He walked through the passing dusk, the sword at his waist was silent amidst the solitary cry of the white crane, the white magnolia in the woman's hair could not withstand the afterglow of the setting sun, the dandelion at the fingertips blurred the hazy hills in the distance, what kind of fatal call was in his ears? The swaying sword spike is the eternal wind, and the lingering fragrance in the hair is the passing years. Wearing a cloak, he just disappeared at the end of the alley...