I laugh up at the sky and stride out the door. How could anyone like me be a nobody?
Pour me a jug of old wine. It needn’t be fragrant or strong. The blade at my side gleams bright; it needs to be honed with blood, but not too much, and not too little. The jianghu is nothing more than a clash of human nature, a friction of blades and swords. The jianghu is the weight of the times.
