I am writing at a mythological story. It is based on truths but sounds really strange. It is sacred but also absurd. It is both rosy and disillusioned. It is solemn and yet lacks the real content. I repeat such labor until I forget who I am. I am stupid and laughable, but eventually the fatigue of writing transforms itself into a kind of black humor in my story. I want to cry, and cry a lot. Such has become a lasting trait of mine. It doesn’t matter whether this story has a happy or sad ending. The thing is, when we read this story, we don’t feel anything. The passing of time has made every part of this story emotionless relics of the past. It seems that only those who have lived through the old days know how shocking the story is and scream loudly as they read on. Otherwise, most of us fail to relate to the story and think we can do nothing about it. In the face of international territorial disputes, the Taiwanese government chooses not to rage a real war but instead continues the military drills. But when drills are too many, they become more like flamboyant shows than intimidating acts.