He let go of his hand and looked at me seriously. After a moment, he picked up my hand again and put it on his chest, and said as if he was swearing: "I have a broad agreement between life and death. I will tell you that I will be with you. Hold my hand and grow old together with you."
Blood overflowed from the corner of his mouth. He blinked his eyes, raised his scarred left hand with difficulty and gently brushed my face. His red lips parted slightly: "Xian'er, if..."
After thousands of generations of following, can I pay off in this life?
Where will the thoughts of a thousand generations flow to in the end?
Only left
Who is lovesick for?
Why does deep love arise?
I asked you when you will return,
The dream is nowhere to be found
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