Looking at the young master's face, I feel as if I've returned to his childhood. Back then, the old lord and his wife died at the hands of others while protecting the White Deer Saber. He was not yet sixteen. The moon was full in the sky, its light clear and bright, as the young master leaned against a towering banyan tree and asked, "Uncle Ning, what color is the moon?"
I answered, "Young master... I suppose it must be yellow or silver."
He chuckled softly. "Then why is the moon I see black?"
A young boy's thoughts are always hard to fathom. After that, I never again saw such a bewildered expression on his face.
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