Fish swim through the vast sea, birds return to the boundless sky, and the martial world is swept by many a storm.
Who lingers beneath the flowers, glancing back through the snow, sweeping a sleeve as the sun and moon turn and wither the grass along the road? Who rides across icy rivers, buys wine at a roadside stall at dusk, and sends a sword's starlight chasing the wild geese across the heavens? Death can be understood, but the heart is the hardest trial. The world is cold and fickle, yet a true hero's spirit stands unbowed!
In the deep woods, the flower tomb lies silent. The east wind blows for a thousand miles, stirring fragrant souls as before.
Where swords are buried in the wilderness, ten years of wind and rain have erased the old tombstones.
If I cast off this name, who am I? If I cast off this body, who is me? The martial world is full of passersby, and every passerby is you or me. Even if I cannot repay the joy of a lifetime, I will still make the world my song!
