The Lantern Festival night in Linshui City was the brightest night of the year.
Only at the end of the long street did the sky burn red. From that night on, Hu Jinghe learned three things: how to go hungry, how to take a beating, and how not to cry.
His enemy's blade chased him for six years, and the snow of Qingya kept him for eight. The eccentric old man who taught him his skills said, "Your kung fu isn't even third-rate." So he believed him.
When he came down the mountain, he wore a plain blue cotton jacket and carried an old, nameless sword.
He didn't know how fast he was, just as he didn't know how low the heavens hung over this world.
The woman he'd longed for for fourteen years had been promised to his enemy. The name he'd buried for fourteen years was written among the blood debts of an entire family.
They met again at the lantern festival. Across ten thousand glowing lanterns, she recognized him at a glance.
He cupped his hands and smiled with an honest, simple air. "Miss, you've mistaken me for someone else."
A lone goose separated from its flock does not cross the frozen river.
Many years later, no one in the martial world had seen that sword again. Only once in a while, someone would say:
On the night the heavens fell, someone bore the weight for everyone.
