Chapter Eight: Snow Falls in Silence
In the imperial palace of the Snow Kingdom, from the very moment this grand complex was completed, there had always been an irregular, massive block of black iron stored within its walls. To house this formidable object, the royal family had specially constructed a palace of imposing grandeur in one corner of the grounds—a splendid hall built solely for the keeping of this iron. Although such a lavish structure seemed out of harmony, tucked away in a remote corner, every generation of royals regarded the iron with a mixture of respect and dread. No one ever voiced complaints about the hall, yet neither did anyone assign guards to protect the mysterious object.
Above the hall’s entrance hung a large plaque inscribed with the words: “Hall of Sunken Snow,” and the black iron within was known as the “Demon Iron of Sunken Snow.”
The origins of this Demon Iron were shrouded in uncertainty, with no official account in the palace archives. When court historians delved into the records, they found two conflicting accounts. One claimed that during the initial excavation for the palace, the iron was unearthed at this very spot. The other asserted that after the palace’s completion, the Demon Iron fell from the sky, crashing through the roof of a small hall in the corner. Though the stories differed, both pointed to the current location of the Hall of Sunken Snow.
But even such a dramatic arrival could barely justify the iron’s ominous name. After all, by these accounts, it was either a subterranean ore or a meteorite. Its truly peculiar properties only revealed themselves after it appeared.
In the lawless, wolf-haunted snows of this land—let us not dwell on the exact year, only that it was long before the birth of Ye Pei.
“Brothers, according to a friend of mine who serves in the palace, he once overheard the Emperor mention that there’s something of great importance in the grand hall at the northeast corner—yet it’s left unguarded. With our skills, wouldn’t it be a walk in the park?” In the dim glow of a candle within a cramped room, a wiry, sly-faced man spoke.
His words immediately raised suspicion. Sure enough, someone nearby retorted, “Hey, what do you mean, ‘a walk in the park’? The phrase is ‘as easy as turning your hand!’”
With a slap, another man silenced the first. “What nonsense!”
He then turned to the sly man. “What exactly does your friend do in the palace? And how did he overhear the Emperor talking about this?”
The sly man hesitated, stammering, “He, uh, he serves...”
The other man’s eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. “Is he close to the Emperor himself?”
“No... he serves one of the imperial consorts. He overheard the Emperor discussing it with her,” the sly man replied.
“How do you know your information is real? This is the imperial palace we’re talking about—our very heads are at stake.”
“Don’t worry, my friend and I are as close as brothers. He wouldn’t lie to me.”
“But what if he did? We could knock off a few wealthy households and make thousands of taels of silver. Why take such a risk?”
“I’m telling you, this job is the real deal...”
“Exactly! Even if we’re skilled, the palace isn’t some ordinary target. If something goes wrong, it’s not just our heads—we’d lose our hard-earned reputation in the underworld!”
“But—”
“I agree, we shouldn’t do it. Let’s—”
Apart from the sly man, the other four were unwilling to touch anything inside the palace. The sly man was rendered speechless by their opposition—until he suddenly shouted:
“Three thousand taels of gold!”
Those five chilling words silenced them all. The sly man, catching his breath, continued, “I asked around on the black market. They said, if you can get something out of the palace, a single item could fetch up to three thousand taels! Think about it: if there’s but one thing in an entire grand hall, what must it be worth?”
“Alright!”
“Let’s do it!”
...
And so, three nights later, the infamous Five Petal Thieves crept toward the northeast corner of the palace.
“Looks like there really aren’t any guards here.”
With a silent exchange of glances, each drew a grappling hook, and in a few swift motions, they scaled the thirty-foot palace wall.
From atop the wall, they saw the majestic Hall of Sunken Snow. Surrounded by the lower, more humble side halls, the main hall looked all the more imposing.
In the moonlight, the plaque above the door seemed to shimmer with a dark, inky light.
Driven by greed, the Five Petal Thieves failed to notice this, nor was it obvious beneath the shroud of night. With ropes and the aid of soft-soled boots, the five landed on the ground without a sound.
What caught their attention then, to their astonishment, was that the great doors of the Hall of Sunken Snow stood wide open.
Immediately, they hesitated, suspecting a trap set by the authorities.
Feeling his pride at stake, but trusting his eunuch friend, the sly man leapt forward and dashed into the hall. His companions tried to pull him back, but it was too late.
Contrary to their fears, nothing happened to him inside.
Seeing this, the other four exchanged looks and quickly followed.
Within, there was indeed only one thing: upon a stone pedestal in the center of the hall sat the Demon Iron of Sunken Snow—nothing else.
After searching the hall to be sure, three of them set about moving the iron, while the remaining two kept watch for a safe retreat.
To their surprise, the iron was not as heavy as they had imagined.
None of them noticed that, in the instant the Demon Iron was lifted, one of its veins seemed to rise ever so slightly before settling back into stillness—even I cannot be sure if this truly occurred.
The two scouts soon signaled the all-clear from outside, and the trio, carrying the iron, quickly made for the exit.
On the night of July 5th, Year 500 of the Unified Calendar, a cloud of black smoke rose from the Hall of Sunken Snow and swiftly dispersed. When officials came to investigate, all was as before—nothing amiss.
—Palace Chronicles of the Snow Court
No one knows what happened as the three men carrying the iron reached the hall’s threshold. Less than half an hour later, imperial spies arrived; the Demon Iron rested as always upon its pedestal.
As for the Five Petal Thieves, they vanished without a trace—neither living nor dead, they were never seen again.
...
On April 7th, Year 578, a giant tiger appeared in the palace. Just as it was about to injure the Empress, it was wounded by the guards and fled into the Hall of Sunken Snow. With a long, echoing roar, it disappeared, never to be seen again.
—Palace Chronicles of the Snow Court
...
On June 20th, Year 623, the day was clear, yet the Hall of Sunken Snow remained shrouded in darkness, though no clouds hung above. Every bird that flew above the hall’s roof fell dead from the sky, but by the next day, everything returned to normal.
—Palace Chronicles of the Snow Court
...
Thus does history recount these events. Now, let us turn to another time.
That year, Ye Pei was ten.
It was the second year since the new Emperor’s accession. On his birthday, he invited Ye Linhui and his son to a banquet in the palace.
A word must be said about the relationship between the new Emperor and Ye Linhui. The Emperor was nine years younger than Ye Linhui; when the Emperor, as crown prince, reached the age of six and began his martial training, Ye Linhui was already fifteen and the youngest vanguard officer in the realm. It was Ye Linhui who taught the prince his martial arts.
So, on the Emperor’s twenty-first birthday, Ye Linhui brought Ye Pei to the palace, where Ye Pei also met the newly two-year-old crown prince.
During the banquet, the Emperor suggested that when the crown prince grew older, Ye Pei should be his martial instructor. Ye Pei, after two seconds of thoughtful consideration, declined.
Yet in time, Ye Pei did attempt to teach the crown prince martial arts, though it was clear the boy had little interest.
After several rounds of wine and five courses of food, the party strolled through the gardens.
Given the height of the Hall of Sunken Snow, it stood out among the surrounding side halls—like a crane among chickens. It was not long before Ye Pei noticed this singular building.
When Ye Pei expressed his wish to visit, the Emperor hesitated for two seconds. Sensing this, Ye Linhui said, “Your Majesty, if it is inconvenient, there is no need for us to go—please don’t trouble yourself.”
The Emperor laughed, “Master, you jest. There is no secret there, only a few odd events that have occurred.”
This only piqued Ye Pei’s interest further. At his insistence, the group made their way to the Hall of Sunken Snow.
Upon entering, the Emperor immediately sensed something was different. Usually, this hall exuded a chill—not a sinister cold, but a bracing one. Yet today, there was no discomfort; indeed, it even felt a bit warm.
Naturally, Ye Linhui and his son were immediately drawn to the Demon Iron. Striding over, Ye Linhui asked, “Your Majesty, what is this thing?”
The Emperor replied, “This is a demonic artifact that appeared when the palace was built. Anyone who tries to remove it from the hall dies on the spot, their body dissolving into dust and scattering on the wind. So, our ancestors left it here, unguarded, merely warning all who enter that the hall is forbidden ground. I hope master and your disciple will keep this secret for me.”
“Of course. So, as long as it isn’t taken out, there’s no harm?” Ye Linhui examined the irregular iron block.
“That is correct,” the Emperor answered.
Ye Linhui touched the Demon Iron; it felt icy cold. “Let me try moving it!” he declared, setting both hands upon it and straining to lift.
But…it would not budge.
“What?!”
Both Ye Linhui and the Emperor were equally astonished. Ye Linhui, a man who had trained since childhood, could not lift a mere hunk of iron. The Emperor was even more shocked, for even ordinary soldiers could usually carry it with ease, and he himself had managed it effortlessly in the past. His master’s martial prowess and strength were legendary—how could he fail now?
As Ye Linhui stepped back in confusion, the Emperor tried as well, only to find that the iron, which he had always found light, would not move an inch, no matter how hard he tried.
Ye Pei, feeling playful as he watched his father and the Emperor struggle, went over and touched the iron.
“Wow, this feels so nice!” Ye Pei exclaimed at once.
Both Ye Linhui and the Emperor stared at him in astonishment. The iron’s chill and hardness could hardly be called pleasant—what on earth was going on with this boy?
But to Ye Pei, the Demon Iron felt as warm and smooth as a piece of fine jade. He liked it immediately, and with a casual motion, he lifted it.
The two men beside him nearly had their eyes pop out of their heads.
In their hearts, apart from shock, a single thought echoed again and again:
“Am I really weaker than a ten-year-old child...?”
“Wait—Your Majesty, Father, are you teasing me? This isn’t heavy at all!” Ye Pei said in puzzlement.
Now the Emperor and Ye Linhui realized—the problem was not with their strength, but with the Demon Iron itself.
“Put that thing down at once!” the Emperor commanded urgently.
Ye Linhui was even more direct: he strode forward to snatch the iron from Ye Pei’s hands.
But Ye Pei, feeling a sudden urge, shouted, “Spear!”
A resonant dragon’s cry echoed in the hall, and before Ye Linhui could reach him, an invisible force halted him in his tracks. The great black iron vanished from Ye Pei’s hands, replaced by a gleaming black spear.
When they left the palace that day, only those few knew that tucked in Ye Pei’s sash was a slender sword—the Sword of the Demon Iron of Sunken Snow.