“Nobody will care for me, so I will not care for anybody else….” “What was I afraid of? Why does it matter that I killed them? What difference did those people have from animals?…I don’t have any family anyways there’s no one to tell me that I did anything wrong, I’m just a child that nobody wanted.” My eleven year old master looked at the bodies and coldly laughed. Three years later, my eleven year old new owner first let me taste fresh blood. I did not want to see her once again returning to that tragic cycle.
Perhaps that could break my unlucky fate. Since I saw her for the first time, I liked my new owner because she was the only one who did not first give me blood, but rather tears. Of course, no matter how much she called, her father could never respond - in this world that was trapped in a conflict, he left such a young daughter just like that and searched for his own peace…the small child could only fight for herself. That was a kind of untouchable beauty, filled with thorns that could not allow anyone to come near. I did not know why, but I suddenly thought of a red rose blooming at the edge of the cliff, facing the wind. She was very pretty, but her eyes carried a cold and emotionless expression. I watched tears flow from her eyes, down her cheek, and then land on my body, one drop at a time, mixing with her father’s blood in the yellow sand. She softly called, her sound as crisp as the ice sent by the wind - “Do you not want A Jing? Nobody wants A Jing now?” “Daddy…” she put me in her lap, looking at my master, who was lying dead in a puddle of blood. Of course, the probability of tasting the former was far greater than the latter, so, to me, the latter was hundreds of millions times more precious. I had forgotten, what humankind could give me, as warm and as wet as blood, was also …. Suddenly, there was a thing that, one drop at a time, landed on my body, a liquid that was wet, yet warm - was it blood? I was used to thinking that. What made me surprised was that it was a child’s hand. That one hand almost could not bear my weight. A hand picked me up from the puddle of blood. In the end, I was not buried with my owner. Perhaps I should have, just like that, let myself be buried by the yellow sand. I laid in his blood, seeing this wanderer’s sad ending, and could not help asking myself: am I really the bringer of misfortune? … Can I really bring bad luck to a person? When he died, he was only twenty eight years old. It was a pity that, although his martial arts protected him from being killed, at the very end, he committed suicide. Xue Mo was the master that I sympathized with and respected the most. If it were not those people who pushed him to the brink, my previous owner would have been a solitary swordsman, wandering the world, fighting tyrants ,and helping the weak. But he was not a demon, he was forced to become one!
My previous owner Xue Mo - the one that the pugilist world viewed as a monstrous beast - killed many people.
Since bloodshed comes from humans themselves, why push the blame on a mere sword? After all, the hands that held me were also ones of a human. Every time I drank a human’s blood, I always wanted to throw up. He used such terrible words to undermine my reputation and curse my owner to the point where his words were what I was known for and everybody’s eyes carried prejudice.īut I did not want to kill anyone, including my owner. I do not understand why Meng Qing Zi, as the foremost master of the sword, would have such an evaluation of me - and on the first time I met him. Whoever carries this sword will encounter misfortune.” I only remember that the radiance of my body becoming brighter and brighter, my crimson glare making people shudder. I do not remember how many heroes of the pugilist world I’ve drunk the blood of over the last fifty years. Unlike most of my kind, I do not sparkle like crystal my entire body radiates a crimson aura, like the petals of a red rose.Įvery time my owner takes me out of my scabbard, I can see the shaken expressions of the people before me and hear their surprised utterances: “ Xue Wei sword!” - it’s hard to blame them because many, many people know of me. My unique name, I’ve heard, comes from my color.
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