There is a group of people who are sword-wielding warriors who use their swords to implement their beliefs.
There is such a woman, she is one of them, her sword is for revenge, but also for protection. For unknown salvation, she drank the bright red liquid without hesitation; she abandoned her original pride and transformed into a dark Rakshasa without flinching. Because of persistence and belief, in that era of changing times, we supported the flying of the banner of "sincerity". Till death do us part...
However, only leaving him behind was accompanied by eternal guilt, and that three-word oath became an eternal regret.
"Feixue, let's go back."
"Go back? We can't go back long ago."
The snowflakes flying all over the sky, together with the fallen cherry petals, turn into spring mud, waiting for rebirth.
Under the ancient eight-petaled cherry tree, a broken sword stood leaning against it, with a blood-stained white scarf wrapped softly around it. Unfortunately, no one remembered how beautiful they once were...