The fragrance drifted; A Yin sat at the scroll-end chair by the desk, her body still askew, the strands of hair in her bun meticulous and without a single strand loose, not even her brows ruffled, only her cheeks flushed a rosy pink, the amorous atmosphere brought out by the winter's day. She was twisting her handkerchief in her fingers, and she gazed at A Luo's profile tiredly. If one were to have the spirit of a character attached to them, A Luo ought to be the clerical script character "placid"; the flowing river of time had bestowed her with unhurried, even-tempered features, and gentle, affectionate eyes; the flutter of her nose and the inhalation and exhalation of her lips, they were all soft and dry, especially her love of wearing a black cheongsam, her slender figure becoming an upright, regular cross, her wan, pale face and wrists the empty stretches of fine xuanzhi paper. It was just a pity that A Yin's temperament was hectic and impatient, and from chil...

Of the cruelest phrases in the world, things have remained the same but people have changed was one, and the blue sea turned into mulberry fields counted as another. The Great Ming had long since been buried, such that even the skeletons of its mortal enemies no longer remained, and all the obsessions had been overturned by the vicissitudes of time; there wasn't anyone who remembered the nation's animosity or the family's hatred; it was only she herself who remembered. Qin Liangyu sank into the calm of the emptiness, as if a young child who had been abandoned, her crane-white hair and chicken-skin wrinkles contrasting absurdly with her confused expression; she grasped the pole of her qiang once more, her left hand extending, falling above the dead leaves, her fingers curling slightly into claws; the leaves, as if having been raised up, formed halfway into a person's shape; she released them, and they fell onto the ground like scattered sand. Oh, all in vain…the veins at...

The distance was too large; the old woman's scattered strands of hair could barely be seen swaying in the air. She was too old; so old that even her hair wasn't willing to stay near her, escaping her bun, which wasn't held tight by a hairpin, and striving to be the first and fearing to be the last to taste the youthful evening wind. Li Shiyi's pace was both slow and conscientious; she and Ling Heng's spirit were folded in a single place, and from her bones and blood flowed an authority that gods feared and ghosts dreaded; the inky night was her best subject, taking her place to raise the tassels of flags of those retreating. "You…" Qin-jiangjun said, her voice as hoarse as a scratched glass, yet the essence of sound strove to rise, preserving the heritage of the prestige of a high-ranking military officer. "You recognise this venerable one?" The strength of her astonishment wasn't great, and when she spoke, she habitually raised the white qi...

When A Yin returned, the food on the table had been half-eaten; A Yin went into the kitchen and filled a small bowl with white rice, telling Li Shiyi about the matter of the old tomb on Mount Jinyun as she plucked up vegetables. Everyone listened without a word; only A Luo paused the motion of her chopsticks when the two characters of "A Ping" appeared, looking at A Yin profoundly. Having finished eating, Li Shiyi returned to her room without any explanation, closing the door and making preparations for a full day; the second day, she ate only a single plain mantou in the room; only when the skies had been tinged with sunset hues did she emerge with slightly swollen eyelids, hands in her pants pockets, descending the stairs in small steps, and behind her followed Song Shijiu, lightly packed. In the remaining glow of the sunset, A Luo was listening to an opera, the gramophone turning in circles, the high, sharp voice belying her tender expression. Li Shiyi walked over, turning...

The yowls of cats and the cries of dogs drove away the depths of night, and the pale dawn light seeped faintly through the sky; the group returned to the small residence from Mount Jinyun, the groaning and creaking, old-fashioned building's stairs moving heavily, rising and falling as it met those arriving back, and only then was willing to fall asleep. The moonlight was covered up partway by the curtains, and it was as if there was a supernatural spotlight, striking the lustrous white calves; Li Shiyi sat at the bedside with crossed legs, watching Song Shijiu wrap the wounds on her ankles with loop after loop of bandages with lowered brows. The young lady's fingertips were more teasing than feathers, stroking her ankles softly and pricklingly, the protruding bones' desire provoked, and the shallowly indented pit bore the weight of the surplus tenderness. Li Shiyi's gaze rose, moving over Song Shijiu's face; she couldn't remember the last time she herself had be...

The night in the mountain city was inky black, the sky low, cut across by dark clouds, the clamour of the bright day swallowed by the treachery, the threat hidden in the mountains like paper cutouts. The Shengsheng lived concealed in the Jinyun mountain range; this mountain was made up of multiple anticlines, the peaks of range after range standing tall, the ancient trees that reached up to the heavens hidden within the sheer cliffs and precipitous rock faces, rugged and strangely beautiful. In the midst of the swaying bamboo, the four people followed the mountain upwards, the trickle of a stream by their ears, the scattered moonlight before their eyes, pressing against the four's brisk steps, as splendid as going for a walk in the spring, when the grass had turned green. Li Shiyi walked at the very front, holding aloft a glass-covered kerosene lamp, an outstretched hand pushing aside the obstructing bamboo; when she grasped the chilly branches and shoots, it was with a slow, accus...

Li Shiyi had a rare, lazy sleep; when she woke, Song Shijiu had already wrung out a kerchief and spread it across her face. Li Shiyi opened hazy eyes and tilted her head to look at her; Song Shijiu shifted the kerchief, laid out on her forehead, slightly, the rising steam joining her line of sight. Li Shiyi drew her gaze back and turned her head, the muscles on her neck stretching visibly. Song Shijiu blinked; usually, when she met Li Shiyi's gaze, it was the kind where she couldn't hold her own for a few moment; yet this time, Li Shiyi had withdrawn her forces; even the action of already retreating was done as easily as handling a butcher's cleaver. She tilted her head, immersing the kerchief in the water, soaking it for a few moments, and then wrung it out once more, sitting at the side of the bed and passing it to Li Shiyi. Li Shiyi took it with a single hand, closing her eyes and massaging her temples, and then placed it between her eyes and pressed down. Her mouth twit...