Chapter Thirty: Let Me Run Wild in the Snow

Rain and snow drifted endlessly.

As the first light of dawn broke across the sky, a gentle snow began to fall—tiny silver beads and droplets, reminiscent of willow fluff and poplar blossoms. The heavens gradually darkened, growing ever more oppressive, and the snowfall thickened, transforming into flurries as large as plum petals, swirling like white butterflies in flight.

The city of Lunu was soon engulfed, crystalline snowflakes like goose feathers shooting down in swift, dense sheets, blanketing every street, alley, pavilion, and courtyard. It was as if countless silver dragons soared through the clouds, scattering their shining armor and turning every tree, every tower—inside and outside the city—to jade encrusted with silver. The snow resembled celestial cotton, drifting through the air, coating the trees in silver, painting the city walls anew and rendering them ever more majestic.

"Wow! It's snowing! What a beautiful scene!" Early in the morning, Ying'er was already marveling in the courtyard.

"Ying'er, keep your voice down—Master is still asleep..."

"Don't worry, little sister! He’s never been one to sleep in; most likely he's just lingering in bed now!" Ying'er’s laughter, bright as an oriole’s song, was hardly subdued—deliberately loud enough for Zhang Yu inside to hear.

"Ahem, you little imp—who says one must rise as soon as they're awake?"

Zhang Yu wrapped himself in a gray fur-collared cloak, the same style worn by Mei Changsu, and stepped out, tall and straight, his presence all the more distinguished amidst the pure white snow. He plucked a delicate snowflake with his slender fingers, gazed at it as it melted into a clear droplet on his fingertip, then wiped it away at his collar, leaving a lingering coolness—that was the taste of winter.

The two girls were momentarily entranced, only snapping out of it after some time, both blushing, even Ying’er left speechless, not to mention the shy Han Yan.

Heaven and earth were blanketed in white, the courtyard transformed into a sea of snow deep enough to reach their ankles. Ying’er and Han Yan, along with a few maids named Spring Fragrance, Autumn Orchid, and the like, frolicked and laughed, scooping up snow and letting it spill from their hands—a charming spectacle.

One had to admit, the amusements of ancient times were rather limited. Though building snowmen required little skill and surely the ancients could manage it, these girls seemed to lack the know-how.

"Come, gather round," Zhang Yu beckoned, "Today I'll teach you how to build a snowman."

"A snowman?"

"Is it making a person out of snow?" The girls were curious.

"It's simple—just shape the snow into balls, making them bigger bit by bit." Zhang Yu demonstrated as he instructed Han Yan to push over a nearby mound of snow.

Soon, a large, round snowball stood at the center of the courtyard.

"Next, build a smaller one—Spring Fragrance, which one are you?"

"Here, Master!" came a lively reply. Zhang Yu glanced at her—plain looks, plain figure—and smiled politely. "Go fetch a carrot."

"Master...what is a carrot?"

Had carrots not yet been introduced? Zhang Yu was unsure of such details. "Then bring two brooms, and find a couple of small pieces of charcoal."

Spring Fragrance hurried off, while the others followed suit, completing a second, smaller snowball and placing it atop the first.

Before long, Zhang Yu had the broomsticks and charcoal. He stuck the brooms into the large snowball, forming arms, then used the charcoal to mark out eyes, brows, and a mouth upon the round face—a fresh, impoverished version of a snowman was born.

"How fun! Autumn Chrysanthemum never thought snow could be played with like this!"

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"Of course! Our master is a scholar of extraordinary talent!"

"This method of building snowmen is wonderful—now we sisters have something to entertain ourselves with when snow keeps us indoors."

Seeing how such a simple game captivated them, Zhang Yu felt delighted—images of poker, Go, mahjong floated through his mind. How splendid!

"Why don't we have a contest—see whose snowman is the most lifelike!"

Winter Plum's suggestion was met with unanimous approval, and the maids, full of praise for Zhang Yu, could not resist, each beginning to build her own snowman.

"Master, what else is there in that head of yours—ah!"

Ying’er was speaking when she suddenly felt a cold chill at her neck; turning, she saw Zhang Yu grinning mischievously, holding a small, nearly melted snowball.

"Master, you’re so troublesome!" Feeling victimized, Ying’er impulsively hurled the snowball she’d formed at her beloved master.

With a loud smack, the snowball hit Zhang Yu squarely on the chest.

"Ah!" Zhang Yu let out a dramatic cry and fell back onto the snow.

"Master!"

"Are you alright, sir?" The girls rushed to his side, concern on their faces.

"I'm alright..."

As he spoke, Zhang Yu scooped up a handful of snow and flung it upward, showering the group until they looked like white-haired witches.

Taking advantage of their dazed confusion, he slipped a tiny melting snowball into Han Yan's clothing, then sprang to his feet and ran.

Only then did the group realize Zhang Yu's mischievous intentions, each indignantly feeling as if they'd been outrageously teased. Ying’er, especially, gathered another snowball and flung it at Zhang Yu.

Zhang Yu had hoped for a hit-and-run tactic, but had not anticipated provoking such wrath. Truly, when women are angered, they become fierce as tigers—soon, snowballs rained down upon him, leaving him no room to dodge, and he was struck repeatedly.

"Han Long! Where’s Han Long? Protect me, protect me!" Zhang Yu called desperately. Before long, Han Long appeared, sword in hand, clad only in a thin shirt despite the cold, clearly just finished exercising in Zhang Yu's "gym."

"Yan Zi? Master? What’s going on here?" Seeing the standoff, Han Long was baffled.

"Throw away your weapon, grab a snowball, and avenge your master!"

"Snowball?" Han Long was still confused, but the girls didn’t hold back.

With a forceful whack, a snowball struck Han Long squarely on the forehead, followed by a chorus of laughter and cheers.

"Outrageous! Watch this, Master!" Han Long tried to scoop up a massive snowball, but Zhang Yu quickly stopped him—if that thing flew, it might be deadly.

"Make them smaller, softer—don’t aim for heads. Let’s go!"

A snowball fight it was, the courtyard transformed into a battlefield.

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By midday, Zhang Shiping strode into the courtyard after a busy morning, only to see servants and maids sprawled upon the ground, gasping for breath as if struck by lightning.

"What...! Such chaos! What is the meaning of this?!"

His shout sent the entire household scrambling to their feet, heads bowed in silence.

"Let me run wild in the snow, let me—"

"Yunu’er! What are you all doing?!"

A strange song, its source unknown, eased Zhang Shiping’s fury somewhat, though he still barked out sternly.

"Ah…Father, you’re back?" Zhang Yu ran over, smiling. "We’re having a snowball fight."

"A snowball fight? You can play with Ying’er and the others, but with the New Year approaching, surely the whole household can’t spend all their time playing—do we intend to neglect our duties—"

Smack!

Before he could finish, Zhang Shiping was struck by a snowball on the chest.

A slap in the face—a blatant slap in the face! Before he could erupt in anger, he saw Lady Liu laughing merrily nearby, her maid, Rain Ink, gently remarked, "Madam's aim has improved greatly."

...

An awkward silence fell over the scene, as if time had paused—

"The New Year is nearly upon us; today only, you may relax a little, but do not lose your sense of propriety and neglect your duties."

"Don’t worry, Father," Zhang Yu replied, smiling, "In this season, every household is busy preparing for the festival—who would have time to cause trouble elsewhere—"

Just as Zhang Yu spoke, someone stepped through the gate. He glanced over and was struck speechless.

It was not one person, but three.

Large ears.

Red face.

Black face.

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