Osmanthus in the Evening Glow, Night Wind Stirring

Across the vast sea, flowers bloom on the thawing ice cliffs. Willows droop over the lake’s heart, mist veils the sand along the shore. Deep in the night, silver-red lights; candles raised in the long corridor. The visitor is no visitor. At dusk, leaning on the railing; in the cold temple, listening to the bell. The one returning is, in the end, a returnee. Do not sigh. If you must, sigh that a past life was a dream, full of worry and pain. Do not grieve. If you must, grieve for the tangled, bewildering bonds of love. Do not love. If you must, love the heroes who ride out to war. Do not seek. If you must, seek a life of wandering beneath the open skies, wild and free. Remembering the past, looking northwest: the Wolf Star shrouded in gloom, the imperial court in chaos, a beauty lost. But now, victory in the southeast: the splendor of Wu’s capital, peace across the land, an empire won. Home, country, and all beneath heaven, a long and dusty world. Better to trade an empty reputation for a quiet drink and a soft song. Old project: ancient martial-world rivalries, complete. Old project: modern story, complete. Lighthearted, with a little angst. Read with care. One last thing: no brickbats, please. I’m writing a bit of wish fulfillment, so just have fun reading it and we’ll all be happy. If you really think it’s a clichéd, juvenile story that makes you cringe, please quietly click the little X. Sorry to trouble you, and many thanks... Update note: This story is currently scheduled for a rewrite. Ah... please wait for me...