Later generations would occasionally mention them.
I heard from others that the fourth young master of the Zhao family in Jinmen was adopted. He came from Fengcheng, and the second young master was brought home by Mrs. Zhao not long after he left to study abroad.
They lived under the same roof for less than three years. When one traveled far away, the other also followed. One didn't come back, and neither did the other.
No one can tell where they went or where they died. It is more than a thousand miles from Jinmen to Fengcheng. The wind blows from one end to the other, and you have to pass through many villages, many rivers, and many mounds without tombstones.
None of them could return to their hometown.
One died north of Jinmen and the other died south of Fengcheng.
Winter came early that year, and a snow fell covering everyone.
Then the snow melted and spring came. The smoke of gunpowder swallowed up too many people, and no one could remember who was buried here or who died there.
Only the wind remembers that the wind blew from Jinmen to Fengcheng and stopped for a moment when passing by the place where they fell.
The wind took away their thoughts, as if making up for the last time they didn't see each other.
Intention: Go and blow in the wind, the wind will tell you stories