The overgrown Odachi was sleeping when the first snow fell in the mountains.
To say he was sleeping is actually not accurate. The knife has no eyes, nor does it have the regular dreams of humans. It just lies in the dark palace, letting the cold air slowly creep through the black sheath, letting the mountain wind swirl around the layers of houses, and then squeezes in through the gaps in the wooden doors to tell it some not-so-fresh news.
For example, the stream was covered with thin ice, the monkeys failed to grab snacks from tourists today, and an old tree halfway up the mountain finally had a branch broken by the weight of snow. Another example is the family at the foot of the mountain who just had a baby last year. This year they came to pay homage to the baby with a baby in his arms. The baby's lungs were weak, but he cried loudly, and it didn't look like he would live long.
These messages can be big or small, some are worth remembering, and some can be forgotten after listening to them. It is used to the nagging of the mountain wind and the coming and going of human beings.
But that winter, the wind finally asked it, "When did you start hearing?"
Odachi was silent for a while.
It doesn't remember.
There is no clock in the mountain, and there is no one in front of the gods to count the years with a knife every day. It only knows that it has woken up once in the fire, and then woke up in the snow many times; humans have added black paint to it, wrapped it with mountain gold, and carried it to the end of the long mountain road. Later, bells, congratulations, footsteps and prayers piled up one after another, like fallen leaves covering the mountain soil, compacting his originally vague consciousness little by little.
By the time it really knows what "itself" is, it already has a name.
Kashiwa Tai Sword.
This name sounds quite impressive, at least it itself is very satisfied with it.
As for why Shanfeng asked about it this year, he didn't think about it. Maybe the wind is just bored, maybe something has quietly changed over the long years. The divine sword, which did not have a body at that time, turned into a non-existent body and continued to listen to the soft sound of snow falling on the eaves.
If it were a human being, he would probably reply lazily: Who still remembers what happened so long ago.
But the opposite is true.
He remembers a lot.
It's just that those memories are too long and too complex, like the endless pile of fallen leaves in the mountains and forests. If we really want to trace it back, we have to start from the first point of Mars.
Intention: for storage