Near our office, there is an abandoned lot. Our company, along with the newly built apartments nearby, was once just an empty lot a few years ago. I’m not even sure if "empty lot" is the right term. The area used to be a forest, with a puddle of water where frogs lived, and raccoons and weasels roamed. It was filled with countless flowers. One day, flowers with no names began to grow from the "empty lot," blooming all the way to the road near the office. Among them were flowers resembling hibiscus, with various shapes, sizes, and colors, blooming along the sidewalks. In that gray world—where the roads, buildings, and even the sky were a dull shade—these flowers, in dozens of beautiful colors, found the smallest patches of soil to unfurl their faces. But then, one day, dozens of workers with chainsaws came, and they cut down every last one of those flowers. The flowers never caused us any harm, yet to maintain the "empty lot," the government chopped down the flowers and trees, and the workers diligently did their part. In that gray space-time, nothing even slightly shining was allowed. It was heartbreaking. A year later, Exactly in the same spots, colorful flowers bloomed once again. There were even more, and they were larger than the year before. I was happy. The scenario of wildflowers surviving in barren land, enduring all kinds of hardships without any care, is an old cliché, but it still pierces the heart. The buildings crumble, The land sinks, Weasels cross dangerous eight-lane roads, Mountains disappear, But the wildflowers will continue to bloom.