Many years later, he was leaning on the railing, with a half-pot of cold autumn wine, looking at the brightly lit mansion, and murmured to himself: "If I had known it would be today, why would we have met?" Since it was destined to be a bad fate, if it could happen again, he would rather never meet than torture and torture each other today.
In his life, he has not failed his brothers and his family, but he has failed him alone. What was originally a pure and passionate emotion has grown for the family, and is mixed with ink-like blackness. If there is an afterlife, we will never meet again.
The tree has no intention, but it has bad fate. The branches are tangled and the leaves are flying.