When I died, Sumanman was being confessed to by a rich second generation in the street. I can't say which one is redder, the rose or the blood slowly flowing out from under me. I stayed with her for a full year after her death. Watch her cry, watch her laugh, watch her hang out with different men. It wasn't until that day that I discovered that she, who was originally weak and prone to crying, was even more exaggerated when she became crazy.
