A thousand kilometers north of the imperial capital lay a sea of white peaks. Droplets of gentle snow fell from the gray sky like fallen ash, layering itself onto the thick snow that cloaked the entire region. It was summer, but not in the far north. Gray clouds blotted out the midday sun, letting lines of light pierce through, but not warmth.

On a certain peak sat a black-haired white-robed youth, his skin pale, pale like no living man. But he was alive: tendrils of white steam suffused out the sides of his mouth as though he could breathe fire. His eyes were closed as he sat cross-legged in the cold snow, his body still and stagnant, not shaking or shivering as though he did not feel the extreme cold.

“You’re getting there,” a voice resounded from behind as the sounds of footsteps echoed. An old man emerged, wearing a similar white robe, but unstained as though he had it washed everyday. His long hair was a similar shade of pure white just like that of fresh-fallen snow. Sharp features hid under his deep wrinkles, not failing to retain the charm he had once had in his youth. He was already an odd one, but under closer inspection, one would be able to see that the snow did not fall on him as though it was avoiding him. 

The youth sat still, his eyes still closed as though he did not notice the old man. A minute later, his robes started to flutter without wind, and he opened his eyes; the thin layer of snow on his eyelashes falling off, revealing his slate-coloured pupils. “I’m done,” he said, standing up to give the elder a deep bow. “Thank you, grandfather.” 

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“No matter,” the elder let out a rueful smile, “this is what I am supposed to do. I’ve had no company for a hundred years but a child like you suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Instead, I am grateful to you, Little Jiang.” He took out something from his robe and held it out: a jade whistle, shimmering despite the lack of sunlight. “This is a gift,” he said, “you are only at the 3rd stage of refinement. If you need help, just blow.” 

Jiang deepened his bow as he accepted the gift with both hands. “I’ll repay you,” he said, “I will.” 

Yet the elder only clicked his tongue as he shook his head, waving his hand as though to ward something off. “Leave,” he said, “else I change my mind. Then you’ll never.” 

Jiang nodded as he walked towards the south, his resolute footsteps leaving deep marks on the thick snow. Though, he'd  be lying if he said that he wasn't sad. From when he could remember, he had been raised by the elder whose identity he did not know as though he was his own child. Seventeen years had passed since then, and he had been living in these desolate mountains, making it the only place he could call home. But he would have to leave one day.

And that would be today. 

“Jiang,” the elder’s voice reverberated from behind, “don’t you dare come back before you reach the seventh realm. Hurry up and scram or I’ll drag you back.” 

Jiang nodded as he increased his pace, the sight of towering peaks finally emerging as clouds unfolded before him. The same sight was the same everywhere he looked, so vast that it disappeared in every direction. But he could deal with it. Ten kilometers south, he heard, was a village. He would settle there for a few days and continue down with a horse if possible. 

And so he started his descent, enthusiasm blatant on his visage as he ran down the peak, withered trees flashing by testament to his incredible pace. 

…