At the beginning of autumn, the withered yellow leaves outside the window fell in the wind and fell on the shoulders of passing children. Children sang songs, and the songs floated into the window.
"The birds are gone, but the good bow is hidden. The cunning rabbit is dead, and the lackeys are cooked." The song gradually became smaller as the child's figure receded, until it disappeared.
At that time, I was extremely ill and was bedridden. I thought that if the leaves outside the window fell off, I could go see him. Thinking about it this way, I don't feel like life is getting any harder, but instead I feel vaguely looking forward to it. I had a dream about many years ago, when you and I were teenagers...
Vicious female supporting role vs. Gentle general
Intention: How to survive in ancient times