Juntian Theater

A performer is simply someone who has mastered an art.

A story of "flowers and bamboo, neither can have it all."

This can be read as fanfiction derived from Legend of the Assassin, or as a standalone chapter, since the story itself is now completely different from the original plot.

"Li Zhuxi and Huaxia are one and the same. Huaxia loves bamboo, but cannot bear to part with the flowers. He dreams of him, day and night. How can anyone in this world have both flowers and bamboo?"

"I don't love the bamboo in this forest. Its fresh green is peaceful, but it can only grow here."

"Bright flowers cannot escape withering. How could they compare with evergreen bamboo?"

"And what if bamboo stays green forever? It never blooms or fades. It will never know the meaning of joy in its whole life, only quiet cultivation..."

This kind of philosophical debate can leave you bewildered. If you don't savor it, of course you'll find it dull. But that is the reason for The Jun Tian Performance House.

"Huaxia and Lord Li were clearly sitting together discussing the Way, with the Zen-like meaning of flowers and bamboo. Yet in all your eyes and on all your tongues, it has turned into nothing but bedroom antics." I wish I could say something like that. But then, "What is this 'bedroom antics' business? Who comes to hear a story this stuffy?" Why tell a story in such a high-flown way? Whether it's wild or romantic, it's all just something to laugh about.

"Perhaps Master Gongsun has spent too long cooped up in school. What philosophical debate? What Zen meaning in flowers and bamboo? Huaxia was just making it up. If I were Huaxia, I wouldn't waste time discussing it. I'd strip down, seize Li Zhu, and drag him out of the miasma forest, then see if that handsome Taoist had any sense."

Dandelion fluff carries spring away. The cuckoo calls, and the whole story is written.

Frost falls; wild geese return to their nests. The flowers are lovely, a dream in the setting sun.

I give you a paired sword wrapped in the wind beyond the pass. Amid the cottage smoke, we shall be Ou Weng.