Passer-By

The snow fell at dusk. On the ancient road outside the pass, the last group of merchants has passed Yanmen Pass. Old soldier Chen San wrapped up his old sheepskin jacket tightly and pushed open the creaking wooden door of the inn. He saw the man in gray still sitting by the stone mill in the corner of the courtyard. A roll of yellowed paper was spread out in front of the man in gray. On the paper were drawn many small figures with charcoal - a young man holding a sword, a woman carrying a harp, a drunken man, and an old man stroking his beard. The snow particles fell on the paper and spread the ink stains, like tears stained by time. "Do you know all these people in the guest officer's painting?" Chen San handed over a bowl of hot tea. The man in gray raised his head, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes as deep as a knife. He took the bowl, and the white breath he exhaled mixed with the tea mist. "Some of them are acquainted with each other, some... Just met once in the world." "Then what is the name of this scroll?" The man in gray was silent for a long time, and his fingertips touched the outline of a young man holding a sword on the paper - the young man's eyebrows were flying, and his clothes were like the wind. "It's called Passenger." The heat in the tea bowl rose up and became invisible in the dusk. The snow outside the inn became heavier and heavier, gradually covering up the sound of horse hooves and swords for thirty years.