The entrance to the high-speed rail station was crowded with people.
A Daoist Priest in his fifties slowly entered the passageway, lean and crane-like. Most of his hair was black, streaked with a few strands of white. He wore a faded indigo Daoist robe, washed pale with fine fraying along the cuffs and collar. It was old, but very clean. A long object was strapped to his back, wrapped layer upon layer in burlap. It looked like a ruler, or perhaps a sword.
He walked slowly, his gait seemingly unsteady, like someone recovering from a long illness. Yet upon closer inspection, every step was as firm as an old pine rooted in the earth.
Most striking were his eyes. Set in his somewhat pale face, they were astonishingly clear, like the depths of an ancient well. The occasional gleam that flashed through them was like a sword edge sunk beneath the water—there one moment, then vanishing into the gentle depths.
As he passed through the security checkpoint, a young staff member raised a hand to stop him. His gaze fell on the long bundle on the Daoist Priest's back.
"Sir, what's inside that? Would it be convenient for you to open it for inspection?"
His words were polite, but his tone was firm.
The old Daoist Priest gave a slight nod and unfastened the ties without haste. His callused fingers unfolded the burlap layer by layer, revealing the object within—a sword of peculiar, ancient design.
The blade was roughly three fingers wide and about three feet long, resembling an excavated Bronze Sword. A half-open monstrous eye had been cast into the guard, its pupil's patterns rendered in exquisite detail.
Running down both sides of the sword ridge were two rows of dark-red, finger-like protrusions. Their twisted shapes carried an indescribable