The jianghu, the jianghu.
What is the jianghu?
Anywhere people live and go is the jianghu.
The jianghu is vast. Standing atop a mountain, you may look down and see people below as lonely as you. The jianghu is small. Admire falling flowers, listen to the wind sing, watch the snow drift down, sip fine wine, and look in the mirror: all you see is the desolation of being alone.
There is a rumor in the jianghu.
A man in blue, drifting alone through the jianghu like the wind. He has no love for bloodshed and never brings it about. His every gesture carries a deep, lingering fragrance, said to be the scent of flowers fading at the end of their season. His words are imbued with Zen, speaking of fate and karmic ties.
A god or Buddha is part of his name.
