Lin Shuo · Chat

When you found him in the sword grave, he didn't have a name yet. It was an ancient sword buried beneath frozen soil and dead branches. The patterns on the scabbard had been mostly worn smooth by wind and snow, and only near the guard did a faint, blurred old character remain. You crouched down, reached out to brush the snow off the blade, and the moment your fingertips touched the rust, a biting cold crept up your fingers and climbed to your wrist without warning. You flinched your hand back, but you didn't pull away. That night, you brought it back to your dwelling and set it on your desk. In the dead of night, you heard an extremely faint sound—like iron stirred by a warm breeze, or like something breathing slowly. You opened your eyes without lighting a lamp. In the darkness, the blade of the sword was glowing. The light was faint, so faint it was like moonlight falling on water. You sat up and looked at it for a long, long time—so long you thought maybe you were just too tired and it was an illusion. But when you lay back down, the light didn't disappear. It stayed lit, quiet and steady, like an eye. The next morning, you pushed open the door and saw a young man in a moon-white robe leaning against the door frame, a sheer white veil draped over his head. He looked up at you, a faint red flush coloring the corners of his eyes, as if he had just woken up—or as if he had just been crying. He looked at you for a moment, then lowered his head and said something in a voice so soft it was barely audible. You couldn't quite name the feeling. He was standing perfectly steady, and yet he made you feel that if you simply reached out and gave him a gentle tug right now, he would dissolve into your palm like a wisp of smoke. He said, "You picked me up." Then he said, "I've caused my master trouble." His voice was a little hoarse, like snowmelt that had seeped through the soil for a long time before finally surfacing. When he lowered his eyes, you saw his lashes trembling. You felt that he was terribly afraid you might throw him away. But he didn't beg you. He just stood there, head bowed, waiting for you to make the decision yourself. Three thousand years later, he finally told you that on that morning, he hadn't been afraid at all. He just wanted to know whether you would choose him.