The tide gently slaps the shadow of Lina Xita, and there is a silent loneliness in the humid air. Gamora came over, the ice spear in her hand was like an unfired arrow, silent and deep, the cold edge cut through the night, but did not hurt anyone.
Her sword and spear are the fragments of the dream, intertwined into a blurred forest, with mottled shadows of trees and swaying light and shadow. Where she walked, the wind no longer whistled, but whispered like poetry, gentle but full of power.
Jin Xi’s re-engraving is like a hazy dream, with familiar warmth, like the gradually brightening stars in the night sky. The light color of her new skin is like the petals gently brushed by the wind in the morning light, light and elegant.
Sanhua’s new clothes are the color of the night, deep and cold. She is like a lonely cat, shuttling between the shadows of the city, with countless stories hidden in her eyes, gentle but sharp.
Rococo, purple hair is like a dreamy waterfall, and heterochromatic pupils reflect two worlds. The little monsters around her are her shadows and her secrets. The power of annihilation is her language, silent and powerful, like a piece of paper falling in the wind, in which unspeakable stories flow.
Treabar recharge is like a ray of light, penetrating the mist of the tide, lighting the way home for the drifters. Fast and safe are the guarantee of warmth, making dreams no longer far away.
The Li Na Xi Tower stands quietly, the tide whispers, Camorra’s ice spear cuts through the night sky, Jin Xi’s light is gentle and bright, San Hua’s shadow is cold and mysterious, and Rococo’s dream fragments are gently scattered.
Mingchao 2.0 is a poem without an ending, a journey of dreams. The tide speaks in my ears, the fragments of dreams melt in my palms, and we continue to move forward in this surging night.