[Slow pace] [Slow pace] [Slow pace]
There is never a rising sun in the world, and the crimson waning moon hangs for eternity, decaying day by day.
Assessment distinguishes superiority and inferiority, hatred breeds sects, and all sentient beings are trapped in the reciprocal pain.
The young man picked up his pen and ink, calling himself a novelist, describing the joys and sorrows of the world, and getting a glimpse of the secrets of the River Styx.
It turns out that redemption is never about overturning everything, but about picking up the fallen moonlight with your own hands.
Reader comments
There's a lot to improve on, but that's always the way to grow, isn't it?
Come on
There's a lot to improve on, but that's always the way to grow, isn't it? Come on