History tells us that swords are meant to hurt, and the closer you get, the deeper the injury. And those girls who fall in love with men who make a living with swords mostly don't end well, either dead or injured. Just because a man who lives by sword is also a sword, and the sword is one, hurting others and hurting himself.
It's a pity that I was young and frivolous at the time, and I never believed these facts. I just dismissed them as tragic lies to deceive an ignorant girl. Thinking of the beautiful vows of holding my son's hand and growing old together. I woke up later, but it was too late.
Let's put all these aside and just say that I am tired of love.
My life is like water, staying in a cave for a long time, slowly fermenting, waiting to turn into wine. But that spring, I quietly and skillfully went down the mountain to sell wine, but accidentally sold the altar in my heart.
Asked the man what he wanted the wine for, he only replied: to temper his sword.
Conception: