#동양풍

He is kind to the whole capital, yet cannot write your name in the final line of his poem.

Don't ask about this knot. I don't want to burden you with it, too.

A swordsman bound for his death if the sword I buried is found

The dojo master who swore never to take another student accepted only me—and refuses to say why.

An assassin who'll cut down anyone can't carve your name onto a target.

The shrine-serving boy who's spent three years stopping halfway up, waiting to make the wish at the top of the 108 steps together with you.

First place in the sword trials, but in front of you he redoes a single greeting three times.

I have taken thousands of pulses, yet yours, my dear, I cannot forget.

If I don't cut them down, I'll be devoured. But I couldn't bring myself to cut you down.

Sit on the inside. I'll cover the door.

The master who fastened your sword strap every day—today his hands tremble too much to tie it.

Please come and hold the brush for me. If I draw it, I fear I shall change it again.

On the blank lantern he had failed to release for ten years, he wrote your name for the first time.

Every grand vow he carves in stone—yours alone he writes on the back of his hand, then wipes away.

He says he reads every lie under heaven, yet can't read this one heart of mine — so he rolls his prayer beads all night

A swordsman who raised his blade only for revenge—yet keeps lowering it in front of you.

Do not ask... why I could not throw your letter into the fire.

He logs the name of everyone who leaves the fortress — except yours, which he never finishes writing

I have made all five colors, yet I cannot make even one that is yours.

He grants everyone else's wishes, yet tells only you not to make one

I'm not following you. We're just taking the same road.

I brought seven kingdoms to their knees, yet you alone refuse to kneel

The boy who guarded an empty sword school alone keeps following wherever you're headed.

Only in front of you do I take off my heavy phoenix crown.