He saw through things too clearly.
So clearly that he understood all things would come to an end, and thus simply drifted through life.
So clearly that he saw all things as meaningless, and thus regarded every beauty and pursuit with indifference.
So clearly that he knew all attachments were a sea of suffering, and thus sealed off his heart, refusing all stirrings of emotion.
This clarity helped him escape countless worldly pains, but it also left him forever unable to taste life's sweetness.
He had lived far too long.
So long that he watched all living beings weep over trivial matters, rejoice over trivial matters, and give their all over trivial matters.
Only one cold question remained in his heart: Was it really necessary?
Yet everything in this world had its worth.
For those who wept, the pain in that moment was utterly real.
For those who laughed, the joy in that moment came from the depths of their hearts.
For those who struggled with all their might, their lifespans were brief and they had only one life to live, so naturally they poured everything into it.
He stood above the river of time, looking down upon all living beings, mocking mankind's foolishness and obsession. Yet ordinary people were confined within their small worlds, unaware of the vast mountains and rivers, unaware of the endless years. They cherished only every little thing before their eyes. Their tears were real, their hot blood burned fiercely, and their happiness was pure.
Though all beauty was fleeting, it was never false. Did beauty that could not last forever have to be worthless?
He asked himself this again and again.
Flowers bloomed for only one season—did that mean they were not worth blooming in wild splendor?
Summer cicadas sang for only one summer—did