A Man in the Snow: Starting with a Sword Challenge to the Northern Liang Prince's Palace

Chen Ping'an has been at the Sword Qi Great Wall for several days, but he still hasn't delivered the sword.

It wasn't that I didn't want to deliver it, it's just that I hadn't found the right opportunity. I came back from my first patrol covered in blood, so it wasn't appropriate to go. The next day, I went out of the city with Ye Yun, and upon returning, I collapsed into bed. On the third day, a pile of official documents lay in the Hidden Official's office; I spent the whole day trying to read them but couldn't finish.

The sword was wrapped in cloth and placed on the table in his room. He would glance at it every day before leaving and again upon returning. The sword wasn't long, just over three feet, and its scabbard was black with no patterns—a simple, unadorned sword. But he knew the sword's significance—it was Ning Yao's father's heirloom.

On the evening of the fourth day, he finally managed to find some free time.

Chen Ping'an stood at the door of Ning Yao's residence, holding a cloth bag. After hesitating for a moment, he raised his hand to knock on the door.

He knocked three times.

No one answered.

He knocked three more times. Still, no one answered.

He stood at the door, wondering if he should come back another day, when the door suddenly opened.

Ning Yao stood inside the doorway, dressed in white, her hair casually tied back, and water stains still visible on her face—she had probably just been washing her face. She paused, startled, when she saw Chen Ping'an.

"Chen Ping'an?"

"Miss Ning." Chen Ping'an handed the cloth bag forward. "This is... your father's keepsake. Someone asked me to deliver it."

Ning Yao's gaze fell on the cloth bag, and her fingers twitched slightly. She didn't speak, but stepped aside to let the doorway open: "Come in."

Chen Ping'an went inside.

Ning Yao's place was small, a one-bedroom apartment, but very clean. A sword hung on the wall, its scabbard white, the tassel old, yellowed and dull. An oil lamp sat on the table, its small flame illuminating the room in a dim light.

Ning Yao closed the door and walked to the table to sit down. Chen Ping'an sat down opposite her, placed the cloth bag on the table, and opened it layer by layer.

A black scabbard was revealed.

Ning Yao's eyes were fixed on the sword, unblinking.

Chen Ping'an took the sword out of the cloth bag and handed it over with both hands.

Ning Yao took the sword, her fingers trembling slightly. She gripped the scabbard, her thumb slowly rubbing it. There was a thin, long scratch on the scabbard, as if it had been made by a sharp weapon. She touched the scratch, her fingers stopping there, motionless.

Draw your sword.

The sound of the sword being drawn was soft, like the wind rustling through bamboo leaves. The blade was snow-white, dazzlingly bright, instantly illuminating the room. Fine patterns, like ripples on water or cloud patterns, layered on top of each other, extended from the guard to the tip.

Ning Yao held up the sword, looking at the patterns on its blade, her eyes reddening.

She recognized the sword.

When she was little, her father would polish this sword in the yard every day. After polishing it, he would hold it up to the sun and look at the patterns on the blade. She asked her father, "What's so interesting about this sword?" Her father said, "The patterns on the sword are called 'cloud and water patterns.' Every sword is different, just like people; no two are exactly alike."

Later, my father died. The sword was lost too.

She thought she would never see him again.

Ning Yao sheathed her sword, placing it across her lap, her fingers gently tracing the blade. Her hand was steady, but Chen Ping'an noticed her eyelashes trembling.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was very soft, as if she were afraid of disturbing something.

Chen Pingan: "Of course."

The two sat at the table, facing each other, in silence. The flame of the oil lamp flickered and made a "pop" sound.

Chen Ping'an didn't know what to say. He wanted to offer his condolences, but that felt too insincere. He wanted to say that he had always kept the sword safe and sound, but that felt superfluous. In the end, he said nothing and just sat there, watching Ning Yao look down at the sword.

Ning Yao suddenly looked up: "Have you met my father?"

Chen Pingan shook his head: "No. It was... a senior who asked me to deliver it."

"What senior?"

"He won't let me say."

Ning Yao stared at him for a while without asking any further questions. She sheathed her sword, placed it on the table, and then got up to pour two bowls of water. She pushed one bowl towards Chen Ping'an and kept the other for herself.

"You came to the Sword Qi Great Wall just to deliver a sword?" she asked.

Chen Ping'an picked up the bowl and took a sip of water: "Not entirely. The eldest sword immortal made me a hidden official."

Ning Yao nodded. She knew about it; it was being discussed throughout the Sword Qi Great Wall.

"It's not easy being a parent," she said.

"I know."

Are you scared?

Chen Pingan thought for a moment: "I'm scared. But I still have to do it."

Ning Yao glanced at him, and the corner of her mouth twitched slightly. It wasn't a smile; it was an indescribable expression, like surprise, yet also like it was expected.

In the distance, on a rooftop across the street, Ye Yun sat.

He held a gourd of wine in his hand, taking sips here and there, his eyes fixed on the window of Ning Yao's residence. Dim light shone from the window, and two figures sat at a table, not too close and not too far apart.

Ye Yun took a sip of wine and twitched the corner of his mouth.

These two kids are probably quite interesting.

He jumped off the roof, dusted himself off, and went back to the tavern.

That evening, Ning Yao came to the tavern.

She came alone, and her complexion looked off when she entered; it was unnaturally flushed. Ye Yun was sitting behind the counter wiping dishes. He glanced up at her, said nothing, took a pot of wine from the shelf, and poured a bowl of it.

Ning Yao sat down, picked up the bowl, and drank.

He downed it in one gulp.

"Another bowl, please."

Ye Yun poured another bowl.

She felt down again.

Halfway through the third bowl, her face was completely red, the redness spreading down to the roots of her neck. Ye Yun knew her alcohol tolerance; she usually drank at most two bowls, so this was her third bowl today, which was clearly unusual.

"Do you still like the sword?" Ye Yun asked.

Ning Yao, holding the bowl, nodded: "I like it."

As Ye Yun wiped the bowl, he casually asked, "Where is the person who delivered the sword?"

Ning Yao paused. The bowl remained at her lips, neither drinking nor putting it down. Her face flushed even more, as if it were burning.

"Who delivered the sword?" she asked, her head bowed, her voice muffled.

Ye Yun didn't answer and continued wiping his bowl.

Ning Yao finished the wine in her bowl in one gulp, put the bowl down, and slumped onto the table. Her face was buried in her arms, with only her ears showing, the tips of which were red.

After a while, Ye Yun heard her mutter something.

The voice was very soft and indistinct, but he heard it clearly.

"That idiot, he can't even say a nice thing..."

Ye Yun chuckled.

He put down the bowl he was holding, took a thin blanket from behind the counter, walked over, and gently covered Ning Yao with it. Ning Yao was already half asleep; she groaned softly but didn't wake up.

Ye Yun went back behind the counter, blew out the oil lamp, leaving only a small one.

The tavern darkened, with only a small, dim yellow light emanating from the counter. Ning Yao lay slumped on the table, breathing evenly, occasionally shifting her face to the other side before continuing to sleep.

Ye Yun sat in the darkness, drinking his wine.

He thought of Park Seok.

The first time Park She drank his brewed wine, it was the same; she got drunk after a few cups and slumped on the table, muttering to herself. He couldn't remember what she was muttering, only that the tips of her ears were red, just like Ning Yao's.

Late at night.

The tavern door was pushed open, and Chen Ping'an walked in. He was wearing the official robes of a hidden official, with a token hanging from his waist, and his face showed signs of fatigue—he had just come down from the city wall and dealt with a pile of official documents.

He walked to the counter, about to speak, when he saw Ning Yao slumped over the table.

stunned for a moment.

"She's had too much to drink," Ye Yun said. "She's waiting for you."

Chen Ping'an stood there, looking at Ning Yao. Ning Yao looked much gentler when she was asleep than when she was awake; her brows were no longer furrowed, and her lips were no longer pursed, making her look like an ordinary girl in her early twenties.

He walked over and gently patted Ning Yao's shoulder: "Miss Ning."

Ning Yao did not respond.

He patted it again: "Ning Yao".

Ning Yao frowned, turned over, and continued sleeping with her face to the other side.

Chen Ping'an looked helplessly at Ye Yun.

Ye Yun leaned against the counter, holding a wine bowl, with a look of detached amusement: "Carry her back. We can't let her sleep here."

Chen Ping'an hesitated for a moment, then bent down to help Ning Yao up, draped one of her arms over his shoulder, and squatted down to carry her on his back. Ning Yao groggily hummed, buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, and remained still.

She was lighter than she looked. Chen Pingan adjusted his posture and carried Ning Yao towards the door.

As I reached the door, Ye Yun's voice came from behind me: "Youth is wonderful."

Chen Ping'an didn't turn around, but his ears turned red.

He carried Ning Yao out the door and into the night of the Sword Qi Great Wall. Moonlight shone on the street and on the two of them, casting long, long shadows.

Ning Yao shifted on his back and mumbled something, her voice indistinct, but the last word was clear—"...idiot."

Chen Ping'an walked quickly with his head down.

But he walked very steadily, every step was firm, as if afraid of jolting her.

Ye Yun stood at the entrance of the tavern, watching the two figures disappear around the street corner.

A cool night breeze blew by. He stood there for a while, then turned back and closed the door.

The oil lamp on the counter was still lit, illuminating the bowl that Ning Yao had used. There was still a little bit of wine left in the bowl, amber in color, reflecting the lamplight.

Ye Yun collected the bowls, washed them clean, and put them back on the shelf.

He went behind the counter, sat in the darkness, and finished the last sip of wine from the gourd.

Wine is bitter.

He remembered many years ago, when a woman, drunk, leaned against him and mumbled something. He couldn't hear what she said anymore. But the tips of her ears were red, and he remembered that for the rest of his life.

Ye Yun placed the wine gourd on the table, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.

The moonlight shone through the window paper, casting a bright square on the ground. Dust motes floated within the square, slowly and leisurely, as if in no hurry to go anywhere.