He is always only in the dark corner, conveying the most obscure love.
The candle was burning brightly, and only a string of wax oil could be heard among the sparse sounds, but the small sound made her tremble in shock because of the sound in the silent room. She clutched the white jade knife tightly, her eyes were colder than the blade, and the man lying on the couch stretched out his hand to remove her knife heavily.
This is the thirteenth year of Yan'an, the eve of the Shangyuan Festival.
It had snowed heavily during the day, and there was a thick layer of snow on the ground.
His eyes were very serious: "The future of me and you depends on the blade in your hand, and there is no room for any mistakes."
She held the jade blade a little heavier in her hand. She looked at the man coldly. If the sword was struck, it would end his life and end this absurd and unnecessary life. He closed his eyes and lay quietly beside her: "It's been ten years. I should have suffered enough."
"I must seize power." He paused and softened his voice.
For a moment, his voice became empty and sad again: "Kill me? You can't."
"We have the best future."
The best future? What does that look like?
That night, the wind was as cold as snow.
Intention: Everyone has to leave. This is the price of meeting and the price of reunion.