Baihe practiced writing and wrote nonsense. She was in awe of ghosts and gods.
The year after my death, my mother sold the apartment where I lived.
We, the voluntary short-lived ghosts like us who committed suicide, have not yet reached the end of our Yang life, cannot see the ten palaces of Yama, cannot enter the six realms of reincarnation, and wander in the world until the end of our lifespan, and then the Lord of Hell will recruit me.
Cute, innocent, and pure, she has everything beautiful in this world. She is like a piece of honey, sweet to my rotten and pale soul, but no matter how sweet I am, I can only taste it briefly, and it is even more sour and bitter.
Short imagination stories he
Intention: None
