That year, the moon was like water.
When she first saw him, she saw a pair of eyes appearing and disappearing in a strange fiery red, gradually blurring, like a dream.
A love and hate, entangled for hundreds of years, a lifetime of lovesickness, how hopeless is it?
I wonder if she, with her head full of white hair, will recall the flowing fire in July and the figure standing under the flowing fire. When she looks back, there is a smile in her eyes.