The story keeps happening and never stops. And many stories are often inseparable from the word love in the end. The power of these two words is often inescapable. It can break a hole in even the most inexperienced wood. But if you think that the story only cares about the mortal world, you are totally wrong. The story does not choose a time or place. It often tells you at the end where you are and where you are going. The story I want to tell today is the same.
There is a deserted valley at the junction of the worlds of monsters, gods, and humans. The flowers, plants, insects and beasts in it have sought the essence of the sun and the moon and become mountain spirits and wild monsters. This mountain spirit wild monster became energetic and began to smell like the world of mortals. The various causes and conditions that occur in this seemingly simple life, without being aware of them, allow us to see what the splendor of early spring is. From them, we can vaguely see the arrogance of youth, which is the joy flying in the eyebrows, joy is like a burning flower, wishing that the whole world would know, the bizarre longing for life, blooming as bright as glass. Even the saddest experiences are nothing more than wandering stories. When you are hungry, you drink them with wine, and they evaporate into water vapor. But the love at that time was like a glimmer of light in life, so it was as warm as before no matter when, even if the mountains were covered by heavy snow, the smile was buried in the snow, and I was so happy that I gave up. The story I want to tell is about love, growth, wandering, and abandonment.