I know you often like to nibble on the hem of your clothes and daydream about certain things, so I think you'll find this letter soon.
Run away, run as far away as possible. The world is vast. Go to any remote corner, survive there, experience real life, and live a simple and ordinary life. That might not be such a bad thing as happiness.
I am your adoptive mother, and I watched you grow up.
When you come back from a mission and sit under the twig playing with ants, when you look up blankly at the leaves in the sunlight, when you close your eyes and fall into a quiet sleep, when you twist your black hair into little curls and wrap them around your fingertips, your mother is watching you.
You might wonder why I'm always so cold to you, causing you a lot of trouble in your simple emotional life. I've never responded when you call me "Mom".
But you prefer being in the yard.
I often sit on the veranda, watering the unlovable bonsai.
That was so I could see you.
The world isn't what you think it is, nor is it what your family describes. You should experience it for yourself; otherwise, you've lived in vain. My life has become a tragedy, and I only realized it in middle age, but by then, I had lost the chance to struggle.
I often find myself torn. On one hand, I am grateful for your presence and companionship, but on the other hand, I am saddened that you will repeat my tragic fate. As a mother, I am unwilling to make a selfish decision.
I remember eight years ago, after you finished your first mission, your hands were stained with blood. You were rubbing your hands hard with a soapberry in the yard. I knew then that you hated this kind of life from the bottom of your heart, but you just didn't want to say it.
I replaced the poison in the omeprazole bottle with a real gastroenteritis capsule, so you won't die even if you bite into it.
I haven't done anything for you, yet you still treat me like your own mother. The fault lies not with you or me, but with this world that distinguishes between right and wrong, only black and white.
Daughter, by the time you read this letter, I will already be dead.
Don't be afraid, try to live on.
The cypress trees in the courtyard will still be lush and green next year. Remember to come back and visit when you're old, and experience this bizarre and wonderful world before the end of your life.
Don't be afraid.
--Arbor Wuxiang will stay on December 12th. "
Inside the room, September, after reading the entire letter, shed tears for the first time in her life; her invincibility had vanished.
Gu Qingwan folded the blood-soaked paper and placed it on the ground.
She didn't speak, but gave the other person a deep look.
Then only seventeen-year-old September remained in the room, and the girl needed a good cry.
It made the whole world cry until it fainted.
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