Ten years ago, the brown-haired man stood in front of her, touched her hair with his hands stained with his father's blood and asked, "Am I qualified now? How about you marry me?"
Ten years later, she faced an arrogant man with frivolous eyebrows and sneered, "As long as you help me kill him, how about I marry you?"
That year the Holy Moon was in the sky, and the branches were covered with apricot blossoms. If love was to be obtained through killing, it would be wrong.