Dead. Everyone slept.

I came to the second hall alone with a candle. I gaze at the portrait of your mother.

At that time, I did not have a portrait of you in my life, and if I wanted to see your face, I had to come to the second hall and see the portrait of your mother.

This portrait of your mother, with the fall of Zhuangji, disappeared into the flames along with your father's coffin, and was buried under the thick mudslide.

When we were living in Yantang Pass, you also thought about painting another portrait of your mother, but the original painter who painted that portrait was also turned into a corpse in the slaughter of the Beji people. And all the people in the family who have seen your mother.

You don't want to ask your uncle for a favor, you're afraid you're going to cause him grief. So, the matter was put on hold.

After leaving Yantang Pass, you went to war, and we parted ways. This portrait was finally not painted.

So, later, when I missed you very much, I could only think about your voice and smile in my heart, and even the happiness of going to the second hall alone and looking at the portrait of your mother was no longer there.

I was in the candlelight, looking at your mother's beautiful and melancholy face.

I speak to your mother in my heart. To whom can I say these words in my heart but to the portrait of my wife?

Madame, do you know that I am thinking of your son at this moment? Do you know that I miss him every night, tossing and turning, and having trouble sleeping?

You know, I admire him, I love him, I attach myself to him?

What do you think about this? Would you be happy about it? Or do you feel like I'm doing something wrong?

At this moment, I really feel the reluctance and sorrow of your death, the kind of grief that wants to take care of your son in every detail, but you can't do it, and you have to leave and never see each other.

I silently said to her in my heart, "Madame." No, Mother. The love and care you wish to give him, may I be able to give him in your place. You can continue to live through me in his life. Just like him, trying to keep my father, through him, alive in my life. ”

I have long knelt before your mother's lamp.

Loneliness, and longing, gnawed at me little by little inside.

Each life, in fact, is not alone.

This is how all life is intertwined and blended with each other. Never, alone.