The Sword Named Startling Swan, Peach Blossoms in My Hair

I was once the fastest swordsman in the martial world. Now I only want to be the slowest traveler. My enemies have all retired, the rankings of the top martial artists are updated every year, and I wander the mountains with a rusty sword, searching for peach blossom wine. Storytellers still sing of how my sword's chill swept across fourteen provinces, while passing youths laugh and call me a braggart. Then one day, bandits held up the road, and as a boy trembled with fear, I flicked a peach blossom branch between my fingers. Three thousand armored cavalry were sent tumbling from their horses.