Jiuyou is speechless and has no pupils in his eyes.
I listen carefully, not listening to sounds, only listening to cause and effect.
The westward journey in which Lingshan and Heaven colluded has not yet started, but the threads of cause and effect have already been woven into a dragnet.
Who is the chess piece, who is the butcher's knife, who is the puppet who has been washed away for nine lives, and who is the remnant destined to be silenced, have all been written.
I am sitting on a rainy night in Chang'an, blindfolded and setting up a stall.
Don't speak, don't get angry, don't cross, don't save.
Only tell the truth when someone asks you.
The truth is the worst.
Gods and Buddhas are the most fake.
Fate is the dirtiest.
And I am the only one who has read the entire script of Journey to the West.
