Her name is Ai Kefei. Her world is made up of cold fragments and cold gears.
Under this foreign sky, all the light and heat seem distant and hazy. She is like a wisp of wind, shuttling between the broken ice jade and the mechanical steel. Her growth is a lonely journey, like a feather blown away by the wind, helpless, but persistently looking for a home.
The fragments of ice jade are as cold as the heart, frozen in the cracks of time by the years, and there are silent stories hidden in them. She picked up these stories and slowly pieced them together into the picture of her life. Broken and complete, in her eyes become blurred, as if love and pain are inseparable.
Gears are her companions and another part of her body. Those precise mechanical parts keep turning, and the sound of the machinery is like a faint call from her heart. In the cold, she tried to find a trace of warmth, a trace of the afterglow of life.
Upgrading and breaking through, each step is not a simple accumulation of numbers, but a constant test of the boundaries of self. Levels from 20 to 90 are like the road from night to dawn. Although difficult, it is full of expectations and fears.
Her weapon is a pure musical instrument – the Fragrance Player. The condensation of pure holy dew is like the most fragile light in her soul. Those polluted water drops, one spoonful and one drop, carry her pain and struggle.
The Cang Jing Snail, with the sound of the sea, is like a call from afar. In the cold world, she looks forward to hearing the singing of the waves one day and feeling the real breath of life.
She flipped through the chapter of “Justice” in the talent book. It was the light deep in her heart and the balance and order she tried to grasp. The eroded spiritual resonance is a symbol of nightmares and a challenge she must face.
Between countless falls and climbs, Ai Kefei gradually realized that the meaning of growth is not to be strong, but to learn to be soft and still love in the cold world.
She weaves her loneliness and tenderness with ice and gears, like a silent poem, humming in the wind.