I don't know what kind of feelings I will have for that half-demon, and there is no news from my father. Looking at Aunt Ulan, who was gradually losing her vitality, I no longer had any illusions about my father's return, but instead developed an irresolvable hatred for him. It was he who made this woman who was once as gentle as water and as pure as snow struggle in loneliness here. The mother who once dared to love, hate, and forthrightly became a resentful woman locked in the cold palace. I don't know who else I hate, maybe myself. I watched helplessly as this woman who once gave me warmth and hug died in despair.
Conception: