Eight thousand miles of mountains and rivers, a land of human misery; countless commoners driven from their homes.
A six-hundred-year dynasty falls, and emperors and ministers alike end as bones.
A peasant in rags, a young lord in fine clothes riding a spirited steed.
A soldier who charges into battle and dies, a border guard clad in armor and bearing arms.
Tell me, whose is this world of the martial arts? And whose should all under heaven be?
In white robes and blue-green gowns, sword in hand, they roam to the ends of the earth. Once they’ve made their names, they look back and remember their youth.
Lift a jug of wine and tell the old tales of the martial world.
Don’t put down your blade. General, why would you kneel and bow your head?
Very good. Come on.