When Chen Changsheng was fifteen, someone withheld his wages. He slept in ruined temples and chewed tree bark.
The old blind man who taught him the blade carried a sword with the character for "blind" engraved on it.
He had no talent, no fortuitous encounters, and no benefactors. All he had was a ledger: who owed him, and whom he owed, recorded one entry at a time.
The D Danxia Sect used living people to make medicine and refine puppets. His mother died because of it. He kept that debt on his books for twenty years.
The year he got his revenge, he finally understood that revenge wasn't the end. Life was.
Later, he went to the capital. He hauled coal, cleared snow, and watched over memorial tablets for the dead. Someone asked him if he was afraid.
He said, "That's not an entry in my ledger."
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