When the familiar sword pierced his heart that was only made of mud with a cold light, what came to his mind was the conversation between that man and him on a sunny afternoon a few years ago when he was still on the journey to find his sister, which he still couldn't understand.
"Brother-in-law, what is the most valuable thing in the world?"
"The human heart."
"What about the least valuable one?"
The troubled god who gave him his name and rebirth had a rare look of sadness on his face. "It's also the human heart."
Now he seems to understand a little bit. The human heart that is hard to find, such as the old couple holding hands and growing old together, the life and death of the sister and the scholar; the human heart that is worthless, such as the person's unrequited love for the sister, such as the tiny longing for that person buried deep in my heart.