Library

Stealing a drop of water from the Tianhe River dyes the pen tip with peach blossom ink. In the dimly lit place outside the sky, holding a Chinese star lamp, I watched the world go through vicissitudes of life and wrote the stories of mortals thousands of times. When I put down my pen, I still can't believe that there is no hatred in my eyes, and no old age in this world. The words are heartfelt and cover up a ten-year ambush. A lamp of separation and hatred, the soul has passed through eight thousand realms, the floating light has swept across the golden sands, and it has swept through thousands of directions, but has not left the human world.