If we could, the three of us would roam the martial world together, triumph over fate above and sweep a thousand troops aside with a laugh below.
If we could, could the three of us cast off convention? Not to be lovers, just to exchange a quiet glance and make a move on the board, understanding each other without a word.
If we could, could we avoid becoming enemies? Kindred spirits turned against each other, worthy rivals facing off beneath a sky of yellow sand: none of us wants a future like that.
Taking up our swords and roaming the world: is it a necessary choice, or a desperate farewell? Were the flowers' shade, wine-drinking, green willows for swords, and a beauty like a flower all just a dream? Five years by each other's side, ten years apart. If we meet again, will the ways of the world still be a laughing matter in someone's eyes?
