Shanyin was the territory of Prince Ping. At this time, Prince Ping’s relationship with the Xin family was neither close nor particularly distant. Because Prince Ping was of humble birth, his ability to be enfeoffed as a prince in the palace back then was entirely due to the Prince of Yan’s kneeling pleas. It was said that he and the Prince of Yan were once as close as biological brothers, sharing everything. But soon, in the span of a dozen years, he had already become the polite yet distant "Prince Uncle" in the mouths of the Xin brothers of Beiyang.
Xin Jing considered himself a student coming to seek knowledge, so he did not wish to disturb this "Prince Uncle" whom he found disagreeable and who would require a tedious exchange of formalities. He rode a lone donkey, his book bag hanging from its side, and traveled all the way to Nansui Mountain.
Nansui Mountain was high, renowned for the sages who dwelt there. This "height" referred more to its unattainable talent and reputation, serving as the gateway to the Elder of Nansui.
Xin Jing rode his donkey up the mountain to find a single large courtyard at the summit. The gate was built simply. Without a word, Xin Jing knocked, and after a long while, an old man came to open it.
Before Xin Jing could speak, the man said, "Please enter, Second Young Master. The Young Master has been expecting you for a long time."
Xin Jing did not know who this "Young Master" was, but he followed him inside. The central courtyard was open, divided into a vegetable garden, a grape trellis, and several old elm trees. On a wild stone sat a half-finished game of Go; it looked rustic and genuine, not like something set up for show.
The sliding doors were thrown wide, and inside, mats were laid out with books scattered haphazardly. The old man moved to pick up indoor shoes for him outside the threshold, but Xin Jing raised a hand to stop him, took off his own shoes, and stepped inside.
In the innermost part of the room, by the window, sat a person dressed in white. The window was large, almost like another door. Though the spring weather had just begun, the sun was already warm. Xin Jing, who considered himself to have a somewhat frail constitution, only wore an extra layer, yet the person in white sitting by the window was draped in a heavy cloak and clutching a hand warmer.
The person turned his head, revealing a pale, thin face. Perhaps he was once very beautiful, but he had been worn down by illness. The heavy aura of hostility and weariness between his brows caused his features to lose their luster. Only the hand holding the book remained clean, fair, and elegant.
"Young Master Xin." He nodded slightly. "Master has gone down the mountain to lecture and will return by evening. I must trouble you to wait."
Xin Jing returned the nod and sat cross-legged in the middle of the room. He pulled a book from his bag and began to read, not uttering a single word.
This person was Bai Xuan, Xin Jing’s future senior brother and the only lifelong confidant he would ever have.
This year, he was still called Bai Xuan. A few years later, he would be known as the Dragon Colt of Nansui. A few years after that, Bai Xuan would also die, and another person would emerge, named Bai Jiu.
Xin Jing remained on Nansui Mountain. There were only four people on the mountain: himself, the Elder of Nansui, Bai Xuan, and Old Qu, who had opened the door that day. He stayed from the departure of spring until the arrival of autumn. One day, while opening the window, he noticed the leaves had turned yellow and dazed for a moment. It was as if time held no sorrow in the mountains; it had passed so quickly without him realizing.
It was so fast that he felt he hadn't even thought of Xin Jing many times before they had already been apart for so long.
"One leaf tells of autumn's arrival." Bai Xuan sat cross-legged under the corridor, holding a stone and a carving knife, staring at a leaf while carving continuously. But his wrist lacked strength, so the carvings were light and shallow, looking as if they might vanish with a single rub. He did not find it tedious; he seemed content with just this.
"Winter is coming." Bai Xuan blew the dust off the stone. "Are you not going home?"
Xin Jing did not speak.
Bai Xuan began to sing softly: "Since we parted half a year ago, all letters have ceased; every inch of my yearning heart is tied in a thousand knots. So hard to meet, so easy to part. Once again, flowers like snow fall upon the jade pavilion." He gave the stone a sharp tap. "Go back."
So Xin Jing went back.
Perhaps he had wanted to return long ago; he simply needed someone to say it for him.
After a long absence, Xin Yi had grown taller, though he still didn't speak much, following Xin Jing around like a little pet. Xin Li was still a rascal, perhaps even more so than before; give him a bit of wine, and he would dare to brandish his "Nameless" spear—the one he used for his betrothal pledge—on the rooftop. Xin Jing... Xin Jing had not returned.
It was said he was roasting rabbits in a snow den thousands of miles away, leading Ji Baiyue and the others in a life of petty mischief, horse racing, and hunting all day long.
Xin Jing brought gifts for his younger brothers: a jade pendant for Xin Li and a stone rabbit for Xin Yi.
"Did Brother buy this?" Xin Yi asked, cradling the rabbit. As soon as the boy spoke, Xin Jing looked at him in surprise.
He didn't stutter.
"No." Xin Jing poked the rabbit's ear with his finger. "Someone carved it."
"It's amazing." Xin Yi marveled, carefully tucking it against his chest. "I like it very much. Thank him for me."
Xin Jing nodded, indicating he was willing to pass on the message.
On the night of the Lantern Festival, there were still fireworks, though they were set off by Xin Li. Relying on his agility, he leaped across the rooftops. Xin Yi was held by the Princess of Yan, accompanying Xin Jing in the courtyard to watch the display. Although the Prince of Yan was present, he only asked about Xin Jing's studies and mentioned nothing else.
No one brought it up, yet amidst the explosions of the fireworks, Xin Jing remembered Xin Jing’s hand. That burning, large hand that had once wrapped around his own as they stood on the steps, watching the fireworks together once before.
That night, the younger boys kept the New Year's vigil. Xin Jing was neither in the hall nor in his room. Instead, clutching a hand warmer, he walked along the corridor, stepping through the snow. As he walked, he looked up to find he had reached the silk tree outside.
The tree didn't look well this year; it seemed listless. Xin Jing began to circle it, counting his steps as he went. He didn't know how many laps he had walked or how many numbers he had counted until he bumped into someone's shoulder, suddenly remembering where he was.
The person he bumped into did not dodge, standing there as stiff as a wooden post. Xin Jing stared at the neat stitching on the man's shoulder, knowing it was his mother's needlework; his own shoulder was the same.
The two stood facing each other.
Xin Jing’s nose felt uncomfortably cold, a discomfort that turned into a stinging ache in his eyes. He sighed expressionlessly and said without emotion, "A good dog doesn't block the way. Big Brother, move aside."
Xin Jing did not move.
Xin Jing tried to step around him, but the man stepped with him, insisting on blocking his path directly. Xin Jing felt his feet going numb from the cold, so he lifted his foot and stepped on the silent man's foot. As if playing, he looked down and said, "Speak."
Xin Jing remained silent for a long time. When he finally opened his mouth, it was a trembling, mournful, soul-summoning cry: "Xin... Jing..."
As soon as the name left his lips, both were shocked. Xin Jing was shocked that this man had learned such a melodramatic tone after not seeing him for so long; Xin Jing was shocked because the damn night was so cold that a shiver had turned his call into that strange sound.
They both took a step back, and in that brief moment of shock, they locked eyes. Simultaneously amused by each other's horrified expressions, they burst into laughter together. After the laughter, the atmosphere became relaxed and comfortable. The two walked side by side, circling the silk tree.
"What is there on Nansui?"
"People."
"The Elder of Nansui?"
"And a senior brother."
"Senior brother." Xin Jing nodded. After a few steps, he suddenly turned his head. "What senior brother?"
"One from the same sect, under the same master—hence, a senior brother."
Xin Jing performed a scholarly bow. "The teacher has taught well." Then, he expressed his deeply hidden, tiny bit of hostility in a subtle, roundabout, and reserved manner: "Next time, invite your senior brother to Beiyang. I will take him out to play."
Xin Jing agreed. Once they finished the lap, they stopped.
It was time for Xin Jing to leave.
He hesitated, then gave Xin Jing a light hug, asking, "A blessing?"
"A auspicious New Year."
Xin Jing sighed, yet he felt this perfunctory blessing actually sounded quite auspicious. He lowered his head and kissed the tip of Xin Jing's ear, whispering, "Peace in the coming year, Xiao Jing."
Afterward, as usual, Xin Jing mounted his horse. Xin Jing watched him fade into the distance before holding his already cold hand warmer through his sleeves and heading back into the manor. When he reached the gate, he saw someone leaning against the entrance.
Broad shoulders, a royal cloak—his father.
His father must have been waiting for a long time; the lantern by his side had dimmed halfway. The Prince of Yan had his hands tucked in his sleeves, leaning against the wall as if asleep. Xin Jing thought that if he really were asleep, they’d be heading to the western lands by tomorrow morning. He leaned down to pick up the lantern and said to his father, "Dad, go back to the room."
The Prince of Yan gave a vague grunt and let him lead the way with the lantern, his footsteps shuffling. Only then did Xin Jing realize he was still wearing his indoor velvet slippers. A wave of bitterness immediately surged in his heart, mixed with a touch of warmth that made his eyes sting. He said, "You really don't care about appearances. It's a miracle Mother hasn't kicked you out; she's a living Bodhisattva."
"No matter how little I care, I still have a wife." The few strands of white hair at the Prince of Yan's temples were striking under the dim lantern light. He kicked his velvet slippers nonchalantly. "Your mother is a living Bodhisattva, yet she still gave birth to you bunch of rascals. Truly, for every foot the priest climbs, the devil climbs ten."
At the entrance to the courtyard, the Prince of Yan didn't take the lantern, drifting inside like an immortal. "Rascals."
This curse was as light and airy as a drift of wind, dissipating as soon as the night breeze blew.
Once the New Year passed, before spring had even arrived, Xin Jing rode his donkey back to Nansui Mountain.
Bai Xuan had not fared well this winter. He had suddenly fallen gravely ill, losing almost all human form. When wrapped in his wide robes, he looked as if he might fly away with the wind; even a long belt couldn't anchor him.
When Xin Jing returned, he was already confined to his bed. Xin Jing sat by his bedside and began with, "Is Senior Brother about to ride a crane to the heavens?"
His master smacked him on the head with a book from behind.
Bai Xuan chuckled weakly. "He is rarely one for jokes. I won't ride a crane, for the crane will not carry me. I shall simply drift with the wind; if it blows me to the west, it will be hard to explain."
Xin Jing twitched the corner of his mouth and rummaged through his book bag, pulling out a cloth tiger. "My youngest brother cherishes the stone rabbit you gave him. When I left, he insisted I bring this to you. When he was younger and timid, he couldn't sleep well alone, so my mother sewed this for him. He kept it close; he could only sleep if he held it. Now he gives it to you to show how much he loves the stone rabbit."
Bai Xuan actually looked a bit flustered. He pulled the cloth tiger into his arms and stroked it gently. "I like it too." The illness and hostility between his brows softened, revealing the handsomeness of his features. He asked, "What is his name?"
"Xin Yi." Xin Jing seemed to have much to say today. He continued, "My third brother is named Li, but he is truly a world-shaking demon. Therefore, when it came to my youngest brother, the family was extremely cautious. They felt the name 'Yi' could dispel the overbearing arrogance of us older brothers. It's very refined, so he was named Yi."
"Combined with the surname Xin, it has a good meaning." Bai Xuan indeed found a small character for "Yi" under the cloth tiger. His fingertips brushed over it, and he actually smiled. "Xin Yi, heart's intent."
Seeing him smile, the dread in Xin Jing's heart finally receded. When he had entered, Old Qu was nearly in tears outside, and his master looked ready to wipe his nose on him. Only then did he realize this illness had truly taken half of Bai Xuan's life.
It was said that someone had once read Bai Xuan's fortune, saying that if he could survive one life-and-death calamity, his life would be extended and his blessings profound. The Elder of Nansui both wanted this calamity to happen and dreaded it. Given his body, if he could not endure this one calamity, it would be the end of the road to the Yellow Springs, and he would never return. This illness was severe; since he had pulled through, they could only pray that this was the one, and that he would live in peace hereafter.
Because of Bai Xuan's health, Xin Jing didn't go down the mountain much that year. Autumn arrived in a hurry again. When it was time to pack his things and go home, he remembered Xin Jing’s words—"Next time, invite your senior brother to Beiyang"—and brought it up. For some reason, Bai Xuan, who usually never left the mountain, actually agreed.
After his winter illness, he seemed to truly recover. This time, when he accompanied Xin Jing, he even rode his own horse. Upon reaching Beiyang, Bai Xuan did not enter the manor with him, staying instead in Lijin. Xin Jing returned once during this time and met him. Xin Yi, that delicate little thing, was busy crying then; who knows if he remembered the "horse-leading brother" who had woven a grass grasshopper to stop his tears. Bai Xuan, however, was very happy to see Xin Yi. But this happiness led to a chill, and his entire body broke out in a fever.
His fever was not like a normal person's. Having been ill for so long, no ordinary doctor dared to take his case. They could only rush back to Nansui. Xin Jing sent a carriage and guards to escort them, and even found a highly skilled physician to accompany them back immediately.
The Beiyang Army carriage had a clear path and quickly entered the borders of Shanyin. By then, winter had arrived. The snow in Shanyin was exceptionally heavy that year. They were blocked twice on the road, and just when things should have smoothed out, they were stopped at Posuo City.
To be precise, they were stopped by Prince Ping.
The Shanyin Army was mysteriously armed. From the moment the carriage tried to enter Posuo, they were treated with hostility. Xin Jing was no fool; on the contrary, he could discern Prince Ping's ill intentions just by watching a warhorse brush past the carriage window.
Currently, conflicts had just broken out at the borders. The capital hadn't even sent marching orders to Beiyang, yet Shanyin already had armed troops and gathered military power. This was not normal. It meant that while the Beiyang soldiers were fighting the Dayuan, a domestic hound from the capital was crouching behind them, ready to tear at their throats at any moment.
They could not enter Posuo City. Once they passed those gates, there would likely be no return.
Xin Jing made a split-second decision. The carriage immediately turned around. Amidst the desperate fighting of the Beiyang soldiers sent by Xin Jing, they broke out of Prince Ping's sight and headed back toward Beiyang.
This news had to reach his father or A-Jing!
But the snow was too heavy. The carriage was stuck on the road and couldn't go far. Xin Jing could only carry Bai Xuan on his back and run through the snow; hiding was far more effective than a carriage.
Provided they didn't freeze to death first.
Along the way, that skilled physician vanished. The Beiyang soldiers died one by one; those who remained were wounded and did their best to distract the pursuers so as not to slow Xin Jing down. By the time he regained his senses, only he and Bai Xuan were left.
They were close to the Shanyin border. If they could just survive one more night, they could leave Shanyin. Once outside Shanyin's jurisdiction, the various prefectures and provinces would never dare to easily offend Beiyang, let alone take the life of the Second Young Master—an irreconcilable blood feud.
Just one more night.
The wind was bone-chilling. Even though Bai Xuan was delirious with fever, he could feel Xin Jing's body shaking uncontrollably. Snow piled up on their hair and eyebrows. Xin Jing carried him, step by step, walking through the endless grey-white void.
"Fengyuan." Bai Xuan called Xin Jing's courtesy name. He said, "I have a bottle of cold-dispelling pills in my robes. Take them out."
Xin Jing's knees were too frozen to bend. He hoisted Bai Xuan higher, his lips so frozen he could barely open them. "I know what you mean." He lowered his head and took a few slow breaths; it felt as if he were inhaling shards of ice. He shook his head. "I won't do it."
The moment he took the pills from Bai Xuan's robes, Bai Xuan would likely use some inconceivable yet unavoidable method to make Xin Jing leave him behind.
Xin Jing moved his numb feet, murmuring, "A gentleman sacrifices himself for others, Senior Brother." He swallowed hard. "You are not a gentleman."
Bai Xuan's hanging hair was covered by snow in the wind; from a distance, he looked like an old man with white hair. He said, "I am not a gentleman. I am just a man who is already dead." The wind howled, blowing off his fur hat, and his hostility turned into a numbness he had never shown. "Do you not want to save your younger brother?"
"After tonight." Xin Jing's cheeks stung from the wind; he couldn't even open his eyes to look ahead.
In this vast and empty blizzard, they were like ants huddled together in a vain hope of escape—overestimating their strength and forsaken by fate.
Xin Jing lost his footing in the storm, tumbling into a pit trap dug by hunters. He broke a leg and lay there, gasping amidst the shattered ice.
Disaster.
It felt as if shards of ice had pierced his back, making his chest ache. He couldn't move. His fingers clawed at the ice on the ground as he called for Bai Xuan.
"Senior Brother." It felt like he was bleeding somewhere. Xin Jing didn't know; he could no longer feel what was broken. He didn't have the martial skills of Xin Jing or Xin Li. He was a scholar, and only a scholar.
"Mm." Bai Xuan had fallen not far away. He wasn't as badly off as Xin Jing, but he wasn't much better. The bottle of cold-dispelling pills had rolled to a spot between them, reachable if they could just stretch out a hand, but neither could move.
"In the future." Xin Jing gasped. "The road ahead... you must keep walking."
Bai Xuan closed his eyes, struggling inch by inch to reach his only friend in this life. He said, "Fengyuan, we have to get out."
Bai Xuan's hand gripped his hem, feeling a viscous liquid that was rapidly turning cold.
"Truly... a life of no achievement." Xin Jing's Adam's apple moved. "I... my youngest brother, Xin Yi. Senior Brother, I... I won't make it through tonight. You... tomorrow." He seemed confused, struggling to clear his thoughts. He forced himself, word by word, to say slowly: "Prince Ping... owes my father... a life. A life... he must return. So... even if... Beiyang is in peril... and many... many lives are lost." At this point, tears suddenly slid from the corners of his eyes. This extremely intelligent man could almost see the end of his family; he could guess what kind of outcome this undelivered news would lead to. But he was at his limit, powerless. Anger and helplessness made him weep silently. He continued, "Even if all lives are lost... my Beiyang... Xin family... can still... keep one person. Xin Yi is young... and the name... of a mute... Prince Ping... will surely... spare him alone."
His voice grew fainter. Bai Xuan's face was wet as he pulled desperately at Xin Jing's hem, but he could only move the fabric.
"Xin Yi." Bai Xuan closed his eyes, his voice breaking as he sobbed. He whispered, "Xin Yi."
"I beg you." Xin Jing's voice was as thin as silk. "I beg you... Senior Brother."
"Fengyuan." Bai Xuan's fingertips dug into the ice and snow. He clawed at the ground, calling out weakly, "Fengyuan, wait a moment."
Xin Jing's eyes were open, staring up at the sky obscured by the blizzard. He didn't want to be Fengyuan; he wanted to be Xiao Jing.
*Peace in the coming year, Xiao Jing.*
What should I do?
He remembered their only kiss that day, remembered the words Xin Jing had said to their father: *What should I do?*
What should I do, A-Jing?
My life seemed illustrious, but in truth, I achieved nothing. I couldn't shield my home from the wind, I was powerless to deliver word to my kin, and I never said a single word to the one I loved.
*I love you, I am very happy.*
The sound of the wind wailed and carried far away. He lay there quietly. His blood congealed into blocks. He was still young—so very young. People called him the Fledgling Phoenix of Beiyang; he had only just revealed his wings before ending a life that should have been even more brilliant right here.
From then on, the Fledgling Phoenix and the Dragon Colt of the North and South were buried in obscurity; the cry of the phoenix was heard no more in the world of men.
The body was sent back from Shanyin. Prince Ping did not show his face. This was wise, for if he had dared to show his face in Lijin, Shanyin would have immediately lost its prince.
When Xin Jing was called back, he was still carrying wine from Rouhui, waiting for someone to drink it all with him under the silk tree.
He stepped through the door and saw that person lying in the main hall. The wolf banner of Beiyang covered the body, but the exposed clothing was matted with dark red clumps, and the fingers were covered in chilblains.
His Xiao Jing.
In this lifetime.
To be worthy of the brush he held, those hands had been treated with care for many years. No scars, perfectly clean. But how, in the blink of an eye, had he turned into this? Turned into a sight that made his heart break, yet left him unable to scream a single word or shed a single tear.
Heartbroken.
Soul-shattered.
Xin Jing walked over, pushing aside those blocking his way. He didn't see who they were; he only saw Xin Jing. He walked forward—it was only a few steps, a distance he could have covered in the blink of an eye before, but now it felt long, so long it seemed he would never reach it.
He seemed to stumble, and his father caught him. Suddenly, he gritted his teeth, sobbing like a child, and hissed hoarsely to his father, "You said I was his pillar of support... I was his pillar of support!"
The Prince of Yan held his shoulders tight. His temples had just turned white, yet he looked as if he had aged a lifetime.
Xin Jing, the second son of the Prince of Yan of Beiyang, froze to death in Shanyin in the winter of the fiftieth year of Hongxing.
***
