Flower, Butterfly, Sword

It rains heavily in March in the south of the Yangtze River, and it rains one after another to offer sacrifices to the souls of the dead. The tragic death of his friend set him on the road to revenge. The dying request asked him to find out the long-lasting secret. The past is like smoke, long gone. When he was young, his temples were already gray. After decades of ups and downs, he has seen a lot of blood, killed a lot of people, and forgotten a lot of things. What he forgot was not only pleasure and lamentation, but also the dangers and calculations of the world. Now, all he has left is a sword. In Huazhong, a deserted suburb, one person is alone. The numb person held up a glass of sake, but his numb heart was trembling inexplicably. He forgot everything, but he could not forget that day, that moment, that person, that face. He remembered that man's smile very clearly, and it clearly hurt his heart. He seemed to see the man's red lips slightly opening, but he couldn't hear clearly. He tried desperately to hear but couldn't. He tried desperately to catch it but failed to catch it. He sighed. He spent his entire life tasting all the beauties in the world, but all he saw was black and white. Only that moment, the moment with her, was incomparably gorgeous. He suddenly smiled. After drinking all the wine, he left. Outside the wilderness, a person was watching him silently, waiting for him. He took the man's hand and walked slowly into the fiery sunset.