road, only constant pursuit and repetition.

    Burning phosphorus bones are the marks left by the sighing ancient dragon. The sigh of the ancient dragon is like a call in the wind, which is both a symbol of strength and a synonym for pain. In order to get this bone, players repeatedly fought against powerful enemies and endured the frustration of failure. Isn’t this a portrayal of modern people facing difficulties in real life? Everyone carries their own “sighs”, struggling in hardship, but has to move forward.

    There is also the “Golden Fleece”, which sounds like a dream. In ancient mythology, it is the goal of heroes and a symbol of finding happiness. But in the game, it is limited in quantity and purchase methods, which is very similar to those unattainable dreams in reality. We work hard to save money and work hard, but we don’t know when the “Golden Fleece” will really fall into our hands. It brings not pure joy, but endless anxiety and expectations.

    The shackles and crystallized phlogiston of special weapon materials are like various hardships and tests on the road of life. Every upgrade has a price to pay, and every breakthrough is accompanied by sacrifice and loss. The “special weapon” in the game is the embodiment of the character’s power, and the “special weapon” in reality may be people’s knowledge, skills and experience. They are heavy and indispensable, carrying our hopes and fears for the future.

    The materials of the resonance circuit are more delicate, from impurities to high purity, and each step is a process of purification and sublimation. Players shuttle through the complex materials, as if looking for a piece of pure land in the depths of their hearts. In particular, the “Day of Iris Blooming” can only be obtained through the “Wheel of Fate Fragment”, which seems to tell us that true beauty and growth require great efforts and waiting. It also reminds everyone that there are always some moments in life that are worth cherishing, but they are often fleeting.

    The stuffed meat tofu in the game, such a seemingly inconspicuous prop, has undertaken the task of increasing the drop rate. It is a small care in the game design, and it is the warmth that occasionally appears in the tired journey of players. There are also many such “stuffed meat tofu” in life. Those small and beautiful things have become the motivation and comfort for people to move forward.

    The recharge platform Treabar and the discount code “Treabarblog3ge” are symbols of modern capital. Behind the virtual world is the money and interests in reality. Players use real money to exchange for virtual growth, which is not only a pursuit of entertainment, but also an escape from the pressure of reality. Behind the discount is the indifference and calculation of capital, which makes people feel the deep rift between virtual and reality.

    Xia Kong’s development process is very similar to the desire and loneliness that modern people pursue on the road of life. We strive to obtain resources, upgrade ourselves desperately, and pursue the “golden fleece” of our dreams, but we often feel tired and confused in all this. Every material in the game has become a metaphor for life, reflecting our desire for happiness, helplessness for failure, and expectations for the future.

    Mingchao’s world is not only virtual, but also a mirror of reality. Xia Kong’s material collection tells us that the road to growth is full of hardships, and behind desire is loneliness and struggle. Perhaps, we are all on this road, looking for our own “iris”, looking forward to its blooming and illuminating the darkness ahead.

  • As time goes by, the old loess still silently tells the story of the past

    It all started from the path on the loess slope. The poplar trees on both sides of the path are no longer what they used to be. The branches are dry and most of the leaves have fallen off. When the wind blows, the dust on the ground seems to tell a story without an ending. That was my favorite path when I was a child. It was less than one meter wide and meandered through the fields beside the village to the old yard on the hillside. Whenever I walked on that road, the warm soil was under my feet and the sound of the wind penetrating the treetops was in my ears. I always thought of the past that had been diluted by the years, and the memories that had settled on this land.

    When I was young, I always liked to walk aimlessly on this road. Every step seemed to be able to step into another world. That world was my world, full of childhood fantasies and unspoken thoughts. I don’t know why, when I was a child, I always felt that I was living in a distant place, and everything around me seemed to have nothing to do with me. At that time, I always liked to stay on the loess slope behind the house, drawing on the ground with a stick, imagining that I could find a kingdom of my own on this land.

    However, time always slips away quietly. The ideals and fantasies of youth slowly fade away, replaced by the pressure of reality. The passage of time has taken away those once green dreams and the land that I yearn for so much. Back here, I am no longer the carefree boy, and my once light steps have become heavy. Standing on this loess slope, a complex emotion that cannot be explained surges in my heart, as if every slate and every dead tree here are reminding me that everything that has been gone will never come back.

    The smell of loess is an irreplaceable fragrance. Whenever I smell this smell, my heart unconsciously rises with warmth. I remember when I was a child, my grandfather always liked to sit on the old stool in the yard, light a pipe, and talk about the past. At that time, I always asked him why there were so many stories on the land on the loess slope? Grandpa smiled and said that the land has our common memories, and every inch of land is alive and has stories. I didn’t understand what grandpa said at that time, but every time I stood on this land, I would unconsciously feel a sense of historical precipitation in my heart. That is an indescribable emotion, it is not in words, but in every step, in the wind of every fallen leaf, and in the rustling sound of every evening breeze blowing over the loess slope.

    As time goes by, this loess slope is no longer as vibrant as it used to be. The former rice fields and wheat fields have long been invaded by some foreign species, and the wild flowers that once bloomed are no longer as brilliant as they used to be. The people here, like most villages, have begun to gradually disappear. Most young people have gone to the city, and only some old people are still here. Time is like a ruthless knife, and every knife has left traces on this land.

    It’s not that I have never thought about leaving this place. Once, like those young people who left their hometowns, I longed for the brilliance and bustle of the city, thinking that I could find my own future there. However, when I really walked to the city, I found that the sky there was not as bright as I imagined. The steel forest in the city is full of strange faces and indifferent air, as if everything is forcing me to adapt and cater to it, and the years I spent with me on this loess slope have become a distant dream.

    Some people say that homesickness is empty and not worth remembering. But I never felt it was empty. Homesickness is like the mist rising from the loess slope, which gradually dissipates with the first ray of sunshine in the morning, but it still takes root deeply in my heart. That loess slope, that small yard, those once warm days, in my memory, are always like a painting, quietly hanging on the wall, waiting for me to savor it at any time.

    Looking back at this loess slope, I gradually understood the “story of the land” that my grandfather said back then. It is not a specific story, but a kind of accumulation, a silent power, carrying the common memories and emotions of generations. Here, every slate can tell the past wind and rain; every dead leaf can echo the laughter of the past; every breeze can gently bring up those forgotten days.

    Today, Huangtupo still lies there quietly, and the years are like a slowly flowing river, carrying my thoughts and passing quietly. I know that I am no longer the innocent boy who left this land. After experiencing the hustle and bustle of the city and the complexity of life, I returned here again. Standing on this land, I finally understand that no matter how far I go and how many choices I have made, the attachment to Huangtupo in my heart has never changed.

    As time goes by, the land of Huangtupo still silently tells its story. And I am still in its arms, looking for my own answer.