Someone comes under the moon, just for you.
Someone comes wielding a sharp blade, also just for you.
The difference between the two is, the former is love, the latter is hate.
In the streets of C City at four in the morning, sanitation workers are cleaning and sweeping, and people hurried to catch the early flight are already dragging their luggage to the airport.
In the same city, some hurry on their way, while others are still in dreamland.
In this world, everyone has their own obscure, hard-to-understand story, like the clouds at sunset entering the night, silent yet tumultuous.
One hundred people have one hundred stories.
If there is someone they love, then one hundred people have two hundred stories.
At this moment, talking about distinguishing inside and outside the district bureau or about empathy is merely an excuse.
At this juncture between midnight and dawn, if it were summer, the sky would surely be exceedingly beautiful.
