Long Night Home

When I was three years old, I heard a voice. He said he was my brother and would always be with me. Everyone said I was crazy. The doctor said it was an illusion. My classmates threw stones at me and called me a monster. The only girl who could sense him was forced to write a note - "There is no brother at all. Stop being crazy." For twenty-seven years, I have become accustomed to being silent in front of others and used to being treated as an alien. As long as you call out "brother" in a breathy voice in bed late at night, the birthmark on your palm will become hot. Like someone gently holding my hand. Later, I came to another world. They say my sword is stable and my cultivation is extraordinary. No one knows that I have only one reason for holding a sword. No one knows that the voice that has been with me for more than 20 years will completely disappear one day. I practiced, became a disciple, held the sword, and became stronger. Not for immortality, not for reaching the top. I just wanted to hear one more word from him. A sentence that no one has believed since he was three years old. They spent more than twenty years proving that I was crazy. I have spent my whole life proving that I am not crazy.