Chapter 33 death of a samurai

They planted some chrysanthemums on his grave Every October, in the slow Qingfen the masked man appeared at the tomb Burn incense, kneel down, let tears flow from closed eyes Flowing down, scorching tears scald the chrysanthemum then float away, then Come to the grave together in the second year and autumn finally one autumn without the masked man A few clumps of bright yellow are left behind, like whose Soul, let yourself see the desolation.The old monk said Samurai are killed, not killed in battle Some say acupuncture points, some say arsenic He was chopped to death with random knives, and later

His sword mysteriously disappeared ——His sword never unsheathed for injustice unsheathed, will cut off an ugly life Icy steel must have a swig once The servant is in pain, the stander is silent, and the observer is happy —his sword, after the warrior died disappeared mysteriously, the sword was the man The man is the sword, the man dies, the sword dies Death is a ceremony for the unsheathing of the soul Li Cheng, leaving only the rusty scabbard And an invisible giant sword seems to hang in the air Qingfeng covets all traitors Cold sweat every night, dripping, along an icy neck of nightmares