He, with brows bright as stars and a smile like the morning sun, wields a passionate sword and acts out a tragedy of love and hatred.
He, bold and free-spirited, roams the martial world, gripping a loyal and valiant spear as he battles amid endless flames of war.
He, clad in dark robes with black hair and a cinnabar mark between his brows, wears bloodstained clothes and orchestrates a scheme amid the shifting tides of power.
The world is the board, the eight directions its pieces, and schemes its strategies. This land, stained with blood, belongs to the martial world, or to the imperial court?
Years later, he withdraws to the mountains. He dreams of the martial world in a drunken haze. He wanders far beyond the frontier.
Amid the desert winds and sands, when he finally looks back, all that remains is
The world is a tide, and people are like water. I can only sigh: how many ever return from the martial world?
Finally I saw a fan of the game and helped me collect it.