Beneath the cloud-like cherry blossoms, the streams of people parted like a receding tide.
In the middle of the lurid blossoms and vibrant willows, a line of people wearing flying fish clothes and swords hanging in embroidered scabbards on their waists[1] filed down the path.
Even if the sunlight was bright and beautiful, the flowers brilliant, whenever these people appeared, it seemed like dark clouds covered the sun, casting the road into shade.
In this troop, there was a vermillion figure everyone's gaze was attracted to.
The man on the horse was like a pine tree.
He was about twenty-three or twenty-four. His shirt was bright as fire, his face like porcelain, eyes like ink. He was tall, but there was a fragility about him.
Perhaps it was because of his slightly pale face, like he was often sequestered away from sunlight.
