Once, Meng Hu, a notorious bandit from Guandong, was diagnosed with a terminal illness. In despair, he went berserk, chasing and killing people wildly in the valley, and no one could stop him. A young disciple with blue hair stopped him at the Winter Pavilion. Without fading his smile, he raised his hand and killed him instantly!
The man named Ya Mi quickly became a new legend in the martial arts world, leaving everyone speculating.
He was gentle and polite to everyone, and handled things properly, yet he subtly maintained an unapproachable distance. When someone inquired about his past, he simply smiled and said, "I was once a terminally ill patient, but I was saved by the former Valley Master, Xue Ziye. So I joined the Medicine King Valley, hoping to repay this great kindness."
No one knows whether his words are true or false, just as no one can see through the look in his eyes behind his smile.
No one knew that this kind-hearted, gentle, and elegant young doctor was once a heartless killer. Even fewer knew how he survived—the process of "coming back to life" was even more painful than "dying."
Because when he regained all the emotions of a normal person, everything he had was already in vain.
He also asked Tong to send people down to the bottom of the glacier to search for Wang Jie's remains, but they found nothing—he finally realized that the last thread connecting him to this world had been severed.
He simply smiled faintly.
Many times, the people of the valley saw him standing on the frozen lake, lost in thought—the boy who had been frozen beneath the ice for over a decade was now buried alongside Valley Master Xue, yet he still stared blankly at the empty ice, as if glimpsing another time and space through the unfathomable depths. No one knew what he was waiting for—
He awaited the arrival of another turbulent era, the moment when the two masters of good and evil from the Central Plains and the Western Regions would once again clash at their peak. At that time, he would surely, like that female healer, exert all his strength and not yield an inch.
Every year when winter arrives in Jiangnan, the new master of Dingjian Pavilion would come to Medicine King Valley alone, not to seek medical treatment, but simply to sit quietly under the plum trees, drink a few cups alone, and then leave. Accompanying him, besides the intelligent snow hawk, was only the mysterious new Valley Master of Medicine King Valley, Ya Mi.
Besides, he was also a diligent pavilion master. Every day he had to handle a large number of cases, mediate disputes between various sects, select talents and remove scoundrels—the lights on the top floor of Dingjian Pavilion often stayed on late into the night.
On the fifteenth of every month, he would travel from Dingjian Pavilion in Moling to Jiuyue Manor in Lin'an to visit Qiu Shuiyin.
He has been married for over a decade, and his youthful beauty has faded. The dashing young man of yesteryear has now reached his thirties, becoming the overlord of the Central Plains martial arts world, the object of admiration and longing for countless heroes and heroines.
However, over the years, his concern for her never diminished in the slightest—
Every month, he would come to Nine Luminaries Manor, dressed in white robes and carrying a long sword. He would sit tall behind a screen, lean forward, and politely inquire about her health and any needs she might have. The woman, seated behind the screen, would answer with equal politeness, maintaining her usual composure and pride.
As the pain of losing her son gradually subsided and her mania was cured, the light in her eyes began to dim little by little.
Every time he came, she spoke very little, only staring intently at the blurry figure on the other side of the screen, her expression dazed: as if she already knew that this man would remain on the other side of the screen for the rest of his life, never to take another step closer.
She was always proud, and he was always just following her.
She was used to being pursued and cared for, but she didn't know how to humble herself. So, now that he had become the leader of the Central Plains martial arts world, and since he maintained such a distant attitude, her pride allowed her to bow her head first.
Their epic tale has been passed down through generations in the martial arts world, becoming a legendary tale. Everyone says that Master Huo is not only a hero but also a romantic, lamenting his unwavering loyalty and condemning her heartlessness. She, however, merely sneers—
Only she knew that she had lost him long ago, without even realizing it.
For eight years, she had watched him travel to various places for her, risking his life, and never complained no matter how she treated him—she had thought he would be her prisoner forever.
However, without her noticing, he broke free from the shackles that fate had placed on him.
Where has his heart found its home now?
That day, as he politely rose to take his leave as usual, she finally couldn't bear it any longer. She suddenly stood up, recklessly pushed over the screen that stood between them, faced him directly, her eyes burning with rage, and her voice, which she was trying to control, trembled slightly: "Why? Why!"
Amidst the deafening roar, the departing person paused slightly, then looked at her.
"I'm sorry." He didn't offer any explanation, just uttered three words.
Yes, in his youthful days, full of youthful vigor and ambition, he made a vow of lifelong devotion, and he traveled thousands of miles for her, undeterred even at the risk of death. If he could, he would also hope that this love could last, unwavering and forever fresh and new.
However, in the torrent of time and the changes of fate, he ultimately could not hold on until the end.
He looked at her, his eyes filled with sorrow and apology.
Then, Jiu turned around and left, never looking back.
Outside the door was a gray, cold sky, with light snowflakes falling and clinging to his clothes.
Every time it snows, he can't help but think of the woman in purple. In the past eight years, they haven't spent much time together, but every day has been happy and carefree.
He vividly remembered that during his last days in Medicine King Valley, it snowed for seven nights. He could never forget the moment he woke up in the valley on a snowy night: the world was silent, snow plum blossoms were falling, and the firelight illuminated the profile of the sleeping woman in his arms, peaceful and warm—this was the life he longed for.
However, on that snowy night, everything he had dreamed of was suddenly and quickly lost. Only a faint warmth remained in his memory, comforting the long, lonely rest of his life.
Now, it's snowing in Jiangnan again this year.
I wonder if the white plum tree in Yaowang Valley by Mohe has quietly bloomed again? The jar of wine buried under the tree is empty. Under the snowy night sky, perhaps only that blue-haired doctor is still playing that lonely tune "Ge Sheng".
Winter nights, summer days. After a hundred years, return to one's room.
—But where will he go a hundred years from now?
In the far north, on the frozen Mohe River, the cold wind cuts through one's skin, howling like the wailing of ghosts.
In the twilight, in an abandoned village, there is a person kneeling before a grave for a long time.
"..." He inserted sandalwood incense into the tombstone, raised his pale, frozen fingers, and slowly touched the cold tombstone. On the index finger of that hand was a huge ring, inlaid with a fiery red gemstone that shone brightly in the snow.
A stick of sandalwood incense was stuck in the snow, its dim red light flickering faintly against the backdrop of twilight.
Today is Qingming Festival for people in the Central Plains. On the snow under the sandalwood incense burner, there are already remnants of paper ash and offerings, indicating that people had come here to worship early this morning.
“Xuehuai, sister…” The person wearing a black robe embroidered with gold raised his head and looked at the snow-covered tombstone with an unusual fervor—his pupils were as black as night, but the whites of his eyes were an eerie pale blue, as dazzling as diamonds, so bright that people dared not look directly at him.
He gazed at the tombstone and whispered, "I've come to see you." Only the howling wind answered him.
“Sister, I’ve come to ask for your forgiveness,” the black-clad cult leader murmured, gently brushing away the snow from the monument. “One month from now, the ‘Blood River’ plan will be launched, and I will wage a full-scale war against the Central Plains Dingjian Pavilion!”
Only the cold wind of Mohe answered him, howling past his ears like weeping.
He knelt motionless in the endless cemetery, letting the heavy snow cover his shoulders.