In the 17th years of Yong (雍), the first snowfall fell on capital in the month of Ju, two months before the previous year. At this time, the entire capital was wearing white in mourning for the death of their prime minister, who had died a month prior. As such, a gloomy atmosphere that stifled the very soul blanketed the Great Zhu (朱) Dynasty’s capital, Lin’an (临安).
Twelve li from the capital, sits the ancestral town of the Jing (荆) family, recently named Jing Village through the Emperor’s decree. Compared to Lin’an, the atmosphere over Jing Village was even more oppressive; white cloth could be seen hanging from every building, it’s residents abstained from wearing any colour, blending in with the snow. Were a bird to fly overhead the village, it is very possible that it may have not seen any difference between the village and its surrounding farmland.
Located at the heart of this village is the Jing family estate, decorated lavishly with treasures extracted from the four seas (四海), it’s artificial mountains still possessed a slight green amidst the snow, and a few carps could be seen swimming with vibrance in the small lake that flowed through the courtyard.
Furthest away from the door to the courtyard was a burial mound built leaning on the walls that surrounded the courtyard.
As the snowfall was beginning to weaken, the door connecting the courtyard to the entrance slowly opened, and a young man stepped out with great difficulty. The young man was indeed a very strange person; even compared to the excessively white clothes worn by the villagers, he was even more extreme. From his cloth shoes to his belt, each article of fabric was stainlessly white, and even more bizarre, was that his eyes were covered by a piece of white cloth.
Although his most prominent feature - his eyes - were covered by the fabric, it could be said that the young man was very handsome. His complexion was slightly feeble and pale, though still maintained a sense of masculinity and stalwartness that indicated a marital life a seldom few possessed yet countless desire in the most prosperous period since the founding of the new dynasty.
The young man slowly walked across the courtyard, his feet managing to trace the stone footpath despite his lack of vision. When he arrived before the humble mound, he knelt down with some challenge, before reaching within his sleeves to retrieve a single stick of incense.
Holding the incense between his fingers, the young man placed it into the flames of a nearby lamp, bowed to the mound before him, and finally stuck the incense into the holder sitting on the mound.
He bowed three more times to the mound, his head hitting the stone floor so loudly it’s sound reverberated throughout the entire courtyard, before standing up and leaving on the same path he had arrived through.
His name was Jing Wen (荆文). His father, Ling Ping (荆平) had come from a minor branch of the Jing Clan and was of a literary nature. Despite this, Jing Wen was a genius of martial arts while lacking literary talents. A month prior, Jing Wen was considered to be the man most likely to succeed in the position of the captain of the imperial guard.
Of course, now that he was amaurotic (blind), his martial talents meant very little.
Jing Wen, as a blind man, had few benefits and many detriments. Fortunately, for he had a sturdy body, though he could not farm in the fields, he could easily transport heavy objects throughout the town - there were few roads in the village to begin with, and Jing Wen could easily remember the path.
Next to the main door of the Jing estate was - in stark contrast to the rest of the lavishly decorated residence - a large wooden chest that emitted a foul smell reminiscent of rotting meat. Jing Wen, however, cared little. Placing the heavy wooden chest on his back, he strolled onto the main road of Jing Village. After a moment of pause to ascertain which direction he was facing by feeling the stone beneath him, he turned towards the South and began treading through the snow-covered path, his feet leaving heavy imprints.
Under the eaves of the houses by the side of the street, a few children wearing little winter coats with square books tucked into their sleeves to ward off the coat had just finished their day-long lecture. They all wore white in mourning.
“Look! It’s that blind man again!” A kid was feeling wearing so much white and abstaining meat for so long made one very bored. Although their class time had been reduced due to the snowfall, playing games with his friends were forbidden due to the mourning. Right at this moment, he saw Jing Wen walking woodenly through the street like an idiot. The kid, who recognised him as a blind man with no ways to fight back, was especially happy. It was as if he had just been taught a new game by one of his friends. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
The streets were swept every day, as such, there were no rocks below the eaves. The eyes of the children quickly spurred about, finding a hand burner not long after. They laughed shrilly, picked up the coal that was not burned last night, and began to throw it at Jing Wen
Perhaps it was due to their purity, that children were both the most innocent creature and also the cruellest. If they were indulged and spoiled, they would quickly become sadistic creatures who would torment anyone weaker than themselves. It made them particularly happy to see the black stains that were left behind on Jing Wen’s clothes.
Despite this being the main street, there were never many people on it. In the eyes of the people of Jing village, the blind man carrying pig intestines was clearly a weak-minded person. Yet despite their sympathies, Jing Wen was a foreigner while these children were their flesh and blood. None of the adults standing on the street made an attempt to intervene, they just looked indifferently at the children who were venting out their anger towards the world in their own, unique way.
A piece of dark coal ruthlessly stuck against Jing Wen’s still and handsome face with a crisp sound evocative of someone slapping him. This piece of coal also shifted the piece of white cloth on Jing Wen’s face slightly. Jing Wen had grown used to this routine done by the children, aside from straightening that piece of white cloth that covered his face, he did not respond at all, and continued walking.
Still, a reaction is a reaction. For the past month, the children had been throwing objects at Jing Wen without any resistance. Seeing that the blind man finally had some sort of feedback, they grew even more excited. The pieces of coal flying in the air immediately grew denser.
Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!
The pieces of coal left behind many traces of coal dust and even some traces of blood. The blood, like a flood after drought, flowed down Jing Wen’s pale face, dripping onto his white cloth and revealing marks that made one tremble on his face.
Finally, the children ran out of coal. Yet at this moment, their blood was the most boiled it had been since the start of the mourning. One of the children laughing most maliciously gathered a small group and seized the wooden chest Jing Wen was carrying, finally making him stop his footsteps.
“Idiot, look at me,” the child said with a sense of irony. “If you want your box of rubbish back, why don’t you try to crawl between my legs?”
Jing Wen’s head tilted slightly, it was as if he did not understand what was happening. He slowly turned around to ‘look’ at the dirty-handed child speaking through that piece of white cloth. While this was his ancestral town, he had lived in the capital since his birth. In his short career as a member of the imperial guard, he had seen brothers killing their siblings, father killing their sons, and the endless scheming of the emperor’s harem. However, he had never seen any innocent child laugh so maliciously.
Regardlessly, these emotions and thoughts appeared in his mind for no more than a moment. He fell on his knees like a dog, and his hands touched the snow-covered ground. Almost senseless, he crawled around, searching for where the ‘entrance’ between that child’s legs were. Unbeknownst to him, the child had long ago stepped away from the centre of the main street, now joyfully watching Jing Wen scramble aimlessly.
Time passed, Jing Wen’s fingers turned purple, and his clothes became soaked with sweat and the melted snow.
Suddenly, the seemingly calm snow grew into a blizzard. It was as though a crack had appeared in the sky, and through that fissure, an endless snowy plain of unfathomable mass fell through, as if it wished Zhili too, became a domain of snow.
Through the heavy snowfall, the sound of faint footsteps could be heard. The children, like dogs hearing a bell, immediately scattered in all directions, unfolding their umbrellas and disappearing in the snow.
Not long after the eave was evacuated, a woman wearing a set of white clothes almost comparable to Jing Wen emerged. Sheltering the man still on the ground with her body, she hastily, yet respectfully, brought Jing Wen back up to his feet. Gripping his frozen hands, the woman suppressed her tears and pulled him back to the Jing estate.
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The woman was surnamed Jing and named An (安). Despite her surname, she was not of any of the Jing branches, but rather a street urchin that was adopted by Jing Ping. After she had turned 14, she was not wedded like most girls, but instead taught the four arts - qin (Chinese piano), qi (Chinese chess), shu (calligraphy) and hua (painting) - as would a man. After Jing Ping had died, Jing Wen had dismissed all the servants of the family, though Jing An had insisted on following him back to Jing village.
Unlike Jing Wen, who was viewed immediately as a burden by the whole village, Jing An quickly grew high in the regards of the villagers due to her talents and beauty. Her cheeks were rosy like an apple, while her eyes were bright as the moon, shining with intellect. A common saying among the people of the Zhu Dynasty was that a woman looked best in mourning clothes, and Jing An was certainly a strong testament to that.
Her lips pursed together with concern, Jing An guided Jing Wen’s hand towards the hand warmer. The handwarmer was a tribute to the imperial court from the king of Nanwang (南晚), and subsequently gifted to Ling Ping by the Zhu Emperor, Hong Yong (洪雍). It was exquisitely crafted, with the carving of a seven-legged serpent intertwined with the majestic phoenix. The eyes of both creatures were decorated with Ruby extracted from lands beyond the Xueyu (雪域) mountain range. The azure bamboo used as charcoal was of far greater quality than those tossed at Jing Wen by the children, giving off a pleasant smell and did not produce any smoke.
A loss of one sense enhances all the others. As such, Jing Wen could easily smell the superior quality of the charcoal. A frown slowly emerged on his still face as he said, “After these finish burning, sell the rest and keep the money for yourself.”
Jing Wen''s voice sounded extremely pleasant, it was like the sound created by the flapping of feathers… only, it was a bit harsh sounding and muzzled for he had spoken very little in the past month.
Hearing this, an indescribable emotion appeared on Ling An’s face as she refused to respond. Instead, she brought a fine porcelain cup before Ling Wen’s frozen lips, urging him to drink with her actions.
Ling Wen, however, yet did allow the tea to go down through his throat in this manner. Seizing the cup in Ling An’s hands, he swung its contents into his mouth, spilling a good portion onto his clothes, causing it to blend with the stains left behind by the children. The mix of fluid trickled down his white robes, as though the fabric itself was shedding tears.
Ling An finally could no longer suppress her emotions at Ling Wen’s senseless torture. Breaking down in tears, she asked between her sobs, “Young master, we still have 20,000 liangs of silver left and the Emperor’s protection. Why must you torment yourself like this!”
Ling Wen wiped his lips with the sleeves of his robes and did not respond. Almost intuitively, he turned his head toward that mound in the courtyard and looked at it for a long time.
Buried beneath it was his father, and also the father of the nation - the Prime Minister Ling Ping.