A Mistake of Flowers and Swords

That autumn, when the river swelled, you brushed past with your sword, then bore the full weight of longing.

That year, one step into the jianghu, and the day of return seemed impossibly far away. That year, we kept each other company amid the mortal world.

In the end, the flowers were simply too delicate, and the sword too cruel. The only thing to blame was that year's moonlight, far too gentle.