The heroes of the past are remembered in our hearts. I will start writing after "New Game" is finished. The world is not black and white. There is a kind of person who walks in the gray area between black and white. They hide in the black, looking forward to the warm spring in their hearts. They yearn for the light so much, but they can only hide in the black and never have the chance to be illuminated. Thousands of sails have passed, things have changed a thousand times, and the old friend has been buried. Only the weeds on the grave smiled lonely and bitterly in the wind. The names on the tombstones have long been peeled off by the years, leaving no traces of mottled holes. The wind is howling and the valley is constantly humming, but only the blood is still roaring through the air!