I thought, if I really guessed wrong, I can wait for you. Ten years, or even tens of years. If you became immortal, then even hundreds, or even thousands of years I would wait. The world of the living is good. Wanning, I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me.

Mo Ran wasn't angry. What was the derision of others to him? He was only grateful this unfitting cloak could protect him from wind and rain, give him gentleness. He wore it, and when it snowed, the snow didn't fall on him. Late at night, the darkness wouldn't enter his heart.

If you don’t know to save others, how will you save yourself?

It wasn’t that he didn’t care for those around him, only that he did it quietly. But such quietude, without anyone to see or notice, day after day, was also a kind of torment.

Madam Wang and Xue Zhengyong returned to their former homes together.

“So ugly.”

He said, “If you don’t know to save others, how will you save yourself?” His body was like a statue of clay in a Buddhist shrine, immobilized by the worship.

Good night, Mo Ran. The night is long, but I will stay with you. May you have a good dream, a fire, and a light. And a home.

He ran away for so long. Now he couldn’t speak. He feels he is a sinner standing on the platform to die. He kneels on the ground and sees the shadow of the executioner’s knife. When does he drop dead? When does his head fall to the ground?

“He knelt on the ground and looked at me. I suddenly felt that when the Buddha was forgiving those mortals who hurt him, wasn’t that kind of gaze?” “He is pitying his executioner, the creature under the knife, the bloody butcher.”

“I hate you, Chu Wanning. I really hate you so much.” His voice was a little hoarse. “But you’re all I have left.”

He paused for a moment, and seemed to be examining the expression on Mo Ran’s face with great interest. Then, with a satisfied smile, he said, “Mo-zongshi, it’s time to lower your head. You have to admit your mistake.” Keep your head down. Plead guilty.