The Rusty Longsword

On a snowy night that year, I found a dying young man.

He had forgotten his name and past, but remembered an exquisite sword technique.

I taught him to chop wood and carry water; he taught me sword dances that scattered blossoms.

Then his enemies came for him. He took a sword meant for me, and blood stained the deserted village.

When I picked up his rust-covered longsword, I noticed seven characters carved into its hilt:

“May the sword’s spirit endure, Li Buyan.”

So he was the Sword God who had vanished thirty years ago. On a snowy night that year, I found a dying young man.

He had forgotten his name and past, but remembered an exquisite sword technique.

I taught him to chop wood and carry water; he taught me sword dances that scattered blossoms.

Then his enemies came for him. He took a sword meant for me, and blood stained the deserted village.

When I picked up his rust-covered longsword, I noticed seven characters carved into its hilt:

“May the sword’s spirit endure, Li Buyan.”

So he was the Sword God who had vanished thirty years ago.