At the end of the year, seeking power (there is a hint of fantasy behind it)
Many years later, when Mo Wangyu stood in the windy sand of Yanmen Pass, watching the man with blood-stained armor and vindictiveness and paranoia on his brows, walking towards him step by step, locking him firmly with those bottomless black eyes, as if he wanted to eat him alive;
When Mo Yuan was on countless life-and-death battlefields, relying on the crazy obsession of "going back alive to see his brother" in his chest, he crawled out of the sea of blood from the mountains of corpses and sharpened himself into a fierce blade that was unparalleled in the world;
They may all think of that distant and cold afternoon.
One is in a warm cage, holding a wolf fang, promising a silent wait.
Amidst the cold expulsion, with a lonely courage, he made a bloody oath.
Silt and inkstone.
A deposit of all forbearance, illness and calculation.
A person who has tempered all suffering, killing and obsession.
From that moment on, their fates were like ink dripping into an inkstone, entangled, ground, and penetrated, and could no longer be separated.
And the wolf tooth that had been rubbed smooth and the cricket cage with crooked stitching became the only small tokens that could prove that they had relied on each other and been warm during those cold years.
Hidden in the deepest part of my heart, I never show it to others easily.
Intention: None