Though the rain falls wide, it cannot nourish grass without roots.
Though the mystic arts are vast, they cannot save those who refuse to believe.
The bond of this life, the longing left over from the last.
The love of this life, a tearful promise made in the cycle of rebirth.
By the Bridge of Helplessness, soft whispers and a silhouette fading into the distance.
Cold winds howl, fallen leaves rustle.
Listen, who is it, leaning against the bridge to speak again?
Though a thousand knots bind the heart,
that bowl remains impossible to accept, yet impossible to refuse!
The potion of forgetfulness drained, all memories of the past fall away.
Black hair turns to snow, tears flow like a river.
A broken bridge, a fading shadow, a sword ringing like a song.
On the Three Lives Stone, old vows have weathered away…
This story begins with that broken sword…
Very interesting, with a strong sense of rhythm and a compact storyline. Recommended