His life seemed to be enveloped in a mist, a blur.
She asked him: "Next year, when the pear blossoms bloom, let me go with you, okay?"
When she turned around, she was married to someone else.
The young man leaned softly in front of the window and looked at him: "I heard her say that your last move is called Eleven Steps of Begonia Joy. Why do you never use it?"
"If it is used easily, why should it be the last resort?"
The begonia swayed, its red shadows were mottled, and her body was covered in blood. . . .
"Brother Feng, the eleven-step Haitang Huan... Is simply a sword that cannot be used!..."
"You are the first to know... And perhaps the last to know..."