The wind blew in the night and the cold was biting, and there was no flame to shine, and the ice field finally showed its cruelty.

On the pitch-black ice wall, Yanagihara opened a lamp tube on his shoulder while clasping the cable with a lock.

The pale light illuminated the ice, making it seem even colder.

De Rosso coughed, slicing his brush into a bucket of paint around his waist, and then drawing the last blank space on the ice, little by little.

It should be a hill base and a few windswept grass clippings.

De Rosso's pen was slow, like his heart, which was barely beating anymore, making its last struggle.

Yanagihara could feel some paint dripping on her face, but instead of complaining, she silently raised her head.

Under the starlight and moonlight, the young man's face was flushed with a sickly red tide, as if he was returning to the light, and as if he was making the final interpretation of his own life.

He was going to fulfill his vows, he was going to burn them before he died, and he was going to leave the torch before the light was completely gone.

His chest felt like it was burning, and with a sharp pain, his throat felt like it was choked, and it was as if he couldn't breathe.

But De Rosso still waved his brush.

He knew that people needed to witness beauty because it had been too long for people to aspire to such things.

He knew that people needed to witness beauty because it once illuminated civilization.

"De Rosso." In the pale light, Yanagihara said aloud.

"I'm looking forward to your work, and so are the others. So, don't let us down. ”

The boy paused for a moment, then laughed.

That smile was so bright that it seemed to be melted a little on this cold night.

"Ah, I see, I'll try."

I'll try.

The boy said this, his voice so soft that it seemed to be easily drowned out by the cold wind.

But his heart began to beat heavily, forcefully and slowly.

Yanagihara could feel it, because the heart, which was attached to her back at this time, seemed to be beating her heart together, giving her the illusion of being alive again.

It is unbelievable that a person who is about to die makes her feel the throbbing and surging of life again.

The brush continues to sketch, outlining the flowers at the foot of the mountain, outlining the butterflies in the flowers, outlining the grass clippings that are scattered by the wind.

Time passed little by little, the north wind tightened and tightened, and De Rosso's hand finally became weaker.

The boy's vision began to blur, he was about to die, he knew it, and Yanagihara knew it.

But the sky is not yet dawn, and the painting is not yet finished.

At what time?

It must have been at the moment when the boy's hand was about to let go of the paintbrush, Yanagihara reached out and grabbed the back of his hand.

In the boy's gloomy but surprised gaze, Yanagihara drew the rest of his works for him without saying a word.

The cold palm seemed to have a temperature, under the scorching of the "flame".

"You can trust me." In the dark, Yanagihara said.

"After all, every story deserves a good ending, doesn't it?"

There will be no regrets in your story.

"Ms. Hara'······" De Rosso lay on Yanagihara's back, came back to his senses after half a sound, and said with a shallow smile.

"You're so gentle."

"I'm sorry." Yanagihara's hand clenched a little tighter, and there was a slight gloom in his eyes as he looked at Bingbi.

"I'm just not cruel enough."

Just as crocodiles have tears, and wild animals lick their cubs.

Yanagihara has always been selfish and cowardly, at least as she always thought so.

She was an ugly person, Yanagihara never denied that.

But it is also because of this that she wants to achieve De Rosso's beauty.

As a person who can't be beautiful.

······

It's about to dawn.

Ten minutes ago, Yanagihara finally finished his work with De Rosso.

The two followed the cable to the snow beneath the ice wall, and Yanagihara helped Derosso to lie down beside a rock.

In this way, they looked up at the ice wall in the snow, looking up at this landscape that seemed to be real.

"It's beautiful." Yanagihara looked at it for a moment and said with certainty.

"Yes, it's beautiful." De Rosso smiled, closed his bloodless lips, and said slowly.

But then, he sighed softly.

"Unfortunately, I couldn't paint the sun on it."

This landscape has finally lost its light.

Yanagihara was silent and did not respond to De Roso's words.

It wasn't until a few breaths later that she suddenly raised her chin to the sky above the ice wall and said calmly.

"It's okay, it's coming."

Yes, here it comes.

The next moment Yanagihara's words fell, the light pierced the sky, as if it was a sharp sword, cutting through the thick darkness.

Under De Roso's gaze, the clouds seemed to be broken by a large hand, the wind and snow drifted away, and a ray of light that was extremely bright appeared in the direction of the sky.

In the silent gaze of the two, the sky seemed to be ablaze, burning up the long night.

And the ice wall, in this bright light that is about to boil, blooms its due brilliance.

The sunlight streamed through the ice, illuminating a painting that was enough to illuminate an era.

"Huh."

I don't know if it was after the silence or the shock, De Rosso laughed out loud in a trance.

"Oh my God, it's so beautiful······"

Then, the snow lost all sound.

Until Yanagihara raised his head and put his hands in his pockets.

"De Rosso."

"Huh?"

"Have a good dream."

“······”

"Hmmm······"

The boy smiled and fell asleep silently.

In the dream, De Rosso saw the red brick hut, where the old painter was lying and sleeping among the rocking chairs, enjoying a warm afternoon.

The boy remembered what the old man had said to him, and with a happy smile, raised his hand and knocked on the door.

·······

Child, I will be waiting for you in that room.

When you come, I will call the hunters and bring the dogs and go hunting with you in the mountains. If memory serves, that's what you wanted to do most when you were a kid.

When you come, I'll ask the magician to transform a rabbit into a rabbit with snow-white fur and reddish eyes.

When you come, I will take you to the city for the festivities, and if you are single, I will find the most beautiful girl and let her dance with you.

Remember, say more flattering things to her, dress up nicely, and keep your hair clean.

That way, you'll be able to make a good impression on the other person.

Don't forget, prepare a bouquet of flowers, your mother lives at 233 Rose Street, and I'll take you to her when you're ready.

Believe me, she must still love you, she will hug you, kiss you, she will cry with joy.

Then hold her tightly, wipe away her tears, and offer her flowers.

You are to say to her that you love her too, and you are to say it ten, a hundred, a thousand times, until she cries again.

You know, she's been missing you for too long.

You know, she definitely didn't mean to leave you.

······

You will live happily ever after, and you will have a beautiful ending, child.