Someone once stepped hard on my face and sword into the mud and spat:
A puddle of rotten meat, two ounces of rotten rust.
I nodded.
—— Ordered with a smile.
My brother is crying.
I wiped away his tears and said:
"Brother, don't cry."
"This world belongs to you from now on."
——What I didn't say is:
What's yours is mine.
You are mine too.
I want these eight wastelands to have only one voice from now on.
Mine.
I want this world to have only one master from now on.
I.
Those who say my sword is worse than two ounces of rust——
Guess, how much are you worth now?
Two ounces of rust, half a debt.
The vast sea is covered, but only one person can cross it.
Determination: I want no more immortality in this world