Quickwood didn't feel guilty, and he knew that the dean didn't intend to let him live, so he got up from the ground after the dean left.

The snowy mountain was too big, and he could only desperately follow the imprint of the dean's wheel and run outside, which was his only hope of getting out of the snowy mountain alive.

But soon, the heavy snow erased the marks on the ground, leaving only a white patch.

At the age of five, barefoot and wearing a thin single coat, he began to make his way through the snow with difficulty.

The snow fell heavier and heavier, and soon flooded his calves, thighs, and then to his stomach.

He was numb from the cold, and he was completely unconscious on his ten toes.

However, he continued to move forward step by step.

The icy cold wind was like a sharp blade, constantly cutting through him.

Every time I cut it, it was like Ling Chi.

He bit his lip and sang loudly the only song "Bright Sword" that his father taught him:

If the motherland is violated, hot-blooded men should be self-reliant.

Drink this bowl of hometown wine, and the strong man will never return.

The rolling Yellow River, the surging Yangtze River, give me life and strength.

Let the blood stain the most beautiful flowers on my breast.

The red flag flutters, the military horn sounds, the sword has been unsheathed, the thunder and lightning flash, and it has always been the narrow road where the brave wins.

Forward, forward, forward, forward......

He kept singing and singing, using all his strength, singing desperately.

At that time, he didn't know much about the meaning of this song, but he kept desperately shouting the sentence "It's always a narrow road where the brave wins,

Forward, forward, forward, forward......"

It seems that in this way, you can truly overcome the cold wind and keep yourself alive.

He couldn't remember how long he had walked, or where he had gone.

Because his eyes have always been white, except for snow or snow, except for cold and cold.

By the end, his voice was hoarse, and the word could no longer come out of his throat.

Bang————

The little one finally exhausted the last bit of strength, and then fell heavily to the ground.

Layer after layer of snowflakes drifted down, covering his little face.

The icy cold wind was like a poisonous snake spitting letters, constantly burrowing into his nose.

The heat on his body dissipated little by little.

At the age of five, he lay quietly on the ground, waiting for death to come.

What does it feel like to die?

Although more than ten years have passed, Driftwood still deeply remembers the feeling of helplessness and coldness.

The feeling that he desperately wanted to resist, desperately tried to stand up, but found himself like a fish pressed to a cutting board by a big hand.

Not to mention resisting, I don't even have the ability to move.

I could only watch as the flickering kitchen knife slashed down at his head.

Then there are the scales, the body, the back......

Then it shattered into one piece after another, piece after piece......

And because of his damn tenacious vitality, he didn't swallow the last breath in his mouth until his entire body was shattered.

Cold, dark, painful, numb, hopeless......

This is what it feels like to die.

For the past decade or so, Driftwood has been escaping this feeling.

He crumpled the painful memory into a ball, and then stuffed it into the darkest corners of his heart.

He never imagined that one day he would offer to face that feeling again.

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