"No one in this world dares to remember her except me." After saying these words, Lama Rinpoche suddenly stopped being as kind as possible. He lowered his eyes and raised his hands and turned to the person in front of him silently. "She has gone, just like a floating cloud. If you insist on looking for her, please go back to the mortal world to find her."
When Bai Lian came out of the temple, the charcoal hut at the door was still burning. He unfolded the clues he had received from Lama Rinpoche, laboriously unfolding them in the faint firelight and fine snowflakes. He saw that there were only two letters written on it: v: l. Very simple words, so simple that Bai Lian almost doubted his purpose of coming here. This means "things left behind" in Tibetan, just like luggage. Every time you say "v: l", you are reminding yourself of the empty skin and the body that has lost its soul.
Bai Lian crumpled the paper into a ball and looked up at the fine mist-like snow in the west, confused and irritable. Body? Is this what the photographer named Sekine left here?
He didn't know if Sekine was sane and saw what he did a year ago, how he would judge the irresponsibility of this kind of indifferent romance.
However, maybe he was serious, Bai Lian thought, after all, introspection can still slowly bring wisdom to people. Maybe that brat really noticed that he kept falling into a repetitive pattern, and began to hope to get out of the rut.
Human beings have been preparing, preparing, preparing all their lives; they just are not prepared for the next life.
The snow in Medog was so heavy that everything stopped thinking, leaving only the adventurer's deep and shallow breathing.