The Mystery of the Heavenly Book

The snow in the first year of Jingde, during the Northern Song, fell more fiercely than any snow Bianjing had ever seen.

The Yellow River’s ice cracked like a tortoiseshell. Dark yellow river water seeped through the fissures and froze into a thin crust in the bitter wind, reflecting the bleak white sky. The Liao army’s camps stretched for dozens of miles along the northern bank. Wolf-head banners snapped in the north wind, their golden threads glinting through the snow like countless watchful eyes. Bonfires outside the camps formed a river of stars. The charred scent of roast lamb mingled with the smell of horse manure and drifted across the ice, stinging the nose. The Liao army was celebrating its small victories of the past few days, unaware that these “victories” were no more than a cornered beast’s last struggle.

Emperor Zhenzong, Zhao Heng, huddled inside his imperial carriage, gazing at the gray sky beyond it. His Adam’s apple bobbed. The wind and snow lifted one corner of the carriage curtains, and snowflakes clung to the hem of his dragon robe like a layer of frost. This was his third visit to the front lines at Chanzhou. The first two times, he had used “ill health” as an excuse to remain in Bianjing, leaving the burden of resisting the Liao entirely to Kou Zhun. Now, the cries of battle outside the carriage pierced the wind and snow like blades stabbing into his ears, making his temples throb.

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