Passerby of Wandering Cloud

A distant and yet familiar feeling of nervousness wrapped around him, sharp and distinct with phantom pain, as the unnamed woke from his long and deep slumber. His past was shattered into razor-edged shards, and he forgot even his own name.

Wandering aimlessly, he drank melted snow to quench his thirst, hunted wild beasts to fill his stomach, and chopped a withered branch to use as a wooden hair-stick to fasten his flowing hair.

Like the incessantly flowing stream of a mountain spring, his long, black hair never ceased growing. His flesh twitched and throbbed beneath his skin, like river carps flipping and swarming... Fascinating powers ceaselessly reconstructed his body, bringing an everlasting pain of bones and tendons rupturing and healing. As countless phantom agonies and torments tore through his body, his shattered past was also beginning to come together... As he glanced at his own reflection in the water, the story of that tragedy gradually cleared in his mind.

When the face in the reflection was no longer a stranger's, the unnamed suddenly realized the dead branch was sprouting flower buds.

Epiphany struck him like lightning. The curse of immortality still raged on, and the grudge of past misgivings never died out. HE was now the newborn flower on this once-dead branch.