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I once asked my mother whether she blamed the Iron-Blooded Lord. She was one of the kindest people I knew. Yet, after the hospitality she had received from the family, even the most saintly person would have developed an unclean heart.
"I do blame him," my mother had calmly admitted.
She had said it plainly, but the words that followed had struck me as odd.
"However, I can't hate him with all my heart."
"Why?" I had asked.
"He is the clumsiest man I have ever known."
***
The human heart was like the tide, rising and falling with time. Something you were once proud of could later fill you with regret when you looked back on it. At other times, a past riddled with regrets could even feel comforting in retrospect. Unfortunately, what I had done yesterday fell squarely into the first scenario.
"Kuaaaah..."
It had been a while since I had woken up in such pain. I kicked off the blanket, but it wasn't satisfying enough. There was no sense of release.
It would be better if it was a thick winter quilt instead of this thin summer one. My mental state was so poor that I entertained such useless thoughts. I pressed my pillow against my burning face.
I was over thirty years old, yet I had still thrown a tantrum at my father. The embarrassment was unbearable. To be honest, what mortified me even more was the relief that followed. It was the first time I felt relieved and embarrassed at the same time, which made it difficult to sort out my true emotions.
I buried my face deeper into the pillow and tried to pull myself together.
The water is spilled. The wagon has already passed. The arrow...
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