Life's journey is never all smooth sailing.

The frost of fate always falls in moments no one notices,
silently landing on our shoulders, crushing, grinding, and wearing down our steps forward.
Have you seen the grass in rock crevices, taking root in barren, cold stone,
without fertile soil to nourish it, without rain or dew's favor,
yet spreading its branches in the midst of fierce winds and torrential rain?
When layers of rock block its way, it twists and grows along the cracks, turning desperation into a space to dwell.
This is the quietest toughness in the world, never making a big show,
only gathering strength in the dark, confronting all hardships.
People in this world are the same.
Those silent, unyielding persistences in the dead of night, those steps taken quietly after falling,
those moments of enduring the valley and swallowing grievances,
are never concessions to fate, but rather a stubbornness of the self.
The cold currents of destiny may sweep away the scenery in all directions,
but they cannot freeze the ever-growing power deep within the heart;
the grinding of time may smooth the sharp edges of restlessness,
but it cannot shatter the tenacity precipitated in the marrow.
There is never a need to bow to hardship, nor to lower your head to fate.
True toughness is never a momentary surge of passion,
but the backbone that refuses to bend even when at the bottom.
Let the wind and rain come as they may—just quietly take root, slowly grow,
and in the midst of desolation, you will bloom with your own light.