Call me, life! Just as I call you, heroic! Let me go down well. Spring! That stuff! I hate intelligence clear and talkative. I hate the old hypocrite, most insidious of the young hypocrite, enters the life, huh, life, a lie what gives love! Time slips beyond repair in the honey pot. Its rich contrast, my secret developed within, flights mourners. To proceed winding streets between mountains. And here, I free. Ah, a faux pas! I want to leave.
(Xiao Kai Yu)