"Upon seeing this letter, may it be as though we have met:
"Linzi is far away, and deep autumn is gradually aging. The boy beneath the maple has been remiss in his greetings!
"Once, upon the stage, there was a young man who stood foremost among swordsmen under heaven, high-spirited and full of vigor.
"Once, in East State, there was a Marquis of Martial Merit, first in earned honors, with bells and cauldrons passed down through his house.
"You have become drifting cloud and smoke.
"I suppose ambitions spanning ten thousand miles cannot be worn away.
"I suppose the heart that endures until white-haired remains steadfast throughout.
"I too have no thoughts of returning.
"I know only that the storms of the rivers and lakes are cruel.
"What is it like, to go from there to here?
"I recall those days from afar: you descended the cloud steps and traveled ten thousand miles to Qi.
"Now that you are leaving Qi, there is no harm in wearing the moon upon your head and returning slowly.
"Chunhui misses you. Little An misses you. Words fail to convey it.
"—Cloud-Above Qingyu"
His long, strong fingers folded the paper, thin and light as mist.
But the concern upon that thin sheet was too heavy. He weighed it in his hand, then slowly spread it open again.
Sitting alone by the window in a high tower, Jiang Wang silently read the letter once more.
Words fail to convey it, yet I hope you understand.
Meeting Qingyu on the seventeenth day of the eighth month had long been an agreement made in advance.
Once an appointment was set, no mountain range could stand in its way.
Other than that embrace and his suddenly uncontrolled emotions, he had committed no further improper words or deeds. But