Nejiko

The children who play among the cherry blossoms of The Great Panda City will tell you that Nejiko does not fish for carp. They whisper that the line is spun from memory and the hook is baited with a single, forgotten name. The famous minstrel Shijin wrote a poem about an angler who cast their line into the river of time, and everyone assumes it was about Nejiko. For their part, Nejiko only offers a humble shrug, their eyes downcast as if embarrassed by the fables. They simply sit by the water, a silent figure against the purple sky. But they never reel in their catch, and they never look away from their own reflection. What could they be waiting for it to tell them?