Yan Song: Snow Buries the Blades and Bows

This is a world rife with schemes and riven by war. A million soldiers array themselves on the battlefield, mighty immortals and heroes display their powers, and brilliant strategists devise one scheme after another. Which side will come out on top? The soldiers' glory, the strategists' open schemes, the heroes' compassion, and the immortals' calling intertwine, forging a spirit of snow piled high upon blades and bows. There are stouthearted patriots willing to spill their blood to rouse the world; there is sincere love that says, "I only sharpen my spear, never practice with it; my spear grows soft and my skills fall short. I only use my hands, never take a wife; calluses grow thick upon my palms." And there is a master diviner who has survived for a thousand years, pleading for the people and seeking to outwit Heaven itself. Fate takes countless forms, change is boundless, and the story unfolds in myriad ways. Please, good people, take your seats and let me tell it at my own pace. Have some tea, and listen, watch, and savor the tale slowly.