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two-dimensional
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featuremyoc
The moon hung in the sky, not round, nor missing a piece, precisely in that most unremarkable state—like a glutinous rice cake someone had taken a bite out of, with slightly fuzzy edges, and the light wasn't bright enough, lazily spreading down, on the rooftops, treetops, and people's shoulders, just a thin layer, like expired powdered sugar. When clouds passed in front of it, it didn't dodge, just let the clouds cut it into sections, and when the clouds were gone, it returned to its original state, as if nothing had happened. There was no wind tonight, so the moonlight was still, solidified, as if someone had spilled a basin of glowing milk, hanging there in mid-air, unable to fall, nor to be taken back. The silhouettes of distant buildings were outlined with a silver edge by it, while the nearby leaves were dark green. Occasionally, a night bird would flap its wings, and the moonlight would be shattered into several pieces, then slowly gather again. Looking at this light for a long time, one would feel that it didn't come from the sky, but rose from the ground—with a cool, indescribable, slightly old taste. Like a silent old acquaintance, standing far away, neither approaching nor leaving, just watching you.
Autumn night
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Winter Miracle Workshop
Christmas Prelude: Apply X Model Creation Festival to Fill the Town's First Floor
chips
The origin of chips