Heroes of the age come from our generation; once we enter the world of rivers and lakes, the years fly by. We talk of grand ambitions and hegemony with laughter, yet life is no more than a drunken dream. Blade in hand, astride my horse, I sweep through a storm of ghosts; bones pile like mountains, and birds take fright. The mortal world is a tide, and people are like water. I can only wonder how many who enter the martial world ever return.
