"Dusk Kiyobei": Shuhei Fujisawa, a Japanese samurai, the first thing to consider is chai rice oil and salt
When he was young, he watched Jin Yong look at Gu Long and looked at Liang Yusheng, sneaking under the English book but greedily reading it line by line. The world is a desert lonely smoke, a single shadow riding a horse, a boy in white, a woman in red. And the jianghu of the sword and light sword shadow always has a fairytale-like ending, who will draw eyebrows for whom in front of the sunset, who will snuggle with whom the face is not old, calmly like Chu Liuxiang's face that is always smiling. We imagine that one day we can also jump vertically over the cornices and walk on the wall, the rivers and lakes are good for the world, and the young hero can be proud of himself.
When you are no longer young, watch Shuhei Fujisawa write the protagonist who is also no longer young. The samurai who also held a sword in that small country hundreds of years ago, across from us, could not find the youthful arrogance, but always, the slanting sun shone in the low mansion and pulled away the long shadow, feeling the warmth of the sunset, little by little, just like he had been silently letting us see the fish scales and clouds in the sky, the misty rain at dusk, the smoke rising in the simple houses, the blue and white sunshine of the small sun.
In Chinese martial arts novels, heroic teenagers never consider chai rice oil and salt, they pull gangs and factions to spend thousands of dollars, and Fujisawa Shuhei always lets the samurai run for their livelihood. Sometimes the hair is slightly messy, the bald head in front of the forehead is long and scummy; sometimes the appearance is not handsome or even a little ugly; sometimes it is only humble and humble to the point of disgust. Not only are they not big people, but on the contrary, they can cause street slurs only because of dirty clothes and unobtrusive looks. There were never many brushstrokes depicting their previous skills, but I only heard from Xiaodao that when they were young, they were once masters of so-and-so's faction.
So they seemed to be the depressed appearance from the beginning, quiet and flat and even tired every day for official business and busy life, like a gyroscope whipped by fate. Only occasionally talk about their wives, in a normal tone of voice to tell the trivial things that pass by, like a bowl of tofu soup, a small plate of salted eggplant, and a good taste made from cheap dishes bought on the street. It is not at all an unforgettable mood, but the faint afterglow seems to extend to the hearts of those who are watching, which is warmer and more delicious than anything. Shuhei Fujisawa was able to outperform the Jingo Iron Horse for many years with just a few words of sloppiness in this subtlety.
By the time they were seen drawing their swords, the story was nearing its end. Whether it is a fight in public, or an obscure dark battle, whether it is a flash of white light, or a few hours of life fighting, Fujisawa still tells with his usual bland taste, and witnessing their few times in life, it is always the sun that sets to the west and the quiet alleyway. What was drawn before, and then what was obtained. Mixed in the whirlpool of political power battles, it may just be money for his wife's medical treatment, maybe it is just a friend who can talk, or maybe it is just a small secret hidden in the heart. They were expressionless and silent, and every day after that they were just running for their livelihood without changing.
So I remembered Ren in "Chaos Samurai", who once clumsily used a samurai sword to peel off eels for business. Maybe many years later, when the sun sets, he will also walk in the alleyway with a tired face and carry tofu. And I don't hate that kind of hero twilight. It's like looking directly at the warm but not blazing sun, staining the surrounding clouds red, and slowly ending with a slight sadness.