A calm pain is better than a hypocritical one. He firmly believes in it, so he will not escape. He made a mistake and did not repent, so he has to accept punishment. For him, such punishment is not pain, but atonement. All suffering in this world is atonement for the original sin that is born, and he has to pay it back for his whole life.

It was dawn, and Aya woke up from her sleep. She covered her with a blanket. The bonfire around her was lit. There was still a faint flame swaying in the wind, and the traveler had already left.

Aya held the blanket, picked up the book, and hurried to the tribe. The rocks and thorns along the way made her unable to run too fast, and she accidentally fell to the ground.

She didn't bother to take care of herself and picked up the "Classic" and found that a piece of paper fell off the page.

She picked up the paper and turned it over. It was a hand-painted portrait, with a young and handsome man smiling at her.

There is a name in the corner, which should be the name of the person in the portrait. It is very simple. She can read it easily if she doesn't know much literacy. She chanted it gently: "Qi Leren."

It was obviously just an ordinary name, but the lingering brushstrokes on the portrait made her voice softer unconsciously. She wanted to take a closer look and feel the overflowing tenderness, but a strong wind from the Gobi Desert blew, violently and quickly, and unexpectedly took the portrait from her hands and blew towards the clear sky above the vast yellow sand.

The sand was flying in the wind, fascinating Aya's eyes. She waved her arms in a panic, but could only grab the yellow sand all over her hands. When she opened her eyes that were covered with tears again, the portrait had been brought to the sky by the wind, floating, rootless, and was about to disappear from the sky.

Aya chased it without thinking, racing against the wind, a great sadness filled her heart, and a voice inside made her run, run, run, run... She ran away and lost her shoes, stepped on the gravel, and blood flowed, but this physical pain could not overshadow the sadness in her heart. She still dared not stop. She wanted to grab the thing she was about to lose - until she was tripped by the thorns and fell heavily on the ground.

She fell so much that she fell to her knees and cried. Her feet had already been cut and bloody, her knees were broken and bleeding, and even her hands were covered with scars. She retreated and wanted to give up, but she raised her head unwillingly and looked into the distance.

The wind blew again, and gusts of strong winds sent the thin piece of paper to the unknown distance. Such a large sea of ​​sand and so small pieces of paper were nowhere to be found in the blink of an eye, only the vast yellow sand and blue sky, the ancient and ancient times.

Who is the person in that portrait? Aya never knows it anymore.

It is destined to be unknowable, unrecognizable, unreachable.

And how can the emotions carried on the weak paper resist the ruthless wind and sand in the desert?

It will eventually be destroyed, buried, forgotten.

Aya knelt in a daze under the scorching sun, with mottled blood behind her, indicating her almost crazy efforts for a story without answers. Tears kept flowing down her eyes, which were fascinated by the wind and sand, but she couldn't rush away the hard sand in her soft eyes. It seemed that something sharp was stammering in her heart, so sharp and so painful, but she didn't know what it was.

She knows nothing.

Sadness and melancholy suddenly surged into the girl's heart. She burst into tears in this desolate land, for a stranger who didn't know the name, for a stranger who only knew the name.
Chapter completed!