在一座古老的城堡里，有一间书房，墙上挂着几幅画，一张桌子上放着一个小提灯，旁边是一本厚厚的笔记本。这个房间 belonged to a young man named Xiao Ming, who was a writer. He had been writing for years, but he never published anything. His friends and family thought he was wasting his time.
One day, Xiao Ming decided to write a story about himself. He sat down at his desk and started writing. As he wrote, he felt like he was in the story himself. He could see the city outside his window, hear the birds singing in the trees.
But then something strange happened. The words on the page started to change. They became different colors and shapes, like they were alive.
Xiao Ming looked up from his paper and saw that everything around him had changed too. The room was now filled with people from all over the world who were also writing stories.
They were all sitting at their desks, typing away on their computers or scribbling in notebooks by candlelight.
Some of them were wearing masks,
others wore hats,
and some even wore glasses.
They all looked so focused,
so determined,
as if they knew that what they were doing
was important.
So important
that it might change their lives forever.
And maybe even change the world.
As Xiao Ming watched them write,
he felt something inside of him start to stir.
He realized that these people weren't just writers;
they were dreamers too.
And dreams are what make life worth living.
[折枝by困倚危楼 小说]，《我在高楼边上，用折枝的方式写下了我的故事》
