Having finished watching "Moses on the Plain" on the plane, my reading history of Chinese novels over the past twenty years can be roughly divided into two categories of literature: one is the nostalgia for the homeland, and the other is the narrative of suffering in each era. There are very few purely fictional works in Chinese novels, and even science fiction carries some imprint of the times. I prefer the perspective of Xiaobo on the narrative of suffering; every era of humanity has its suffering, and I think the attitude with which we view suffering is a more worthy topic for discussion. But here I want to talk about the nostalgia for the homeland. From Cao Wenxuan's "Grass House" series to Shuang Xuetao and Bi Gan's "Kaili Universe," each generation has its own feelings for the homeland. For my generation, those born after the 1990s generally face the disintegration of family and parental marriages, which is behind the widespread migration and reorganization caused by urbanization. The initial changes were the restructuring of state-owned enterprises and the wave of layoffs. My father also chose to take unpaid leave and go to Shenzhen because of the bankruptcy of the mine. He made the decision to leave the system, with the background of a high-voltage electrical accident that put him in the ICU. After coming back from the brink of death, his views on many things underwent fundamental changes. Fate pushed him and his family, but there were families at that time that were not so "lucky," still waiting for exhaustion within the system. It is rare for a person to have the ability to view the system from outside the system. In Shuang Xuetao's stories, the children's perspectives are always betrayed by their laid-off parents, and the fate of the new generation is also buried in the system on the verge of collapse, until the people around them, their neighbors, begin to accept and accommodate the changes in the system, while the regrets and pains that drive the story continue to be born from their entanglement with the past. I think this is the role of philosophy; it is the true meaning of reading fiction. Fewer and fewer people read novels in this fast-paced era; everyone prefers to watch videos, to see how people teach themselves to make money, how to learn AI, but people are less inclined to think actively, preferring to replace fantasy with illusion. The essence of thinking is not in rationality; it is not about closely following current affairs and others' thoughts. Thinking is actually the ability to fantasize. Of course, I envy people who have stable social relationships from childhood to adulthood, who can still gather with elementary school classmates in their forties, but I will only remain at the level of envy. I won't say that the fate of our generation is destined to be lifelong migration, because if I have descendants, they might call me an old stubborn who is unwilling to move from Earth. After all, there is not much meaning in tirelessly talking about their ancestors' experiences in the mines with the new generation of humans on Mars. If every generation has a fate to blame, then they should blame their parents, their ethnicity, their country, and ultimately this blue planet and our ever-expanding universe. And this is what I think: people miss a spiritual homeland because the changes in the world eternally push us away from it. Only by abandoning the past can we perceive the present; only by giving up the future can we experience eternity.