Eleven Embers of Lonely Grave Snow

The old man with white hair and broken body sat alone in the snow-covered cemetery, his wheelchair rolled over 11 tombstones, and the wine gourd rang in the wind. He stroked the sword mark on the wordless tablet, and his hoarse voice mixed with the wind and snow: "If I hadn't entered that inn that year..." The memory rolled back like a tide, pulling back the time to the cold night forty years ago.