"I hate. I hate. I only hate that the eyes under my forehead are too few to see through your tricks. I only hate that the sword in my hand is too short and cannot dig out your hearts. I only hate that the blood in my chest is too hot that I believe Asura's lies. I only hate that the sky has the heart to be with me, but has no eyes to see the black and white of this world." The overwhelming hatred has been entangled for thousands of years. The river with weak water cannot satisfy his hatred, and the flowers on the other side cannot dissolve his resentment. Will Donghai Pavilion see him again and ask people with a silly smile: "Who painted the colorful clouds on this day?"