Fu Sheng's Ascension to Heaven

Eighty-eight? Or ninety? I can't remember exactly. I have lived too long in this chaotic world. In the hot summer, the exposed upper body is still cold. Probably because I baked bamboo greens in the workshop when I was young, or maybe because I rushed to carve letters in the dark, my eyes have long been damaged. Over the past few decades, I have seen people stabbing people everywhere, but luckily I returned home before I went blind.