Yesterday the score increased again. (Attached image) The night is deep, the mark of NIGHT, like a few flickering will-o'-the-wisps in a dark alley, lures the lonely souls wandering at night. This chaos of the Midnight Network, I have always speculated with the worst malice, watching the rise and fall of numbers on the screen, is merely a carefully arranged performance, the audience below, with their necks stretched long, as if many ducks are held by an invisible hand, being pulled up.

The game of NIGHT has always presented an enticing feast, igniting the faint desires in people's marrow, and when you pounce over, that feast turns into an iron cage, trapping people inside. The clamor of @MidnightNetwork is merely the hypnotic lullaby echoing in this iron cage. The so-called prosperity of this network is merely the bottomless mire, the slight water stains left after countless people's sweat and blood have dried up, this is its primary and profound negative impact.

However, they insist on singing triumphant songs, using the flashy illusion of #night to desperately beautify this nocturnal activity, as if the night itself has become a badge worth boasting about. The more the sound of the Midnight Network grows louder, the more I hear the silent sobs and sighs beneath it, rolling and suffocating in the bone-chilling digital torrent called "NIGHT consensus."

After watching, the glow of the $NIGHT token, flickering and dancing, is merely another window of a more exquisite iron cage, letting in the light of the long night, reflecting the still numb faces, whether ecstatic or despairing, as before. The dawn promised by the Midnight Network is likely to always be in the never-fulfilled tomorrow.