It is recorded in the Buddhist scriptures that "the flower on the other shore blooms for a thousand years and falls for a thousand years. The flowers and leaves will never see each other. Love is not cause and effect, fate is destined to life and death."
She looked at him sadly. The blood was dripping down along the sword on her chest. The blood dripped on the ground and turned into a bunch of manjus and sandalwoods. They were fiery red and swayed with the wind enchantingly, just like she was dancing. But, this is dancing with life.
The wind whimpers, as if expressing unwillingness. He was holding the sword, his hands covered with her blood, looking like a madman. . .
He stepped forward and hugged her, murmuring repeatedly: I'm sorry, I'm sorry. . .
She sighed: Still can't escape?