I died at twenty-three, and red plum blossoms bloomed across the mountains. My name is Tang Xiaolian, and I am a disciple of the Snow Sword Shrine. I have always insisted on that, even though I am the only person in the world who believes it. When I was eight, I was brought to the Snow Sword Shrine. I remember my Grandmaster furious and ready to kill me because I was the spawn of the Demon Cult. My master protected me. He was a man who rarely smiled, weighed down by worries. That year, he was only twenty-three. He crouched down to pull my cloak snug. The mountain was cold. I beamed at him, bright as a flower. Seeing my smile, he relaxed his tightly furrowed brow. “I’ll take you to get plum blossom cakes.” I nodded. My master took my hand, and together we walked into the snow. That single handclasp took my whole life with it.
