The five
凌晨一点还在改第七版需求的上班族。醒来穿着一件绿袍，合身得像穿了三百年。剑拔不出来，手机只剩 3%。
An office worker still on the seventh revision at 1 a.m. He wakes in a green robe that fits like he has worn it for three hundred years. The sword will not leave its sheath; the phone has 3% left.
深蓝旧布衣，洗得发白。爱坐在竹枝上晃腿，歪头笑，话很少。第一个找到我的人，说：「不认识。」
A faded indigo robe, washed almost white. He sits on bamboo branches swinging his legs and says very little. The first one to find me says: "I don't know you."
深蓝海浪纹长袍，玉冠，长黑发，眼神冷。每走一步，脚下开一朵浪花。他守着一片海，脾气不好，尤其对我。
A deep blue robe stitched with waves, a jade crown, long black hair and cold eyes. A wave blooms under every step. He guards a sea, and he has a temper, especially with me.
西境红衣火弓手，弓比人高，头发红得像在烧。箭用完了，会自己烧出来。笑起来很好看，不常笑。
The red-robed fire archer of the West. Her bow is taller than she is, her hair burns red, and when the arrows run out new ones catch fire on the string. A lovely smile she rarely shows.
撑一把青伞，赤脚，裙摆全是泥。说话很轻，手很稳。她的本事是治，不是打。
A blue umbrella, bare feet, a muddy hem. She speaks softly and her hands are steady. Her gift is healing, not fighting.