Beneath the Peace Bell Tower, the old bell-ringer's flute still sings as ever. Your arrival does nothing to di…
Beneath the Peace Bell Tower, the old bell-ringer's flute still sings as ever. Your arrival does nothing to disturb his quiet ease. Then the melody shifted, weeping and whispering like a grief too deep for words. This is not your first time here, yet this time, you seem at last to hear the story hidden within the song.
It is the clash between the surging Luo River and the gleaming white snow; the silent gaze between bitter winter plum and a deep, clear spring. It is the turning point where lovers become estranged, the stroke where love and duty leave their truest, most agonizing mark, the final parting that leaves them as strangers at the ends of the earth. You know who the story is about. Yet she has never spoken of that great battle, and you never learned who emerged victorious in the end. The old man seems to read your thoughts, tossing the same question back to you. After a moment's reflection, you give your answer...
The old man only smiles, neither confirming nor denying it. Slowly, he recounts the untold fragments of the tale: the honor of the Hanging Blade, the honor of Well of Heaven, the honor of Water Lady, the honor of the Northern Vow… Each stood balanced upon the arrowhead of honor, yet the hand that drew the bowstring was never their own.