Nine Songs

In his countless glances, she was always the first person he saw. He was the bright, clear breeze and moonlight; he was decisive and cunning; he was ruthless and merciless. Yet despite the countless threads of affection he held for her, despite wanting to wrap her in moonlight and melt into the corners of her elegant lips, he could never match the tenderness in her gaze when she looked at someone else. Her gaze was a bridge, one that could carry that person's countless troops across. Her gaze was a mountain, one that could block his riot of color.

He always said his lot was tragic, but hers was worse. Brilliant and gifted, quick-witted and resourceful, dignified and self-respecting, she was always the purest lotus in a hall of spring blossoms, or perhaps a begonia. Either way, she could captivate the world and leave it cold. But those who envied her always outnumbered those who admired her. He still remembered that day, when snow fell thickly and red plum blossoms stood proudly against the frost. After she appeared at the execution ground, the blossoms all fell, scattering through the snow with the sorrow hidden beneath their pride, then drifting slowly to the ground like the wind, forgotten by everyone.

Ten years had passed. The carefree days of riding out in light clothes and the future they had promised each other were long gone. Everyone had drifted apart.

The Empress Dowager of Shaohua, the Restorer Emperor, the nation's revered Imperial Preceptor, the renowned General, the wealthy man in white.

Ten years later, beneath the Yuxi tree, who was that lone figure in white?

"A Yu, A Ru, A Zhuo, Xi Niang, I'm all alone again."