Sharing the Snow

Snow fell upon Di'an. Goose-feather flakes drifted down from the ink-black heavens in a chaotic flurry, draping the colossal city in a mantle of pure white overnight. Among common folk, there was a saying that timely snow foretold a bountiful harvest, yet year after year of blizzard disasters had gradually turned the word "snow" into a harbinger of doom across the north. The first snowfall of the forty-seventh year of Jiajing was heavy as ever, severe enough to impede travel. Yet Di'an, after all, lay at the feet of the Son of Heaven. Before the morning twilight had fully broken, magistracy servants rode specially designated formation-inscribed beast carriages into the streets to clear the snow, the rumbling din disturbing many from their sleep. But when the commoners went to the government stalls set up inside and outside every neighborhood and received charcoal stones for heating, their grievance over disrupted rest vanished into thin air. Life went on as usual for the people of Di'an, untouched in the slightest by this blizzard, yet in realms hidden from their sight, rotten cogs had already begun quietly shattering to pieces. This blizzard descending from the skies brought disaster relief across the Three Northern Provinces to a near standstill. The Great Yan imperial court had originally prepared contingency plans for the postwar reconstruction of the Three Northern Provinces, but at this moment, they had completely unraveled. Among the causes were deficits left behind by past corruption, as well as vermin who embezzled relief funds under the pretext of melting-loss deductions in the present. But more than anything, it was because of the war looming in the future. Under the influence of the realm's shifting tides, most resources from both the imperial clan and the Prime Minister's Manor had leaned uncontrollably toward the military industry. Relief supplies—and even personnel—originally earmarked in the plans were inevitably diverted toward war preparations. Yet in such tense times, Lou Ji still managed to draw a portion of the Black Scale Guard's funds to carry out Xu Yuan's previous directive to win the hearts of the people. In the regions hit hardest by the snow disaster, distribution points for charcoal stones were set up under the name of the Xu Clan. Though resources were limited, the reported results were exceptional; after all, this was providing fuel in a snowstorm in the most literal sense. When Xu Yuan learned of these developments, ten days had already passed since the snowfall. He said nothing, nor could he say anything. At this moment, the towering authority in his grasp could only dissolve into powerless silence. If only they had one more year of respite, conditions in the north would improve considerably. But the Sect Alliance would not grant that chance, and the Emperor's lifespan would grant it even less. Thus, to sweep across the realm and unite the world in great harmony, these common folk could not be saved. The path of human progress often demanded the sacrifice of an overwhelming majority of individuals, and even of entire classes. This goddamned world. Beyond that, Lou Ji brought Xu Yuan news that left him hovering between tears and laughter, exasperated enough to curse. That elder sister of his had swindled away all the private savings their Fourth Sister had amassed over the years by designing formation arrays for clients outside—under the guise of northern disaster relief. Her smug, gloating smile was simply devoid of conscience. Only under Xu Yuan's repeated admonitions did Lou Ji promise that this silver would strictly be used for disaster relief and nothing else. During this period, Li Qingyan came to the Prime Minister's Manor to see Xu Yuan several times, though each visit lacked any official business to discuss; she spoke only of trivial matters from her daily life within the palace. Xu Yuan cultivated while listening with keen relish—after all, this was genuine, bona fide palace intrigue. Yet what they called palace intrigue was nothing more than dredging up old grievances. With the Emperor nearing death's door, whatever rivalry remained in the imperial harem had steadily stagnated into a dead pool. When all was said and done, whatever transpired always came back around to two women in the palace. Empress Mu and Consort Qin. The former was the Great Yan Empress; the latter was Li Zhaoyuan's birth mother. When recounting the feud between the two, Li Qingyan did not grow emotional over the fact that one of them was her own birth mother. Instead, her tone was always tinged with a faint, mocking pity. Mocking their short-sightedness, pitying their limitations. Yet it could not be denied that the drama in the harem was indeed gripping enough. In a dynasty that had spanned a millennium, harem intrigues were no less perilous than political struggles. Xu Yuan and Li Qingyan spoke of them flippantly, yet behind every word lay living human lives. Following Li Zhaoyuan's entrance into the city and return to the palace, Consort Qin's arrogance soared. One by one, those close to the Empress were executed on trumped-up charges. "That Consort Qin goes to Kunning Palace every day now to saunter around, beating and killing eunuchs and maids there on the slightest whim. I hear my Empress Mother has coughed up blood in fury several times..." "Changtian, don't think this is an exaggeration. For someone as obstinate and self-opinionated as my mother, once someone or something slips beyond her control, she lashes out hysterically to claw it back. To say nothing of tumbling into an abyss where authority has completely slipped from her hands..." "I went to see her once these past few days. She looked sickly and listless. It's hard to imagine she's the same person as the empress who once served as a paragon of virtue for the realm." "Pity her? What a joke. Everyone in the harem is an actor. The Empress put on a show of weakness in front of me for no other reason than wanting me, her daughter, to stand up for her." Setting aside factions, watching the story unfold was genuinely satisfying. In her youth, the noble-born empress flaunted aristocratic might to bully the meek at will; thirty years later, the blackened palace maid wielded her son's imperial power to settle all scores. No overflowing saintly compassion, only the exhilaration of vengeance. Once there was nothing left to say of palace affairs, Li Qingyan still did not leave. Leaning back on the couch beside him, she quietly watched Xu Yuan cultivate military array arts. Xu Yuan had once suggested that rather than staring blankly at him every time she came, she could find something to do—either learn needlework and knit him a scarf or something as a keepsake, or come teach him military array techniques by hand. Li Qingyan, however, rejected both. For the former, Li Qingyan claimed just looking at it annoyed her. As for the latter, it was not out of secretiveness, but rather because every military array manual had its nuances; to offer detailed guidance, she would first have to read through Xu Yuan's cultivation method, *Black Scale*. That being said, when Li Qingyan came to see him again the next day, she brought a ball of yarn, knitting needles, and a general military array manual covered in sharp, annotated notes. The latter proved immensely useful to Xu Yuan, a genuine godsend. Under the annotations of an array master like Li Qingyan, many shared principles clicked into place. With his solid cultivation foundation and the infinite room for trial and error afforded by his life-death Dao charm, his progress advanced by leaps and bounds. As for the former... One could only say that this breast-bound princess was truly better suited to wielding a blade. Li Qingyan's frequent visits to the Prime Minister's Manor naturally drew the dissatisfaction of many—including ministers of the Xu Clan and high-ranking figures of the imperial faction. In the eyes of these grand figures, romance in the midst of dynastic opposition always seemed absurd. They believed neither Xu Yuan nor Li Qingyan should behave this way, that both ought to remain cold-blooded for the sake of the interest factions behind them. Yet to their vexation, both the Emperor and Prime Minister Xu adopted an attitude of indifference, and so these grievances ultimately fizzled out into nothing. In the days that followed, Li Qingyan visited the Prime Minister's Manor almost daily, arriving at dawn and departing at sunset without ever lagging behind, so much so that Xu Yuan half-jokingly told her she might as well just spend the night in his room and not leave. Li Qingyan did not refuse. Stripping down to her undergarments, she crossed one leg over the other, reclining on the bed with her shapely, flawless body half-bared, and asked Xu Yuan with a teasing smile if he dared. To this, Xu Yuan fell silent, then gave a gentle shake of his head. Both understood that this impulsive plunge would not remain merely a matter between the two of them; it would become a dagger plunged into the heart of the realm. For the stability of his rule, Li Zhaoyuan would never permit a child to be born between him and Li Qingyan, and should that happen, Xu Yuan would inevitably protect the child. When contradictions could not be resolved, the only recourse was war. Circling right back to the original strife between Emperor and Chancellor. So, at least for now, they could not. Yet Xu Yuan still did not let Li Qingyan leave. After all, there were always more solutions than problems. A jade-fair beauty kneeling in the night to play the flute. The night was deep, the snow heavy. In the small wing room, only the two remained, as the crushing weight of the realm poured across the princess's vermilion lips and jade teeth. In the days that followed, snow continued to fall. Li Qingyan still returned every day, yet she never stayed the night again—presumably because someone in the imperial harem had pressured her after that day. Watching from the sidelines, Xu Yuan only found it amusing: why did that Emperor start acting like an ordinary old man trying to keep delinquent punks away from his daughter only when he was about to die? Yet on second thought, he understood. His reputation preceded him, as did his audacity; stepping into the Emperor's shoes, neither would he dare bet the fate of the realm on a single lapse in judgment on his part. All good things come to an end; leisurely days were bound to run their course. Another morning arrived. The seventh day of the eleventh month in the Great Yan lunar calendar. Just as Xu Yuan dispersed his cultivation and prepared to head to the inner courtyard gate to receive Li Qingyan as usual, he suddenly noticed that the inner courtyard—which had felt desolate and quiet these past days—was suddenly brimming with a touch of life. Even without actively trying, the transcendent perception of his Transcendent Realm cultivation allowed him to pick up sounds from neighboring courtyards. From Xu Changge's courtyard came the faint whooshing of a brandished sword; from Xu Xinyao's side, the hum of formation-inscribed apparatuses operating in the secret chamber beneath her room. From the study courtyard came the rustle of turning pages. Xu Yuan found it odd. Since that battle over the imperial succession, Xu Changge had been staying at the Sword Pavilion cultivating under their maternal uncle. Xu Xinyao had been constantly tinkering with her "soul-storing ring," intended to revolutionize energy supply for an entire era. And their father, overwhelmingly busy with the approaching war, had been elusive as a divine dragon showing only its head. Why had they all suddenly returned today? Walking down the snow-covered alley, Xu Yuan pondered seriously for a long time before realizing the reason. Ah... The seventh day of the eleventh month of the lunar calendar seemed to be their Fourth Sister's birthday. Though calling it a birthday wasn't entirely accurate. After all, Xu Xinyao was an adopted daughter, and her actual date of birth was unknown, so the family had simply designated the day of her adoption as her birthday. Yet having realized this, Xu Yuan felt little joy at celebrating his fourth sister's birthday. Celebrating a birthday in such chaotic times was a rare luxury—especially for a family like theirs. Even their father's birthday hadn't seen a full family reunion in ages, to say nothing of the children's. Today's family gathering under the pretext of a birthday was likely just an excuse their father had seized upon—an excuse for them all to gather one last time before parting ways. In the end, it was finally about to begin. Snow danced across the sky, layer upon layer, endless and boundlessly vast.