You know well that this world is full of suffering.


Dark, heavy, viscous, it has devoured everything you have since the day you could remember—time, life, substance.  
You wander through the forest, cold gnawed at your lungs, your stomach clenched into a knot. The wind punched you in the face, and you bent down, begging the boundless wilderness.  
No. You thought, eyes closed. This isn't right.  
Where did it go wrong?  
I shouldn't have bent down. Yes. I never bend because I was broken in half long ago. I never wander because I already transformed for the undead tide. I never feel cold because I ignited my heart and lungs to survive the winter. I never fear because that gall of mine was crushed long ago, spilling yellow-green pus.  
No, still not right.  
You straightened your back, your senses sharpening in the darkness.  
White wind swept through the branches; icicles hung like curtains across the sky. No sound, no scent. You took a tentative step forward, bare feet pressing into the frozen earth. Hundreds of meters below, seeds were stirring; kilometers beneath, magma was boiling. Pale blue air hung still, weaving through your nostrils and brain, gently caressing your gut. You expelled everything from your body: dinner, carrots, dead wood, wandering planets, intestines, heart, brain, stomach.
A dull ache spread through you—the world was launching its assault.  
Eyes still shut, you spread your arms. Your hollow body stood in the center of the snowy plain, your soul towering between heaven and earth.  
What should come to mind now?  
You remembered you didn’t come to this world by choice. Back then, you lay in nothingness, your body a scattering of sand. It dragged you over, severed your long limbs, wings, and tail, and threw you into a blur of flesh and blood. You waited a long time, and when you finally saw the light, you cried out loud.  
Gradually, you learned the truth of this world. It made you less resistant than before. But you remembered some hidden pain—the constant famines, wars, lovers parting, families shattering, children weeping, severed limbs discarded on railroad tracks. You remembered crouching beneath a tree as a child, watching ants. Sometimes you’d stuff a leaf into their burrow. The ants scurried busily while you stood there, lost.  
You recalled how many people had told you they loved you—a pitiful yet coveted word. Countless nights you sank into darkness, flickering starlight serving as your cradle as you dissected their love like a slow execution. Love made you willingly throw yourself into fire, leap into the deep sea. Or rather, love gave you a reason—to die, or to live.  
Then dawn broke. You opened your eyes.  
The snowy plain was blindingly white. Pale gray trees stood aimlessly throughout the forest. You scanned the world. Sunlight hid behind the hilltop, insects were about to awaken, the howling wind carried the scent of rivers, thick mist flowed slowly.  
Your cheeks were wet, like at birth, but you’d become mute.  
You wept. Your tears formed a lake. You sat in a small boat like a warrior setting out. The world was your oyster. You brandished your sword, slicing a long gash through the clouds. Others were your dragons. You weren’t sure if you’d become one of them, but for now, you would fight.  
Misfortune and disease, winter and fallen leaves, rage and death, war and farewell—they would surround your entire life. Three-quarters of your time would be spent in endless darkness. Yet you still groped your way toward creation. You ran, weeping.  
You knew well that this world was full of suffering, but still, you chose to go forth.