There is a sword named Drifting. He carries the sword, and drifts as well.
He was stillborn, but by a twist of fate, he encountered a dragon in the midst of transforming within its cocoon. It attached itself to him, and the two lived as one. Thus a dead body gave birth to a child, born with a body of utmost yin.
Though exceptionally gifted and knowledgeable in all things, his meridians were blocked, leaving him unable to circulate qi and making him no better than a cripple. He could only watch the tragedy unfold.
When the dragon broke free of its cocoon, he entered the Nine Hells, walked the Yellow Springs, traversed the Eight Wastes, and sparked a war.
Pangu split the heavens from the earth. Nuwa created humanity. Yi shot down nine suns. Six clans fought for souls. The previous dynasty fell... One by one, the truths recorded in ancient texts were overturned.
Beneath the smoke of war, good and evil had become meaningless. The desolate figure wandered on, its shadow lengthening in the moonlight, concealing memories of days gone by.
When the tears had run dry, the blood had been spilled, divine weapons shattered, and strange beasts slain, even the gods trembled. Dragging his broken body onward, he crossed barren mountains strewn with corpses and trod through ruined walls and shattered ground. Seated above all living things, would he finally see the choice hidden behind a broken land, old grudges, love and hate, and the question of right and wrong, the choice that would decide the fate of the Eight Wastes?
