At forty-two, Zhuge Danfeng stood on the second floor of the oldest teahouse in the West Market of Chenjing, watching snow fall upon the gilded plaque of the Celestial Mechanism Guild’s main headquarters. Eight years had passed since he relinquished his deputy commander’s token; the decade of tumultuous tides in the Jianghu now seemed like a vivid dream. Streaks of silver now touched his temples, and what he held in his hand was not a confidential business report, but a well-worn copy of The Chronicle of General Yuanxin.

The coming year marked the centennial of General Yuanxin’s birth, and coincidentally, the hundredth anniversary of the founding of Luoen Academy—the very academy where Zhuge Danfeng had studied, renowned as the premier academy of Langgan Mountain’s Luoen City. A dual centennial, a convergence of heaven and earth.

“Brother Danfeng, are you truly set on returning to the mountains?” His former partner, Lu Kelan, poured tea for him. In the rising steam, one could almost glimpse the Celestial Mechanism Guild’s most glorious days—tens of thousands of aspiring entrepreneurs gathered, ministers paid visits, and countless factions came to pay respects. It was the pinnacle of worldly success.

Zhuge Danfeng gazed southward. Eight hundred kilometers away, the Langgan Mountain range loomed faintly through the snowy haze—the place he had sworn to return to in glory when he left home at eighteen. But after twenty-four years of navigating the Jianghu, with three rises and three falls, he had finally grasped the truth: Success sought externally is like charcoal in a snowstorm—warm but transient. Goodness sought from within is the true jade of the mountain.

“These eight years have taught me one thing,” he said, running his finger along the rim of his teacup. A fine crack traced its edge, like the path of the Zhu Luo River cutting through Luoen City. “The Celestial Mechanism Guild amassed connections and wealth, but what truly changes destinies is ensuring the children in the mountains can hold a writing brush, not their fathers’ jade chisels.”

That lantern of hope must first be lit in the mountains that bred and raised him.

In the twilight, he returned to his small courtyard in the northwest of the city. That night, under the lamplight, he drafted the Framework for the Yuanxin Education Endowment. This was not charity; it was about using the wisdom of the Jianghu to build a foundation for a century—raising capital through the Guild’s network, ensuring perpetuity through mercantile principles, making benevolent funds flow like a living spring. He knew that if this foundation could be established, Luoen in thirty years would no longer be a place of hardship, but fertile soil for talent.

By dawn, the snow had ceased. Zhuge Danfeng pushed open the window to see the morning light illuminating the magnolia tree in his courtyard, transplanted long ago from Luoen City. New buds were swelling on the bare branches, like an ancient promise stirring awake.

He packed his belongings and took one last look at the old Celestial Mechanism Guild token on his desk. The gilded character for “Guide” (引) lay silent in the morning light, no longer gleaming, but bearing a newfound, substantial weight.

And eight hundred kilometers to the south, the snow on Langgan Mountain was beginning to melt. Snowmelt converged into the Zhu Luo River, washing away the grime of three centuries, and licked the threshold of a new era.

For mountain flowers to bloom in splendid profusion, someone must first plant seeds that can withstand wind and snow.

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