At the edge of a world veiled in eternal snow, there stood a silent wooden pavilion, rising among white pine trees whose leaves resembled frozen crystal scales.
The wind drifted softly, carrying the scent of resin, whispering forgotten tales to each paper window that creaked gently.
The small village at the foot of Mount Xueyin was known to the people as the Sacred Snow Village, the only place where plum blossoms still dared to bloom in a winter that never ended.
Beneath the snow-mossed tiled roof lived a young girl named Qingfeng Huayin, together with her taciturn father and her younger brother, who was never without his wooden bow.
The Qingfeng family's ancestral pavilion never appeared particularly grand—its paint was faded, its wooden steps slightly cracked—yet within it was stored a warmth that never froze.
A pale green jade lantern hung from the veranda, flickering softly each time the wind slipped through the latticework.
Every morning, icy dew embraced the wild grass in the back courtyard. Every night, snow fell without a sound, covering the footprints of villagers returning from the fields of prayer.
For Huayin, this was a home of return—one that never demanded she understand who she was, or where the fragments of blue light in her eyes came from.