Holding a killing weapon when awake, holding a beauty's knee when drunk.

A squall howls, yellow sand as far as the eye can see.

The boy could no longer remember how many times he had crawled up from the ground.

Severe dehydration made him dizzy, his knees and palms were bloody, and the bottom of his feet was blistered by the steaming sand. Before hime the endless dunes roiled with waves of heat, farther on the horizon, a storm is rising, sweeping toward the centre of the desert at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"Master…" the boy staggered forth, making a hoarse cry.

"Wait for me, wait for me… Master!"

A boom echoed, and the boy fell down once again, the sharp pain almost putting him out of consciousness.

How long time passed no one knew, as the squall blew more ardently, until at last a human silhouette walked from in front to stop before him.

"… Master…" The youth did his utmost to beg: "Don't leave me, I'm begging you, Master…"

The figure was against the light, so the face was unclear, and one could vaguely make out the thin and straight figure wrapped in a thick white linen cloak, who finally said after a long while: "Who is your master."

- that voice was surprisingly young, with a touch of familiarity, indifference and carelessness.

The young man desperately shook his head, and making a cry like a young wolf forced into a desperate, painful death, he struggled to reach out to the figure one last time.

However, the next time his bloody hand was stepped onto the ground with a foot, the pain struck like lightning, and the young man screamed himself hoarse. Then the man on the opposite side pulled out the sword, and with a sonorous clang, the sword point was driven into the ground right by the boy's face.

"Ah!"

The young man screamed in pain and fear, and immediately saw the man leaned over, the light and shadow finally outlined a beautiful face, handsome and impeccable.

The youth whispered: "Master…"

The man erected his index finger and interrupted him with a simple squeaking action. He then rotated the blade inch by inch, until the face of the young man mixed with blood and tears was reflected in the blade.

"The Jin people say, a purple mist often exists around the Dipper and Bull mansions, which is the will of two swords pervading the heavens. One is Tai-E, one is Longyuan."

The man drew the sword from the sand, pointing it towards the boy beneath his feet, the scorching sun a veil leaving only the corner of his mouth in a mocking smile: "The one that kills you here today, is Longyuan."

The youth's eyelids suddenly tightened. The next moment he saw the blade stab, a bone-chilling aura shot towards his face that he could not help but scream: "Ah-"

"-Ah!"

Shan Chao turned over and sat up, his chest undulating in hurried breaths, and only after a long time did his braced muscles gradually relax.

The moonlight passed through the wooden window, reflecting his naked back and sweaty short hair, cast on the green-ash marble floor of the Zen Room. Surrounded by silence, the late summer cacophony of cicadas were accompanied by turbulent murmur of flowing water from the backyard of the temple; within the night, there was no other sound.

It's that dream again.

Shan Chao gasped and turned around, and truly the Longyuan sword leaning next to the couch was trembling with a hum, as if impatient and eager to tear its way free of its sheath.

Since Shan Chao came to Ci'en Temple two years ago, he had had similar dreams to this often. In his dream he was in a frontier desert, and lived with a young man who often couldn't see his face but addressed as Master. Sometimes they practised martial arts, sometimes they hunted, sometimes they rode a camel long distances through sand-filled skies; and the most repeated scene amongst all these, was where he crouched at the feet of the young man, begging for mercy, and eventually being stabbed with a sword.

Who is that young man?

Shan Chao could not remember no matter what.

His memories began from when he was found by the master monk Zhiyuan covered in blood and collapsed at the back gate of Ci'en Temple, and then taken in as a disciple. Later the Master Zhiyuan said, when the monks found him, he was covered in sand, badly mangled, and holding a sword sheathed in white sharkskin.

- the Seven Stars Longyuan.

Furthermore, all past events before that had turned into broken pieces, appearing like a curse every night, in a never-ending cycle.

Shan Chao let out a long breath, reaching out a hand to press upon Longyuan, and a moment later the long sword's mournful cry gradually settled in his thick and broad powerful grip.

Right now outside the window, the moon was clear and the stars few, the night dark, and Shan Chao had no intention to keep sleeping, so he simply put on the black cloth monk's robe, strolled to open the door and walk out of the Zen Room. The secluded bypath was hidden from view by flowers and trees, leading directly towards the majestic worship hall in the middle of the moonlight; further away the lanes of Chang'an had been closed a long time ago, and on the streets the cries of the night-watchers could be heard.

In the midst of the night sky the Big Dipper glittered like the seven-star sequence on the Longyuan sword, giving a faint glow.

Shan Chao closed his eyes, and the light in his mind gradually changed to yellow sand under a burning sun, a snow-white edge, and a girlish gentle yet cruel smile.

- that person in the dream, who could it be?