Chapter 1: Someone’s Waiting On The Naihe Bridge1.

On the day of the new Emperor’s accession to the throne, Mu Zhiming died in exile, while on the road to a bitter and cold place, the Ninggu Tower.

Thousands of mountains and birds passed by. The freezing snow covered both the sky and the earth, covering the bright light of the sun along with the moon.

Fu Yi, Emperor Wu of the Jin Dynasty, went back to the Imperial Bedchamber after the national celebration. He summoned the eldest daughter of the Duke of Ning, a powerful minister of the Dynasty, to serve him in bed.

On the precious Imperial couch, with wine in one hand, and a beauty in his embrace, Fu Yi hummed a song. When he looked at her bright eyes, he suddenly thought of one person.

That person, a few months ago, had knelt for a very long time outside the Xuande Hall. Bitterly begging him as he knocked his forehead against the floor, until it was covered in blood.

His surname was Mu, his given name Lizhu, and his courtesy name Zhiming.

In private, he liked to call Fu Yi: Yi-gege.

At the same time Fu Yi was thinking of him, a thousand miles away, Mu Zhiming was kneeling in the snow, trying to collect the remains of his mother, Gong Shi. His fingers were so red and stiff that he couldn’t even bend them. His wrists were bloody, rubbed raw by the rusty, iron shackle, and even the white bones were slightly visible. He was as thin as a piece of firewood and he couldn’t even afford to hold a single spoonful of frozen soil.

Mu Zhiming remembered that his mother, Madam Gong, who was afraid of the cold, liked to wear silk and plain brocade clothes embroidered with golden threads when she was alive. She used to enjoy the spring scenery in the garden, as well as picking flowers as she toasted to the east wind3.

But now, she was dressed in shabby, coarse linen clothes. Since she died on the road to exile, she was wrapped in a tattered, dirty straw mat. Separating each other forever4.

The wind and snow were ferocious. In front of the lonely and desolate grave, Mu Zhiming raised his head. His once clear and peerless appearance was now withered. His quick and intelligent temperament was as gray as the ashes of death.

The officer that was escorting him stood aside, until he became impatient and began to urge Mu Zhiming: “She’s already dead and buried underground. It’s freezing out here and we’re shivering to death. Hurry back to the broken temple where we’re settled. At the very least, it will protect us from the wind.”

Mu Zhiming turned back and bowed down to the two officers in front of him: “If the officers are cold, they can go to the ancient temple and rest. I want to say a few more words to my mother. I don’t know if I can still pay my respects in this life, but I should still do my best for filial piety.”

They looked at Mu Zhiming, who used to be the son of the Duke of Yan, whose reputation was well known all over the Capital, was now bending and scraping to curry favor.

One of the officers became very angry. He grabbed the sword hanging from his waist, and hit Mu Zhiming’s shoulder with the scabbard, making him fall to the ground: “What are you talking about? Are you trying to run away? Let me tell you this, don’t try to do anything weird.”

Mu Zhiming fell into the cold snow. Since he was too weak, he coughed and gasped for air for a long time before he could get up, trembling. After facing the officer, he once again knelt on the ground: “Officer, I’m wearing heavy shackles and I can’t even walk ten steps. Where will I run to? Besides, my arm is branded with the seal of the Imperial Court, marking me as a criminal. Who will take me in? Not to mention that the Northern border is a deserted land covered in white snow. If I escape, I can only die of cold and hunger.”

The officer was impatient: “Tsk, are you done-….?”

“Alright.” The other officer’s face looked impatient as well. “The death of one’s parents is a big deal, he should be allowed to say a few last words. Besides, he’s right, where can he escape to, when the snow is heavily falling down from the sky? Let’s go back to the temple and wait. If he doesn’t come back after a while, we’ll come and investigate. I don’t think he’ll be able to escape anyway.”

“Hmph.” The officer, who made a fuss, sneered and cursed: “What a fucking nuisance. This is such a shitty job,” and then angrily left.

The kinder officer glanced at Mu Zhiming with compassionate eyes, turned around, and walked away. All of a sudden, he heard Mu Zhiming kowtowing to him, and with an almost inaudible voice, he said: “Thank you, Officer.”

The officer waved his hand then left, facing the wind and snow.

Not long after, between the sky and the earth, Mu Zhiming stood alone beside a solitary grave.

After he tried to catch his breath for a moment, Mu Zhiming exhaled a cloud of nasty air. With dazed eyes, Mu Zhiming stared at the night sky, only to bow his head extremely slowly as he exhaled hot air onto his frozen hands, wounded by the shackles. However, his hands were still frozen stiff due to the cold. After giving it a thought, Mu Zhiming put his frozen fingers inside his mouth, warming them up.

Not long after, the cold fingers began to feel the numbness and tingling sensation of frostbite. After a short while, they actually began to move. Mu Zhiming then raised his hand and removed the slender iron wire hidden within his hair, behind his ear, then placed it into the shackle’s lock, twisting it a few times.

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Although he was born into an aristocratic family, he had liked the art of mechanics since he was a child, so the shackles weren’t something he couldn’t handle.

A short while later, when the shackles fell to the ground, Mu Zhiming’s body relaxed a great deal.

But at that time, the cold snow had already drenched his thin and tattered clothes. When the cold wind blew by, Mu Zhiming uncontrollably shivered.

After brushing off the snow from his shoulders, he knelt down to Madam Gong’s lonely grave. Once he heavily kowtowed three times, he got up, staggered ten steps and turned his back to the grave. Then, from the bottom of his thick boots, he took out a blade, which was as thin as cicada wings.

Mu Zhiming then held the blade against his right wrist, which had long been covered in blood. At that instant, in a trance, the last words Fu Yi said to him resounded in his ears….

“In half a year, I will come to pick you up.”

Then, Mu Zhiming’s left hand pressed down hard, fiercely cutting his right wrist. Unfortunately, he was too weak, and even though he had used all of the strength he had left, he was only able to make a slight cut.

So, Mu Zhiming corrected his hold on the blade and cut again, but no blood was seen. After cutting again, he was able to see a bit of blood oozing from his skin, so he kept on cutting the flesh.

The scarlet color of the blood fell on the snow in droplets, covering it quietly for a while. Then, Mu Zhiming fell to the ground with a dull sound.

As he curled up in the snow, and the cold wind blew past, he began to feel sleepy and tired. When he finally closed his eyes, he never woke up again in this life.

—

AD

In a daze, Mu Zhiming found himself standing in front of an arched stone bridge. The sky was dark. The river below the bridge looked like blood, filled with snakes and insects. Even the smell was fishy and terrible.

“Gongzi.” All of a sudden, someone called Mu Zhiming.

Mu Zhiming turned to the voice and saw an old woman with a kind-looking face waving at him. Mu Zhiming walked up to her, and when he was about to ask where he was, he heard the old lady say: “Gongzi, someone is waiting for you on the bridge. Go and meet that person.”

“Waiting for me?” Mu Zhiming was puzzled.

“Exactly, hurry.” The old lady smiled kindly at him and indicated Mu Zhiming the way.

Although Mu Zhiming was confused, he thanked the old lady and walked in the direction pointed out by her. After walking up the stone bridge for several steps, sure enough, he saw someone standing by the bridge with their back facing him. Mu Zhiming looked carefully at that person. However, even after a long time had passed, he wasn’t able to recognize who it was, so he hurried forward as he shouted random guesses.

“Father? Mother?”

“A-Yin? Caiwei?”

“It is neither of them… Could it be Ji’an?”

Mu Zhiming shouted as he walked towards that person, but he never saw that person turning around. Only when Mu Zhiming was closer, did that person turn around.

When their eyes collided with each other, Mu Zhiming froze in place.

‘How can it be him?’

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