There is a kind of person who has come close to the realm of the gods, because he has no feelings.
There is a kind of swordsmanship that no one can witness, because everyone who ever saw it is now in the grave.
There is a kind of loneliness that cannot be described, because it comes from the depths of the soul.
“Ximen Chuixue has at least one thing no one else can imitate.”
“His sword?”
“Not his sword. His loneliness.”
The loneliness of icy snow on distant mountains, the loneliness of a shooting star in a winter night: only someone who truly understands this loneliness and willingly endures it can reach the realm Ximen Chuixue has attained.
