Lin'an, Central Plains.
It's late at night, and on the solitary cliff, a pavilion with flying eaves and hanging bells stands quietly, as if you can reach out and point at the stars and the bright moon as long as you are in it.
A sharp cry came from somewhere outside the bright moonlight, and then, a green shadow drew towards the tower that seemed to be hanging in the corner of the sky. It was a goshawk.
Someone on the balcony stretched out his hand, and the goshawk landed on his arm.
That was where all the bloodshed began.