Heavy snowfall lasted for three days.
The biting cold assaulted the air, but the Scholar never thought to burn books for warmth.
Unexpectedly, the children from the village took them to keep warm.
Upon returning home, seeing only the last few volumes remaining, the Scholar wept bitterly.
Without books, how could one still be considered a Scholar?
After his tears had dried, the Scholar went back to his room, changed into his Confucian robe, straightened his attire, and then stepped out of his thatched cottage.
The heavy snow had melted away, replaced by a brilliant sun shining high.
The Scholar began his climb up the mountain.
Reflecting on the past twenty years, he had studied the sages' books, entered officialdom with a heart loyal to the emperor and the country.
Yet, with treacherous officials in power, barely a year passed in office before he was framed and forced to leave the halls of government.
