My dearest Yuzhen.
I'm finally writing your name again. It's been two years and forty-two days since you last spoke to me. Are you well?
This winter's colder than most. I remember you telling me you first met your master at this time of year.
That lonely little girl, glaring at the smiling, white-bearded old man. But her glare didn't drive him away. Instead, he became her master, her grandfather.
You called him grandfather in earnest, and he gave you the sword you loved most.
Later, he left, taking the sword with him. But you didn't glare at him this time, because he said that sword would be yours one day, that you would become the Greatest Under Heaven.
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