This sword once pierced my mother's chest, and now it is right in my chest.
But I don't even feel the pain anymore.
This is the man I love. I traveled thousands of miles across the ice to find him. Now he is right in front of me. How could I not be happy?
As for this life, if he wants it, just give it to him...
This is a story about a palace fight, but the bloody storms in the cold wall have nothing to do with them; this is a story about rivers and lakes, where the cold and icy fields have long buried those dead bones in the world of mortals; this is also a story of nothingness, where the actors in the red wall and the dusty world sing to each other, and their thin voices harmonize with the sad and hoarse balalaika, and even he has almost forgotten the original tune.
He just stood alone on the resplendent Lugou Platform, looking at the endless snow and vastness, but he was left alone.
In these bloody, turbulent years, what changed this gentle young man, and what changed him?