Snow in the Mortal World.
Falling upon his head.
Su Ming'an opened his eyes wide, his throat choked with sorrow.
That person's gaze was indifferent, but paused upon seeing him.
"...Wensheng?" the person spoke.
Su Ming'an heard this name. Perhaps the farewell of death is always the most ingrained, even knowing the sight in front might be wrong, he still walked forward.
"Godfather?" As he spoke, he realized his voice was terrifyingly hoarse.
Having long been accustomed to parting and loss, he always recalled those people, those events, those names engraved in his heart. He lived like a silent and solemn tombstone, cautiously gathering memories little by little, reminiscing endlessly.
There were too many names, sometimes he would forget a bit, but he forced himself to recall those traumatic scenes again and again to remember them.
