Just now, a friend came to pick up a package from me (she sent it to the wrong address), and she also stayed for a while. The sunlight outside the window was still good, but as soon as the topic shifted to "recent circumstances," the atmosphere grew heavy. She is not a trader accustomed to the fluctuations in our circle; she has been working steadily at a state-owned enterprise, which many see as a safe harbor. But the waves of life never bypass you just because you're in the harbor. She half-jokingly expressed her despair: years of savings were firmly trapped at the peak of gold prices; another source of hope, the funds she relied on, became unreachable after the Jiemo Rui incident. Those numbers are not just money; they represent countless late nights of overtime, frugal restraint. "I really want to walk away," she said, "I have no mind to go to work anymore." The most heartbreaking part isn't the financial loss, but that all the pressure seems to line up and hit her at once. Her father just passed away, her mother's health is deteriorating, and at this age when she should be loved and cared for, she has become the one who must withstand all storms. But looking at her now, although her face is tired, and when she talks about these distressing matters, her eyes still show a hint of effort to stay optimistic. It's not because things have improved, but because she knows she can't fall apart. For us who are used to fighting within the K-line, stop-loss is discipline; but for her, life has no stop-loss button. She must carry those "gold at the peak" and "disappeared funds" and continue to face tomorrow's clock-in. I think the greatest heroism in this world is probably like her: seeing the cruelty of life clearly, wounded beyond recognition, yet still after receiving the package, chatting, fixing her hair, she pushes the door open and returns to that not-so-easy world.