On a rainy night, she fell in the forest.
When he came to his senses, he was slashing the bandit over and over again.
Blood spattered on her face, and the hatchet in her hand had long been cut.
There she stood.
The setting sun is like blood, and the new sun is like washing.
She held the hatchet tightly in her hand and walked toward the distance alone.
Concept: Choice and Destiny, Memory and Self
