If you die, it will be over. You don't ask about heaven, earth, or right and wrong in the world. But what do you want me to do? If I followed you across the Naihe Bridge and drank all the Meng Po Soup, there would really be no traces of you and me in the world. A hundred years later, if someone digs it out from the loess, not even a decent burial will be found. If someone gets angry and kicks your and my bones to pieces, how can I hold you again? At that time, they are really separated. Are you willing to say goodbye to me? Do you want to? I want you to live a little longer and survive this winter at least. When the spring comes, the smiling radish in Yongchan Mountain will be ripe. I will pick it and mix it with the medicine. When you get better, we will kill him sooner or later, so as not to live up to your own life.