This is not a story about power.
This is a story about land. A story about seeds. A story about snow falling on shoulders and people living in the world.
It is also a story about a child growing up, getting old, and finally returning to the earth.
He opened his eyes from his swaddling clothes and couldn't see clearly what the world looked like.
He closed his eyes before he died, and the snow outside the window was still falling.
In the intervening fifty years, he did many things.
He kept some people alive.
He wrote several books.
He remembered a man standing in the snow.
He was loved by a woman named Huiniang for his whole life.
