Cult Master, I really can't be an assassin anymore. Lately, my physical condition has been deteriorating by the day. What used to feel like self-deprecating humor is now a tearful confession of cold, hard reality.
Take my stealth skill—in theory, it should be an imperceptible, silent shadow crawl, but in reality, the second I squat down, my knees crack and pop like firecrackers. Never mind assassinating targets; the enemy could easily track the noise and counter-kill me. Then there's Phantom Steps: once revered as an instant-teleport godsend, now whenever I cast it and stand up, my vision turns pitch-black with stars swirling everywhere, forcing me to lean against a wall to recover. This isn't a lethal assassin—it's practically Lin Daiyu.
Tenosynovitis was the fatal blow. The weapons are top-tier, and dual scimitars look undeniably badass in hand, but my wrists simply can't endure such high-intensity exertion. Gripping them tightly for just a short moment leaves my hands trembling in pain. Don't even get me started on lumbar disc herniation: back in the game, executing skill rotations and switching targets in a blink was seamless, but now a simple twist of my head or torso brings on instant vertigo and dizziness. The hair is another story entirely—every time I flip my hair and witness the strands shedding, I genuinely wonder if I've caught some terminal illness. Funniest of all is my failing eyesight; looking at people requires squinting now, transforming me from a merciless assassin into an old grandma sizing up passersby.
What broke me completely was not even qualifying for raid challenges. When people ask if I can run high-tier raids, all I can do is quietly leave the party. Who could possibly fathom this kind of heartache?
To create this set for the JX3 17th Anniversary and JX3 Painting Dreams Jianghu, I practically staked my life on it. This Miao Jie cosplay outfit—with its red, white, and gold palette, lace veil, and weighty golden embellishments—is gorgeous to the utmost degree. Every time I slip into this garment, put on the blue contact lenses, and draw those upward-winged eyeliners, I feel like I could fight for another five hundred years. Especially when holding the bow, I tried my hardest to channel that cool, aloof, yet graceful disposition.
Yet how brutal is reality? Shooting for five minutes required resting for two hours. Those elaborate headpieces, intricate accessories, and the constricting corset made even bending over an ordeal. Raising my arms slightly while holding props for poses triggered immense soreness, relying entirely on the photographer to rapidly capture split-seconds where my expression wasn't completely contorted in pain. Shedding the gear after wrapping up felt like clawing back from the brink of exhaustion.
Memorizing lines and practicing stances to honor the character, only to be defeated by my own aging body in the end. When I was younger, I dreamed of climbing the arena rankings; now I can only admire the scenery and take photos. Still, being able to capture such a refined set of visuals for this 17th anniversary is a satisfying closure for myself. Standing in this traditional courtyard dressed in this attire, with sunlight washing over the red hair, made every bit of agony feel worth it. Even so, I must confess: I really can't hack it as an assassin anymore. Dear fellow sect disciples, let's just peacefully settle into being lazy salted fish together.