I'm sick, and so is he.
I'm a psychology PhD who transmigrated here, outwardly a calm, ugly woman believed to bring her husbands bad luck. He's a war god general under house arrest, with five personalities living inside him: a bloodthirsty killer, an eight-year-old child who's afraid of the cold, an emotionless ascetic who chants sutras...
He asks me, "Who am I, really?"
I say, "You're the person sitting here asking me that question."
After that, he rides to the clinic every day to see me, teaches me to ride and shoot, and his eyes grow brighter and brighter.
Until he kneels outside the mountain gate in the rain and asks me, "Will you come tomorrow too?"
I say, "I will."
Because you're the first person I've ever wanted to get close to.
