To my child,

last night I dreamed of you. I dreamed you were a great cultivator flying on a sword, like in the stories my brothers loved so much. You hid in the clouds and walked on treetops like they were a path made just for you.

When a dark shadow came you pulled your sword and split it in two. But there were more dark shadows. So many they were like a wave.

But you held on and defeated all the shadows.

As you lay there, gravely wounded, her son came, took some shadows and brought them back to be celebrated as a hero while you were left to die.

I pray you won't be used like this.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

In love,

your mother