Cold poetry, equal compassion
Under the moonlight, all living beings are equal.
All unfulfilled lies and unfulfilled wishes,
I will eventually borrow a letter,
Arrive where they should go.
Some souls of the dead refuse to leave, not because they have deep vengeance yet to be avenged.
It's because there are lies that are not fulfilled, and there are wishes that are not fulfilled.
So there was the Moonlight Post Office——
An inn that only opens on full moon nights,
Specially for letters that have nowhere to send,
Specially designed to help the soul with unresolved obsessions.
I'm Azhe, the postman here.
I have heard the hero's last cry, and I have counted the coward's trembling silver coins;
I have written heartfelt love letters and burned false confessions.
The moonlight illuminates all stories equally,
And I am only responsible for sealing them, delivering them,
Or occasionally, late at night when no one knows,
for a particularly dirty envelope,
Fall clean tears.
