"Good man..."
He repeated the name, thinking of the girl's smile, her last happy look back... and the harp in her mouth.
It was as if a white daisy bloomed on her body, and her slender body grew upward, growing countless flowers and leaves. The slender white petals and the overlapping golden stamens gently collided, like the whispers of living creatures, or the echoes of laughter. She looked back at him, and the whole white daisy bloomed towards him, and the dead buds underneath grew, absorbing the last bit of air at the tip of the pen.
At this time, Su Mingan said: "...but if you feel pain, then change her fate."
When Si Que heard this "self-talk", he was confused that he would say such words, but he still did not put pen to paper.
Once changed...she will become a mediocre passerby.
Or maybe he had a reason that he couldn't change. He needed... this girl's existence for a greater goal.
He put down his quill and looked at the tragedy, seeming to laugh at himself.
Then, Su Ming'an heard the most powerful creator of Luovasa pick up a harp and sing in the flickering light of a kerosene lamp.
Paper airplanes and paper flowers were scattered all over the ground, like white daisies in full bloom.
…
"Daisies sway in the spring breeze," the young man said in a deep voice, with clear strings:
"[In the green fields, alone and uninhibited,]"
"[Floating in the blue sky, a wingless bird, with a light body, flying freely.]"
"【Unfettered, unfettered. The pages are feathers, the words are songs.】"
“【Fly over the mountains, cross the oceans. Wander freely in the poems, write in ink, and create a gallery of poems and paintings.】”
"[O wingless bird, oh bird, what wings do you have, and to which heaven are you flying...]"
…
O wingless bird, oh bird,
What are your wings?
Which heaven are you flying to?
What made that heaven?
Suffering, tragedy—or a glorious death?
I sing of tragedy and death, write of sorrow,
Waiting for the glory of destiny, or that moment of delusion.
Just create, don't pay attention to the role,
We should only give it a soul, but not sympathize with its demise.
We should only wait for its ultimate glory to be revealed, and not feel sorry for its demise.
O wingless bird, oh bird,
What are your wings?
Which heaven are you flying to?
Will heaven be,
The library looks like.
…
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