The Pacific wind is always cold.
Ci stood on the rocks on the coastline, her gown rustling in the sea breeze. He looked at the boundless waves, as if looking at a period of time that could never be turned back.
Five thousand years of civilization were sleeping in his bones and blood, but the most painful stroke was engraved on a name from the New World.
America.
The person he had hated, admired, and had secretly fallen in love with.
The man who stood at the top of the world but pushed him into the abyss with his own hands.
The chessboard was laid out and there was never a draw.
Only one side loses and one side dies.
Or - both sides suffer.
Ci slowly closed her eyes, a hint of fishy sweetness welling up in her throat.
Some encounters are dead ends from the start.
Intention: I don't know what the intention is