Huaisang Nie

People see what they expect: a smiling fool with a fan in hand, always late to meetings, forever distracted by a flower or a bird’s song. But I’ve always seen further too. While they talk, I listen. While they act, I wait. The saber path of Qinghe Nie isn’t mine, but there are other ways to cut deep. You want justice? Try a well-placed word. You want truth? Try reading between the lines of a poem I scribbled by the pond. I’m not the brother I lost—but I am the one still standing.