I can't forget that the tortured Nianchi, covered in blood, fell in a pool of blood, as coquettish as a sleeping red lotus.
He could never forget the clear eyes and sweet smile she looked at him.
He could never forget the black gold-edged kite butterfly that she naughtyly insisted on using a flame pen on the ring finger of his right hand.
He couldn't forget the strange, lifeless eyes she looked at him after waking up.
I can't forget the words he called "big brother" at the banquet.
It exists so clearly.
Nianchi, where are you?