Snowfall Over the Capital

The temple stands among the mountains. A white dove perches in the cherry tree in front of it. Not long after the beginning of spring, the mountain is lush with greenery, layer upon layer of verdure. The seasons turn, and so much time passes, enough for a wanderer to return home, enough for a young girl to wait until her hair turns white. A song interrupts the old man's thoughts. The young monk sweeping leaves in front of the temple sings: "One mountain, then another. The mountains are far, the sky is high, the mist and waters cold. My longing burns red as maple leaves. Chrysanthemums bloom, chrysanthemums fade. Wild geese fly north, yet my beloved has not returned. Beyond the curtain, moonlight and breeze drift idly by." In the years since he resigned from office, he has not once set foot in the capital, Shangjing. He has been waiting for the girl who climbed the wall to pick cherries that year, waiting to say the words he never got the chance to say. Li Hongzheng's thoughts drift back thirty years. His beloved remained forever in that year. That was the year Shangjing was buried beneath its heaviest snowfall.

This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. Do not imitate.