Loneliness was never something Qiuyuan was bothered by. At times, he spent months without speaking to another human being whilst on his travels. There was only the sound of his steps as he walked on paths, and the scream of his blade when it struck those who tried to stop him. The most talking he did was with those who gave him money for completing bounties or those who served him a warm bowl of noodles after he laid a bag of coins in front of them. He never really craved the interaction or the connection, as he always had only one focus–find the man who killed his Master and deliver death to Geshu Lin for his crimes.

The blade sings as he slides it against the whetstone. His fingers are pressed against the metal, his movements meticulous. He had been at it for a while, and he would until it was finished. The moonlight shone down on the balcony of his rented inn-room, but a blind man did not rely on the light. He felt with the pads of his rough fingers and he listened intently to the right tunes. Muted grey eyes fell closed, his face titled to the side to take in the sound better. Careful, rhythmic, almost ritualistic.

Admittedly, it brought him much calmness. To sharpen his blade all alone in the night after a long day, it couldn’t compare to anything else. The metal reflected his own restraint, well-kept and smooth, particularly maintained and almost beautiful.

Though, it is not like Qiuyuan deliberately chooses to be lonesome. He doesn't particularly care, as choosing either would imply he was deserving–and he knew that he wasn’t. But, there are few times where his night is not solely his, where the sound of his blade isn’t the only lingering noise through the air. He was not expecting a visit, but he wasn’t surprised either. He merely listened as he continued, his movements never faltering.

“And you are?” He finally spoke through the night. He already had a feeling as to who decided to visit him, sensing their frequency far before their actual presence, but he asked anyway just to be sure.