Not the Best in the World, But I Don't Fold Under Pressure

The jianghu has never grown old; it has only changed hands.

Here you'll find

Sword tips washed in moonlight, vows sealed by clashing wine jars.

Three inches of snow on the eaves, ten thousand miles of wind in a sleeve.

A blade dulled by twenty years of waiting, a lifetime of grudges and gratitude burned away in the time it takes an incense stick to finish burning.

When every legend has been told,

there will always be an unsheathed sword waiting for you.

The moment you open the first page is the first step into the jianghu.