I want my soul to become pure. What other way is there besides death? He smiled and said, very simple, love. One glance of fragrance is doomed to a thousand years of wandering. Smoke and flowers are blooming, and the grass is lush. It is the world of the July tribe, where life and death are quiet. The tribe only has seven months to live, and their home is in the moonlight. And he is just the master destined to be lonely, prosperous in vain. I am willing to be your shepherd boy's walking stick, just to listen to your flute song over and over again.