"Just call you Bai Chuan. This is the name I gave you."
"You will know one day, Baichuan." The man finally spoke, his calm voice like a windless lake in the mountains, like the clearest and smoothest mirror, like a dead pool that will never be touched by anyone.
"Farewell here." The voice in the fire was hoarse and blurred. "I'm waiting for you to protect me next time."
Awakening the bright moon one day, it shines on my cup full of ice and snow, and the mighty rivers flow.
Intention: Even if we write about the collision and sparks of materialism and idealism, our thoughts will always be correct