The snow in the north always carries the intention of a sword, and so does Yue Duanshan's sword. He had guarded the empty tomb in Yueshan for thirteen years. The rust on the "Broken Mountain" ancient sword on his waist was heavier than the frost and snow under his eyes. Until the man in Tsing Yi from the south fell into his snowstorm - Jiang Xunzhu coughed up blood, but with a crooked smile, he said he was looking for a bamboo that didn't exist.
Yue Duanshan was supposed to drive away this unknown scholar, but when he rolled down the steep slope, he reached out and grabbed a handful of it by mistake. The palm touching his thin shoulder was actually more frightening than the ice of the cold pool. Jiang Xunzhu's bamboo flute always sounded at night, with a warm and soft tune, like the spring breeze in the south, causing ripples in his inner lake that had not moved for thirteen years. They all hide secrets: his scabbard contains clues to the family murder, and his flute hole contains fragments of the secret scroll of cultural history. When there was an avalanche in Mount Yue, he held him in his arms, listening to his trembling breath hit his chest; in front of the sea of fire in Jingzhou, he blocked a fatal blow for him, watching his blood-stained fingertips touch his brow bone.
"Where there are mountains, bamboos will grow" - it turns out that this is not a prophecy, but a fate. What he guards is never an isolated mountain, but the soil waiting for a bamboo to take root; what he is looking for is never a strange bamboo, but a mountain that can block the wind. When the snow from Mount Yue fell all over his green robe, and when his bamboo flute blew the tassel of his sword, this encounter, which began as a trial, had already quietly changed in the warmth of the palms of their hands.
Purpose: Perseverance when faced with difficulties, and non-biased view of things