On that midsummer sunset, she turned around lightly and raised her eyes slightly to look at him dressed in black on horseback, the number one killer of Chunhua;
On that midsummer moonlit night, he lazily leaned against a tree trunk and looked at the man in black in the blue mist, sneering. He was so weak in martial arts that he dared to snatch someone's head. When the clouds cleared, he could see his beautiful double eyes.
On that cold winter snowy night, the two of them sat on the snow-covered roof, cooking wine and admiring the moon. Half drunk and half awake, they turned around and pondered, does he still remember this? He was one of his thousands of patients.
On that moonlit night in late autumn, as he was walking in the wind, he looked back slightly, and in his narrow, indifferent and aloof eyes, he saw a pale and shocked person by the window.
He held her tightly, the dagger pierced deeply into his flesh, his heart sank a little, he was heartbroken, he could never go back, never go back.
He grabbed her shoulders and shouted with blood-red eyes, why do you want to provoke me after provoking my brother?
As he soared into the sky and fell into the abyss behind him, a plain figure quickly followed him, and he finally cut the silver thread around his waist decisively with his roar.
On that day of that year, among the green mountains and green waters, she came slowly in all white, walking along the water lines, like a white lotus in full bloom. When he felt her in his arms, he just smiled faintly and finally caught you.
In early spring, she raised her head slightly to face the sun, her white clothes fluttering, and tears fell from the corners of her eyes. It turned out that this was the truth, the truth she had been searching for so hard.
Time spins rapidly and speaks quietly, telling the myth that has been passed down for thousands of years, telling the catastrophe that has been entangled, telling the lingering three thousand silver threads, and telling the bond that goes deep into the soul. The world has gone through many vicissitudes and reincarnations, but it turns out that you and I are still the same, and everything seems to be back to the beginning. It's just those stories that could never be told even if they were told for thousands of years.
Conception: