Apocalypse: The Dark Kirin Slays the Corpse King for His Sister from the Start

My novel is a personal epic of ambition and tenderness. Its heart is a precision-constructed star map of the world, its skeleton is the cable of destiny that stretches for three generations, and its blood is the characters who burn out the glimmer of humanity in the flames of choice. The text attempts to bury poetic veins in the cold narrative. But at this moment it is still an unpolished jade: the rhythmic breathing is occasionally rapid, and the faces of the secondary characters still need more light. It is a long letter I wrote to the world, clumsy, strong, but extremely sincere

Come on come on come on come on