(a)

Although that life has passed, I still remember the deep panic and confusion I experienced in my life as an idealist.

When I dream back at midnight, I often can't figure out who I really are: Liu Shen's queen Chen Qin'er? A former writer and businessman idealistic? Or Countess Esabelle Chen?

They all seem to be me, and they are not all of me.

I wandered day and night in the shadows of these past dreams, as if I were trapped in a huge labyrinth of super-complexity.

I know where you appear is the exit of the labyrinth.

But there is darkness all around, and I don't know when and what kind of face you will appear to illuminate my life again and save me from this vast dark night lost in the cycle of life and death.

With the greatest patience, I restrain the emptiness and helplessness in my heart and wait for you.

Encountering you again, even if it is still only a brief moment of golden wind and jade dew, that is the only strength I have to try to live.

(b)

In the life of idealism as a writer and businessman, the idealism of girlhood has become a thing of the past when she comes out of the hospital.

There is no more you in this world.

Although I didn't have you in my life until I met you at the age of 13, things are different.

Because, until then, I had some vague hope, something to wait, but now, everything is clear and over.

I suddenly couldn't find anything to do in my life.

I was confronted with an infinite void, everything lost its weight, prehistoric desolation, as if there had never been any form of life ever born.

I'm as cold and old as a rock.

Because what happened at the training ground that day was shocking and bloody, it was still talked about over and over again for quite some time.

It's this that makes me hate crowds.

I hate contact with people, I hate being noticed.

Death pollutes everything.

The innate apathy and hostility between me and the world has become a deep chasm that is difficult to repair.

I don't care about anything that happens in that world anymore.

I didn't know for a long time where you were buried, and I didn't know what happened to the driver, or what happened to the Browns, and I didn't inquire.

I don't know anything, I don't know anything, I don't want to know anything, I'm afraid to know everything.

Fear was like a wall that sealed me in, and nothing could enter.

In the previous chapters, Idealism has written a lot about these things.

(c)

Under the pressure of inner pain, my heart is like a wild horse that has escaped the reins.

I plunged headlong into the ancient world.

In my life, I especially loved to write stories about the ancient world. I really hate realistic genres.

In my life as Esabelle Chen, I have loved ancient ruins rather than modern technological wonders.

Far antiquity seems more intimate than the unmistakable reality of never having you again.

When I entered that world, I often felt the softness and warmth of my mother's embrace.

I began to read like crazy, looking for the person who died twice before my eyes in the fragments of countless fragments of history with different expressions, looking for our past, looking for the cause and effect of all this.

Who am I? Who are you? Who are we?

Why are we here? Why is it all happening?

Where are you now? How are you now?

These questions are the core of the rest of my life.

When I came back from the British Museum, I felt that total weakness again.

Life has been gained and lost again and again, but I have never been able to accompany you as a general, save you as a guide, or bury you who died in the Xiyuan Gorge.

Just like now, as Esabelle Chen, I have money, status, youth, and ability, but I still don't know how to meet you in this world.

I felt very tired.

Am I going to live alone again for a long 80 years?

No. I swear to myself that if I wait until I am 60 years old and I haven't met you, I will leave this world on my own.

I'm really tired of this never-ending cycle.

(iv)

The many pre-marital relationships and the complete failure of the marriage only exacerbated my inner tiredness and dislike.

I decided to be single from now on and never approach any man again unless it was you.

All of a sudden, I became insulated from the sexes.

I didn't deliberately suppress my desires and emotions. But the idea of getting closer to a man naturally becomes completely unprovoked, just as a plant cannot grow in a vacuum, just as a human woman never thinks of choosing a lizard to fall in love.

It's just simple, there's no way to make it happen.

I am painfully aware that although we have followed and waited for each other for so long in time, however, I have never had the privilege of being your woman.

In my life as a Jean, I couldn't even realize the idea of keeping your chastity for you.

I have remained virgin all my life, and I have waited for you to appear as a virgin—but it is also useless.

Whether I am chaste or defiled, the result is the same.

You have never touched me as my man.

Never. Never. We always pass by each other. That's always it.

I have never been able to dedicate myself to you. I can't let you get my blooming youth as a woman.

It's not so much that I'm suffering from never being able to get you, but rather that I'm more bitter about never being able to get you.

I can't let you get it, and I'm worthless.

For a long, long time, I thought so.

(5)

In this way, in the confusion of waiting and anticipation, time passed year after year.

The appearance of the amulet ignited a new hope in my heart.

I hugged this light in my heart tightly, consuming the last warmth of my life, waiting for you alone.

(f)

I am the author of Gino's Machete.

I'm also a work on Gino's scimitar.

I recount the story of my past to you who have disappeared in the future that has not yet happened.

I know you won't understand, and I know you won't believe it. However, it doesn't matter at all.

Because each of you also has the same confusion, the same confusion, the same life and death, the same joys and sorrows.

Your story is exactly the same.

The past is the same, the present is similar, and the future is similar.

It's just that you don't remember as well as I do. Because you are too concerned about the outside world, you are not observant of your own life itself, and your impression is indifferent and superficial.

You feel dizzy even for a more complicated story.

Not to mention getting out of this super labyrinth of endless confusion between life and death.

Even being in a labyrinth is difficult to perceive.

(g)

In the midst of the flow of the narrative, I often don't know who I am.

It's like you can't understand who I am at this moment.

But it's not a disease-free moan.

This is the state before the awakening, the insight into the confusion.

This is the deepest darkness before dawn.

This is a necessary state until the true self is discovered.