Cars and horses used to be very slow. I just returned home from overseas and met you in troubled times.
You are the hero who rushes to the mountains and rivers in this era, and you are the only light in my lonely life.
Later, your bones were buried in this land, and I stayed alone in this world for more than three hundred days and nights. After all, I couldn't bear the bone-crushing emptiness.
As a young reporter, I took up my pen and went into the smoke of gunfire from which I would never return.
Not to make a name for myself, not to come back, just to protect an inch of my hometown for you.
