Tell me, will that rose bloom? In the West, roses are a symbol of love. It blooms enthusiastically and bravely, it dares to bloom with all its splendor, and it dares to speak of all the sufferings. Obsession is painful, parting from love is painful, not wanting is painful, all living beings suffer, and I am not exempt from the world. Let me carry the pain of my life and swim to the other side. I am willing to sacrifice my broken body and let my soul be annihilated together with the stars, leaving only my snow-white skeleton - the skeleton with gold flowing between the bones. I stick to this corner of the prison, and I draw the ground as a prison. My dear, let me hold that red rose that never blooms for you in Nanke County.
Intention: Silent pain, throbbing sorrow