In that uneasy era, there was an ordinary person with an ordinary face, ordinary eyes, ordinary nose, and ordinary lips, but he had a unique hair that was silkier and more beautiful than women: black and bright as pearls, as smooth as silk, when the breeze blows, the hair floats by, leaving no trace, leaving only a lingering fragrance.
It's so annoying. He is obviously a grown man, but he has to take care of his hair like a mother. Ugh. ． ． I was even avoided. ． ．
Three thousand threads of worries disturb the world of mortals