Generally speaking, I have four no comments on poetry: I don't comment on those who write well, because they write so well that I'm not qualified to comment; I don't comment on those who write poorly, because they write so poorly that I have no reason to comment; I don't comment on short writings, because the sample size is too small for me to have a perspective; I don't comment on long writings, because they are like a smelly and long footbinding cloth of an old lady, and I don't have the patience to finish reading. Zhang Xuesheng's works oscillate freely between four dimensions, reflecting his oscillating attributes as a rock singer and the ambiguity of a literary film creator. I would like to call him the new Da Bing in the history of Chinese literature and art.