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With that stab, he filled his sleeves with wind and snow. The colder it became, the more beautiful it became. That smile, like rust on a sharp edge, gradually becomes familiar and becomes old. On that day, he said his last words of farewell, and the beautiful lady on the road slowly became drunk. He said that no matter whether he is a prodigal or a prince in this life, he only wants to discuss swords while drunk and break flowers when awake. Holding flowers and wine, it turns out that people in the world are mad.