The afternoon snow was fine as dust, as though Heaven were sifting salt from the clouds, grain by falling grain.
Without clamor or disturbance, in mere moments, heaven and earth turned white.
The snow borrowed no wind, yet followed a course of its own.
It summoned no thunder, yet changed the world's colors all the same.
Fang Qi's death, Shen Duan's illness, Wei Zi's rise.
Three events arrived together, like the afternoon snow: once fallen, unalterable; once gathered, unmelted.
Only when its whiteness filled the Court did people realize that winter had deepened and the game had changed.
Yet looking back, it had all happened in scarcely half a day.
Thus it was said: great transformations often began in small places; true upheavals often hid within silence.
So it was with snow, so it was with affairs, and so it was with all under heaven.
Someone knocked softly on the gate of the Small Courtyard at the Wei Residence.
Cui Fu opened it and froze for a moment. The man outside wore plain robes, a layer of snow resting on his shoulders, his expression grave. It was Shen Yi.
"Young Master Shen," Cui Fu hastily said. "Please, come in! My young master is in the study..."
Before he could finish, Shen Yi strode across the courtyard.
Wei Nisheng was reviewing documents in his study. He started slightly when he saw him enter.
But at the sight of Shen Yi's expression, he immediately set down his brush, came around the desk, and met him in two strides, his eyes searching Shen Yi's face anxiously.
"Wenhao, how is your grandfather?"
"On the day of the Grand Court Audience, when they carried him home, did he regain consciousness?
What did the Imperial Physician say? Did he prescribe anything? Could your grandfather swallow