The first year of Yongle, winter.
It's been snowing in Nanjing for three days and three nights, and it doesn't want to stop.
The Qinhuai River is frozen, with a thick layer of ice forming on the surface of the river, which is as white as a road covered with quilts. The willow branches on the shore are covered with ice and jingle in the wind, like someone ringing a bell in the distance. Half a foot of snow had accumulated on the glazed tiles of the Confucius Temple, making the roof beams creak as if they were sighing. The entire Yingtianfu City turned into a big white, silent, sleeping city.
Gu Changning stood in the courtyard of Jinyiwei's back office, looking up at the snow in the sky, feeling very quiet.
