In the blink of an eye, it was the start of spring in the Seventh Year of Zhaoning. The ice and snow over the North melted, all things revived. The farmlands that had slumbered beneath the snow through the whole winter slowly awakened, spirits full, ready to welcome a new round of life sprouting within their bodies.
Only the softening east wind was heard, willow buds just opening, grass shoots breaking through the earth, streams murmuring along; outside the woods, wild pheasants skimmed over the grass, woodland birds chirped, old farmers in the fields shouldered their hoes, village children blew their flutes. In the palace, peach blossoms were in bud, waiting for rain to blush red. Among the common folk,
cooking smoke curled upward; the breath of spring was already thick in the air.
In the Beiqi court, Qi Huaiwang sat upon the throne. The warm breeze blew in, and he could not help but let out a yawn.
