That year, he hugged his cinnabar mole and turned around and left without looking back. He didn't even look at her. She was originally the white moonlight he held in his hand, but he forgot her because of his cinnabar mole. She fell into the sea of flowers, smiled with relief, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye, and died in the year that made her feel unworthy.
Intent: A regret of the author