Duan Chen often thinks of the biting winds of Jincheng,
of the bold northerners eating great mouthfuls of meat and drinking wine,
of the sheep-hide rafts drifting over the Yellow River,
of the blow Old Xu took for him,
of the blood streaming down his back.
He knows that this is the unique spirit of the jianghu in the Northwest, in Jincheng.
Dao Qingluo is a child blessed by Cangshan and Erhai.
Since childhood, she has heard the whistling sound of Cangshan snow slicing through the air beside Erhai,
the heartbeat after a saber swing,
the waves rising on Erhai,
carrying away the day’s exhaustion.
In Dao Qingluo’s eyes, there often shimmer
the sun setting over the sparkling waters of Erhai,
and the moonlight scattered across the lake, swaying with the waves.
I like Daoqingluo. I am a hodgepodge of novels and prose.