Day Fifty-Five · Stillness

Nine o'clock.

The city lights are still on, but the noise has quieted down. The distant sound of cars becomes faint, like it's filtered through a veil. The convenience store downstairs has turned off its lights, and the street lamps stand alone, casting tree shadows on the ground, perfectly still.

I sit on the balcony doing nothing.

No checking my phone, no listening to music, no thinking about tomorrow's tasks. Just sitting, listening to the sounds of the night.

Actually, the night has no sound. Or rather, the sound of the night is stillness itself.

Daytime is too noisy. 99+ messages in the group chat, candlesticks jumping up and down on the chart, all kinds of "rocket" and "waterfall" calls buzzing in your ears. Busy watching, busy replying, busy making decisions, busy regretting. By the end of the day, your brain feels stuffed with cotton—heavy and empty at once.

Only at this hour does the world finally become still.

Only in stillness can you hear your own breathing. In and out, slow and steady. It turns out your heart is still beating well, your body hasn't been swept away by the market.

Suddenly I remember childhood summers, lying on a bamboo bed in the evening to cool off, grandmother fanning with a palm-leaf fan, saying nothing. Stars lighting up one by one, insects calling in the grass. Back then I didn't know what "stillness" meant, only that such nights felt comfortable.

Now I know. Stillness is comfort. #Gate13周年全球庆典