Seeing each other after 40,000 years is as indifferent as when we first met.
He is the god of ancient Sizhan in the Qingyuan Palace of the Thirty-Six Heavens, and she is the careless princess on the top of Changying Mountain. The gears of fate should have stayed 40,000 years ago, but he forcibly turned them. Fate? Life?
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He thought this was the end: they would respect each other as guests from now on, without any sadness or joy. But it turns out that their fate only ends here.
The cold moon reflects on the pond, and the bodhi seeds fall. He was at the place where they first met, watching her drift away, his eyebrows cold. The thirty-six-day-old sandalwood sprouted new branches, and the Ruomu beside the Fanyin Pond sprouted new leaves, but in this illusion, he could no longer see her figure. Thousands of miles of ice, thousands of miles of snow, thousands of miles of cold, you are no longer willing to grind ink for me, are you?