At that time, he was the noble and arrogant prince Manshu in the heaven. He turned his hands to become clouds and turned his hands to rain. He looked down upon the ordinary people in the world of mortals like a king. And he is the Holy Hand Glaze transformed by the essence of the sun and moon under the Buddha in the West, as cold as the wind and snow in the North Pole that has not melted for thousands of years. Two people who have nothing to do with each other meet in a city where the sunset will never be seen. In the boundless sea of suffering, who is the disaster of the other, and who is the happiness of the other?
When they meet again a thousand years later, will the two strangers still be together? This time, can we forget all our past loves and hates and travel hand in hand across thousands of mountains and rivers again?
Dreaming back at midnight, who is calling whose name, and who clearly loves each other deeply but chooses to hurt each other time and time again to remember each other?