It was written when I was fifteen or sixteen years old. Due to improper writing techniques, I have discarded it. I will write a new version later, but I still put it up because I don't want to pretend that it has not been written at 190,000 words.
My previous writing method was to come up with something as it came up. I never made an outline. I just inserted it directly from the chapter when I thought of a setting.
In addition, I have a literary disease, so it's embarrassing to write something like a music video.
But Yu Qinglie and Mei Yun are the children I love very much.
●Innately kind but amnesiac villain Shou (whose status is greater than any other character) & the cold and arrogant male ghost Gong who is full of hatred and resentment in his heart but is super easy to be influenced (especially easy to coax and can take care of others)
●Absolute points: Qingmei's pure love has no meal replacement, she is full of hatred after losing her vest, when Mei Yun lost her memory and she lost her horse, they were almost two people (of course you can't help it if you think they are one person), the finale of OE, the love in the next life is in the sequel "Hanging Sword Drops Pearl"!
●A mixture of love and hate, a slight group portrait, the writing can't be too one-sided~
*Reversal, reversal, all reversals
＊What is not reasonably explained is the foreshadowing of the next book.
Ten years of hatred, ten years of forbearance, Yu Qinglie has never been able to wash away the memory of that night when his family was massacred. He has obviously forgotten all about the company and warmth of his relatives, but the remaining memories of the fear, anger, hatred, nausea and distortion of that night are enough to torture him for the rest of his life.
It was winter, it was a winter when pear blossoms were blooming.
It was winter, and it was a winter before the plum blossoms bloomed.
It was a winter with fallen peach blossoms, scattered with pain and entanglement, but still happy.
That was the same winter who lost his mind, with blood all over his body, looking back at the capital with a sword in his arms, hoping to get a hug.
In fact, it was an autumn, a complex autumn that overdrawn spring and summer, and finally condensed into a very cold, very cold winter.
*Juanzi's first work, Wei Zao.
Concept: A work with poor writing style written when I was fifteen or sixteen years old