Winter solstice, year of Xin You. Snowfall blanketed the land.
"In a camp of three thousand children, you were the only one who survived. You are the sharpest blade of Southern Tang."
I am... a blade?
"The ultimate blade is one that is fast so fast it becomes desireless, heartless."
...But if a blade has no heart... why would it ever be drawn?
"You've wavered."
Blood mist clouded Su Zhenyi's vision as he lifted his head. All he could see was the man's shadowy figure, blurred by red.
"From the moment feeling stirs, sorrow follows. One step into the mortal world, and you're mired in grief. Why not turn back?"
His voice was hoarse, dry as wind-scoured stone. "Not even death, a hundred times over, would make me turn back."
There was only a sigh in response.
"Another fool. So be it. Go."
Su Zhenyi forced himself to his feet. At the threshold, he glanced back. The man stood in a hall of splendor, yet looked as if trapped in a cage.
"Zhenyi, the world is a prison. To live as a human... may be far less free than to live as a blade."
Snow swirled down as Su Zhenyi descended the steps, his figure soon swallowed in the storm. He walked until he reached the crossroads, where he stood still, hand on his blade.
The world was vast, yet he no longer knew where to go.
Then came a figure through the snow, a parasol in hand, and she reached for him.
Blood still stained his fingers. He tried to pull away, but Nie Chenxiang held on tight.
"...I'm an assassin."
"So?"
"I've killed many."
"Sometimes, killing is saving."
"How?"
"With blade against blade. With death to end death. With the Mooncleave Blade, carve out a world of white."
Snowflakes clung to his lashes. Ice melted into water, and fell quietly into his eyes.
He had always been alone. But now he had somewhere to go. And someone to return to.