At the end of the west alley in the deserted city, a young man was sitting under a broken wall. There were several empty wine jars scattered around his feet, and he was holding a broken sword that was extremely rusty in his arms, as if he was holding some great treasure.
He was wearing an old robe that had been washed so that the original color could not be seen. The raw edges of the sleeves were rolled up, and a faded black cloth belt was tied around his waist, which was loose.
The afternoon sun slanted across his face. His facial features are very good, his eyebrows are high and the ends of his eyes are slightly raised, with a bit of natural evil aura. A strand of silvery white hair on the left temple was particularly dazzling mixed with the black hair on the head, like a boy's white hair, and as if it had been burned by something.
He half-closed his eyes, with an extremely careless smile on his lips, as if nothing in this world had anything to do with him.
