I don't belong here. I was dragged into this world against my will. All I want is to go home. What have I done wrong?
I did nothing wrong. I won't accept this. I want to go home. No one can stop me. Anyone who gets in my way will be killed without mercy.
Have you ever deeply loved someone, only to suddenly stop loving them?
Did you really stop loving them all at once?
Perhaps, after going round and round in endless cycles, that obsession had already been quietly worn away.
Humans keep living beings in captivity, and gods keep humans in captivity. But who knows whether the gods themselves are also being kept in captivity without realizing it?
I pray to the gods and Buddha. I want to live.
Those who enjoy the people's provisions but show no concern for their affairs do not deserve to be gods. Everyone should rise up and kill them.
If the gods won't destroy the demons, I will. If the gods are unworthy of their stations, I will slay them. From this day forth, gods and Buddhas are forbidden from entering the Great Qi Dynasty. Within Great Qi, only I may be worshipped.
The so-called apocalypse merely marks the end of one civilization. The end of one civilization heralds the rise of another, and the cycle continues, beginning anew.
I discovered the truth about the world. But what exactly is the truth? Why do my memories hold only fragments of my repeatedly discovering the world's truth, then being hunted and forced to flee? The most crucial memories about this so-called truth are completely blank, as if the key pages had been torn from a book.
Praying to gods and Buddhas offers faith and incense. Faith is a kind of energy, and incense is a vessel for desire. Desire is nothing more than birth, aging, sickness, death, separation from those we love, meeting those we hate, not getting what we want, and the burning of the five skandhas. The deeper the obsession, the purer the energy.
Someone told me that no matter how many miles or how much time separates us, longing will bring me to your side. So I've been waiting, waiting for longing to bring me to you
It looks good, I like it, but the author's writing style needs to be improved. I feel like the author has a world in his mind, but he doesn't know how to write it.