The morning sun rose, Xie Tian held Shen Ji's little hand, standing among the flowers and grasses, looking back at Beauty Lake.
"What a beautiful sunrise." Shen Ji leaned on Xie Tian's shoulder, saying innocently, "Brother Xie Tian, Father often tells Ji'er you are the sunrise."
The rising sun is indeed beautiful, full of vitality and promising, yet it's not as good as the ten suns in my heart, Xie Tian thought, his blood-red eyes shifting, looking at the flowers and grasses around.
Countless flowers and grasses, not spiritual entities, ordinary as they are, should complete their cycle of life and death in obscurity, yet now they are blooming with dazzling brilliance.
What endows the ordinary with brilliance is not the sunrise Shen Ji speaks of, but the equally ordinary dew.
And every drop of dew, in Xie Tian's blood-red eyes, seemed to become Beauty Lake, yet it was entirely different from Beauty Lake.
Beauty Lake is tranquil.
Beauty Lake is serene.
