Canju

The hatred of the previous generation and the resentment of the next generation will never end. Twenty years of blood debt, butterflies flying in the chrysanthemum sea, a tragedy; all in vain. After all, it is a struggle that cannot be escaped. The blood-stained rivers and lakes, cherry blossoms died, and heavy snow fell. Who is the passer-by in whose life, and who is the wheel of whose life? The love that seemed to have been blurred for a long time is still falling in this corrupt era... (Some people will always be engraved in life, even if we forget his voice, his smile, and his face, But every time I think of him, that feeling will never change. )