Fo Liu, a dark-furred marten named by the villages he trekked to, tilted his head as he paused a drag from his opium pipe, lowering his left hand and letting the lit tip of the stick betwixt his fingers burn in the air.

The marten looked with a meditative glare with his hickory-hued eyes, blowing a small cloud of smoke from his snout as his expression remained largely blank.

“Do you fight for the sake of it or another?” he inquired.