When we first met, he casually lifted the mask off his face and smiled at me. I was stunned—not by the peerless beauty hidden beneath the mask, not by the warm smile that eased my unease—but by those eyes that, when they looked at you, shone like stars, concealing countless untold pains and hardships yet still as clear as a pool of autumn water.

Back then he was just a naive good guy stepping into the jianghu, and I was merely a bewildered stranger who had just arrived in this world. I didn't see him again until many years later. I was shocked—by the crescent‑shaped mask that seemed to have become part of his body, by the cold, death‑like aura that radiated from him, and by those beautiful eyes that reflected the colors of the world yet felt as empty as nothingness. At that time none of us could have imagined that when we met again we would be facing each other under such circumstances. I know he didn't recognize me; I recognized him, but I could no longer face him.