Saint Assassin

There was once an old man who stood smiling in a wheat field and used the fire in his hand to set the young shoots ablaze. On a long street, beneath the night moon, a young man in black with his face covered gently tapped pebbles. A child stood on tiptoe and danced, suspended in moonlight. A scholar, drenched in sweat, stepped out of a portrait. There was a senior brother who loved to say, “Let me try.” There was a peerless beauty who often said, “Lan, as in Liuyun Lan, Nan, as in golden-thread nanmu.” A lone assassin, small and lost in the darkness, wore no mask or armor. He traced a crow on the ground in blood, then gently strung all these stories together. For no other reason than to help you stay alive…