Ten years old.
In the chaos in his eyes, he keenly captured a flash of white that looked like an immortal, just like the white manjus and sandalwood blooming in the extremely evil hell. He could never forget it after just one glance.
Twelve years old.
He always had a casual indifference, and the eyes that looked at him sideways were not gentle at all. He likes to wear white clothes, he likes to drink peach blossom wine with his hands, he likes the plum blossom cakes at the dessert shop in Bali Alley, he likes to hum some tuneless songs, and he also likes the wolf demon. He likes so much, but not him.
Fifteen years old.
His white clothes were dyed red with blood for the first time, and his face behind him was also splashed with hot red. The heat was almost so hot that his face was about to be corroded. He watched him fall, and in the end, even he himself knew nothing.
Twenty years old.
He finally understood why he always loved chasing his figure, but was abandoned at the moment of understanding. Although he did not feel that he had abandoned him, he only said that this place was more suitable for him. He asked, will you come to see me? He looked like it was natural, of course he would.
Thirty-four years old.
When he was dying, he was in the arms of the man in white. He listened to him humming those songs and asked him in a low voice what love was.