There were always some things that could not be done even with all one's strength.
For example, she loved him, but he loved another her, and the other her loved another him, and so on.
Ya Lanzhu, Yun Hen, Zong Yue.
One by one, they encountered the grand beauty of the world, but in the end, they could only watch with bated breath, unable to do anything to hold them back.
The cinnabar in their hearts was sharpened daily, but in the end, it could only quietly condense into a ray of moonlight.
Distant, cold, and imprinted in their hearts.
In their hearts. So deeply imprinted, so deeply loved, so deeply hurt.
She wanted to reach out to hold it. Ya Lanzhu reached out, only to hear a huge echo of fate, one sound after another, all empty.
Who was Ya Lanzhu? Fufeng was a noble little princess, a bright and beautiful young lady, a girl from 12 to 17 years old, who chased her love all over the world.
She thought that one day, such a pursuit would be exchanged for a glance from that person. However, who could guess the direction of fate? Who could say for sure?
That woman, the woman he had fallen in love with, even dazzled her.
He saw Meng Fuyao, and from now on, he might never be able to see her again.
But she said that she wanted to be an upright and honorable person, worthy of him.
She said that she would never be Meng Fuyao and Feng Jingfan.
Not the twisted and crazy Feng Jingfan, not the AI Meng Fuyao.
If she wanted to be, she would be the one and only Ya Lanzhu in the world.
Those pursuits and sacrifices were all for Ya Lanzhu's sake. One day, she would be tired, so tired that she could no longer support that kind of pursuit. She knew that. In that case, she would not regret not doing her best in the future. That was probably the last thing she could do for herself.
The waves rushed, and the waves flowed.
Whose wait was the first old age of their life?
Lonely? In the end, who wasn't lonely? Those who couldn't be replaced by anyone were called alone.
Yun Hen, who was alone and had eyes that shone like sparks, was cold and clear.
Yun Hen, the young man who had been abandoned and struggled out of the underground.
He was shocked when he saw that woman. He was moved so easily.
Was it fate that had arranged such a chance encounter in the unseen world?
Perhaps it was fate. A glimpse was the most beautiful scene in one's life, yet it could not stay for eternity.
Soberly and painfully, he saw the distance between them. But he was still grateful to the heavens, still rejoicing that he was qualified to stand with her.
He helped her, protected her, and even held her hand as they walked down the stage.
He had done everything he could for her. Since that's the case, I'll take advantage of the fact that I can still get away and finish the cold fragrant wine in her hand and bid my farewells.
The green hills never grow old, and the clear water is carefree. In this mortal world, how many people can be perfect? It was better to leave when she could still say goodbye with a smile. Perhaps it was worth comforting to know that in her heart, the place called friend, no matter how much time passed, would always have his mark …
He was a person who had struggled out of the vortex of fate, but he was not the only one who had struggled.
Zong Yue, Zong Yue.
Just by listening to the name, one could tell that it was a clear stream flowing on the peak of a towering mountain. The sound of it crashing against the mountain rocks was cold and clear.
Zong Yue, Zong Yue.
In the dark night, there was a faint scent of rosemary.
It was clean and light, but it was able to endure the darkness and bloodiness, as well as the burning flames.
Perhaps this was how he had endured for the past many years. Perhaps this was how he had to endure for many years to come.
To live, he had to be cold-blooded and merciless. He had to know how to protect himself in the most unfavorable situation.
Meng Fuyao was an accident in his meticulous plan. At first, it was probably because of that pair of similar eyes, but at some point, he had fallen in love with her.
He had fallen in love with her, treated her wounds, planned for her, and bent his knees for her. Gradually, he had lost himself.
He knew that she was so beautiful and good. But he still endured and restrained himself from approaching her.
If there was a glimmer in the pitch-black darkness, what kind of temptation and attraction would it be? Moreover, Meng Fuyao was not just a glimmer. She was the purest light itself.
When darkness yearned for light, when an assassin who hated the blood on his hands but had no choice but to survive in the midst of killing met Meng Fuyao, when he fell in love with the radiant lady who was the polar opposite of his darkness, was that his life's fortune or misfortune?
Perhaps he knew that it was destined to never belong to him.
Perhaps Zhangsun Wuji's frustration lay in the fact that even if it was him, even if she had wavered because of him, she was ultimately unwilling to stay for anyone. As for Zong Yue, Zhan Beiye, and Yun Hen, their sorrow lay in the fact that the lady in their hearts had never wavered because of them.
How generous was the heavens, yet how stingy was it? They had bestowed upon them the fortune of meeting, yet they were unwilling to give more …
It turned out that this was the extent of one's fortune in life. The rest, such as admiring the moon in the water and admiring the flowers in the fog, was but an extravagant dream.
Since she would always break through the darkness, why couldn't it be him?
Even if it was just a moment more, it would be good to spend time with that person. A little more, a little more, memories of that person that could be remembered for a lifetime. With those memories, the future that was destined to be without that person would probably be easier to bear. In that case, a long, long time later, when he was very, very old, he would think of those times. At least there would be evidence of his existence, and he would be able to gently smile amidst the snow-like loneliness that enveloped him.
Thousands of rivers and mountains.
There was a saying: "As long as you are in my heart, I will never lose you."
— — This was the dividing line of routine division — —
I had always felt that under Longan's pen, it was a tearful and smiling life. It was like looking at the vast and dark world through the faint halo of the luminous pearl, a little bit of warmth amidst the sorrow and sorrow — —
Transparent, clear, piercingly cold, and cold.
But she herself said that she wrote the most vulgar story. But I always remembered that in Jin Yong's' The Legend of the Condor Heroes', there was this sentence: "A true culinary expert, the more ordinary the dishes, the more magical they can be. This principle is the same as martial arts, to be able to reveal the magical in the ordinary, then they can be said to be the skills of a great craftsman."
In my eyes, Longan's writing was exactly like that. She said it was melodramatic, but no matter what, I just felt that it was beautiful. I felt that even if it was just an ordinary story, under her pen, it would give birth to spirituality and have the magical power to move people's hearts. And not everyone has such an ability.
So, Longan, if you say it is vulgar, then so be it. Here, in the virtual world and in front of the small screen that emitted a faint light, in the eyes of so many people, it was just a story written by your pen.
There can only be a story. Perhaps there is no way to obtain the deeper meaning that they hoped for, but there will definitely be a moment when the surrounding background temporarily fades away. There will not be the cold and sinister things of the world, only your story will remain — — the story will carry the vulgar warmth of the mundane world, stripping away the cruelty and desolation. Even if it is only for a short period of time, but I believe, there are many people willing, willing, willing, willing, willing, in the story, in the rare vulgar moment of warmth in the inverted ten zhang of soft red, without waking up.
That is enough, isn't it?
For this moment, it is already worthy for those who smile in their hearts, to remember it for the rest of their lives.
— — This was the dividing line of seriousness — —
Longan, let's discuss, can you give me that coin … … It's really, messy in the wind … …
Inside the cow, otherwise I will slap the ground, I understand … …
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