My raincoat still drips with Minjiang River mist, but my bag is already filled with sand from the northern frontier. Some say they saw my afterimage at the Peony Tower in Luoyang, while others say I was intoxicated by the bells of Hanshan Temple in Suzhou. Children of the Jianghu have no origins. Every spark ignited by the tip of a sword is a distant land. If you were here too...