I beg to say distinctly that if the stranger had brought Mont Blanc with him, or had come attended by a retinue of eternal snows, he could not have chilled the circle to the marrow in a more efficient manner. Embodied Failure sat enthroned upon the Long-lost's brow, and pervaded him to his Long-lost boots. In vain Mrs. Flipfield senior, opening her arms, exclaimed, 'My Tom!' and pressed his nose against the counterfeit presentment of his other parent. In vain Miss Flipfield, in the first transports of this re-union, showed him a dint upon her maidenly cheek, and asked him if he remembered when he did that with the bellows? We, the bystanders, were overcome, but overcome by the palpable, undisguisable, utter, and total break-down of the Long-lost. Nothing he could have done would have set him right with us but his instant return to the Ganges. In the very same moments it became established that the feeling was reciprocal, and that the Long-lost detested us. When a friend of the family (not myself, upon my honour), wishing to set things going again, asked him, while he partook of soup - asked him with an amiability of intention beyond all praise, but with a weakness of execution open to defeat - what kind of river he considered the Ganges, the Long-lost, scowling at the friend of the family over his spoon, as one of an abhorrent race, replied, 'Why, a river of water, I suppose,' and spooned his soup into himself with a malignancy of hand and eye that blighted the amiable questioner. Not an opinion could be elicited from the Long-lost, in unison with the sentiments of any individual present. He contradicted Flipfield dead, before he had eaten his salmon. He had no idea - or affected to have no idea - that it was his brother's birthday, and on the communication of that interesting fact to him, merely wanted to make him out four years older than he was. He was an antipathetical being, with a peculiar power and gift of treading on everybody's tenderest place. They talk in America of a man's 'Platform.' I should describe the Platform of the Long-lost as a Platform composed of other people's corns, on which he had stumped his way, with all his might and main, to his present position. It is needless to add that Flipfield's great birthday went by the board, and that he was a wreck when I pretended at parting to wish him many happy returns of it.
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沈城子，鱼目庄第十三代传人，九岁起身负血海深仇，隐匿于青山村。在那里，他邂逅了长青，自此陷入一段痴缠缱绻的爱恨纠葛。他卧薪尝胆十二载，终究带着心爱的少年踏上了复仇之路。他加入朱盟，以期壮大自己，从而获得与仇家穆庄对抗的能力。他奉命入京，却在无意之中触摸到了当年血案的辛秘。一切，似乎另有隐情，还是敌人别有用心？在无数的阴谋阳谋面前，迷惘，失意在所难免，唯有身旁常伴的少年告诉他，我在这里，岁月长青。告别江湖万千，回到青山村，舞剑弄琴，作画赋诗，鸡鸣而起，月白则栖，倒也可乐。每每晨光微吐时，他踏歌而来，青衫缠身，竹簪绾发，背上背着药篓子，腰间别一张长弓，在朝阳里笑得清朗。青山村，朱盟，穆庄，鱼目庄——由心欢喜，只因几多辰光的相伴；爱你，只因为是你。
