Nine Knives

Dark clouds are closing in on the city, and heavy rain is coming. Water traces are already faintly visible on the bluestone at the entrance of West Street Street. The strong wind picked up fallen leaves and dust, swirling them in the empty streets. The shops were closed early, and even shopkeeper Liu, the most greedy of money, put away his signs, leaving only a crack for observation in secret. An old man with white hair stood alone in the middle of the street. His figure was as tall as a pine tree, with nine knives of different shapes hanging on his waist. The wind became stronger, and his clothes rustled, but his eyes were deeper than the coming rainstorm. "What is supposed to come, will come eventually." The old man murmured to himself, gently pressing his right hand on the longest knife. Ten years ago, he stood here like this. But at that time, there was an extra baby in my arms.