In the third year of Zhenguan, on the sixth day of March, the wind was blowing in the west city of Chang'an. The wind was like crazy, blowing the broken signs over and over. Those people in ragged clothes on the street huddled together like frightened hedgehogs when the wind blew them.
At the corner of the street, there was a man sitting against the broken wall like a curved hook. His hair was as messed up as a haystack. However, his eyes were bright. Although they were covered by rags, they were still quietly looking at everything around him.
