Okay, here’s a version of the text rewritten in a fantasy style, avoiding modern phrasing and attempting a more archaic tone:

**(Forgive the tardiness of this missive.)**

*Snow a white garment, garment like snow, one might mistake snow-sprite for raiment.*

Qin Buyi felt a stirring of familiarity, yet though she delved deep into the wellspring of her memory, no face or name rose to meet her seeking gaze.

Cui Dongshan plastered upon his face a sunburst of a smile, then, voice lowered as if confiding a secret, beseeched Song-lao Qianbei to withdraw, lest the clash of two Boundary martial artists atop this mountain’s peak be hampered. With a flourish, he ushered Wang Manmeng and the others away from the city gates, intending to claim the rooftop of a grand manse as their vantage. But on this night of storm-wracked snow, where flakes fell in six-petaled fury and the wind roared like a beast, their vision was cruelly curtailed. The urchins of the Qian clan, being of meager attainment, were doomed to miss the dance of fists. Moreover, Cui Dongshan, with subtle sorcery, had woven a veil over the prior discourse between the Master and Han Wanzhan, leaving Wang Manmeng and company deaf to its true import. In time to come, when the identities of the combatants were revealed, they would surely be consumed by regret.

The combatants themselves, upon the main thoroughfare, stood poised, neither eager to strike.

Han Guanghu remained rooted, save to hitch his boot. Yet as his foot resettled upon the earth, the street, blanketed in snow a foot deep, seemed scalded by the passage of boiling water. A miasma of steam arose, and as the old warrior steadied his breath, the road lay dry and bare as a dragon’s hide, each falling flake vanishing before it kissed the ground. Only about Chen Ping’an’s feet did the snow remain, a defiant circle of white.

Song Yushao, following in Cui Dongshan’s wake, stole a glance back at this strange occurrence from around the corner. The old one chuckled. “Who dares say we martial men are not touched by the divine?”

Cui Dongshan knew well the reasons why the Master sought this challenge. Of course, the unseemly dealings of Han Wanzhan played a part, but beyond that lay a deeper, more personal motive.

To set the heart of Song Qianbei at ease.

But how?

Simply, by allowing the old man to witness the fist of the once-sword-bearing youth, that peace might truly descend.

Song Yushao hesitated, then, with a thread of voice woven of concentrated qi, questioned the white-robed youth beside him: “Sovereign Cui, has your Master the victory?”

He had heard tell of the several pupils under Chen Ping’an’s tutelage when sharing the hotpot, and knew Cui Dongshan now stood as the first Sovereign of the Azure Canopy Sword Sect.

Between the old man and Chen Ping’an alone, words flowed freely and names were spoken without constraint. But toward Cui Dongshan, Song Yushao had adopted a respectful title.

A younger generation, prosperous in their studies, capable of crafting clever couplets, eloquent in the lore of sages, crowned with academic honors, a beacon of family renown – such things would bring an elder contentment, yet might not still the deeper anxieties. The vicissitudes of court, the treachery of the civil service, the scheming in public service… so too was it on the roads of Jianghu. Men’s hearts could be cold and dangerous, especially when fist ruled over morality, and it had to be admitted the younger generation upholding rules tended to suffer. Song Yushao, experienced in the ways of the Jianghu, but not unbending, looked upon Chen Ping’an’s path with concern: seeking both his grand success, and his avoidance of injury despite his creed of ethics.

Such conflict of heart, it seemed, was the lot of those who held the younger generation dear.

“Song Qianbei, simply call me Dongshan.”

For all his impudence, for all the outrageous tales he spun before Han Wanzhan – tales meant not for subtle derision, but open provocation – he dared not wear a jester’s face before Song Yushao.

“The Master will not be defeated. Though it might seem, against Cao Ci, that he yielded four times over, there was purpose in it. A loss to the eye, a victory to the heart, a truth not to be spoken save to those who understand it. Cao Ci, surely, comprehended. And undoubtedly, Song Qianbei is aware.”

Song Yushao replied, “My concern lies in the suddenness of this sparring. Your Master must both win with grace, and temper the strength of his fist. A hard task, and a thankless one.”

The common man sees the spectacle, the master the details. Though Song Yushao’s martial attainment was not high, his life was one of journeying, and he knew men’s hearts with great clarity.

Cui Dongshan rubbed his hands, grinning. “Fear not, Song Qianbei! Know you not how, upon the Verdant Peak of the Immortal Capital Mountain, the Master once crossed fists with Huang Yi of the Verdant Cloud Sect? In the midst of it, she shattered the bottleneck of her tenth realm! For the Master’s fist held such precision that no ill feeling was bred, and now the Hall of Cloud Grass, of Pu Mountain, stands as our sworn ally. In a century or two, our respective lineages will mingle as thick as…well, long-standing kin.”

Back in the days of Combwater, Song Yushao had renounced the Jianghu. And then the famed Azure Bamboo Swordsman Su Lang, from Pine Creek, broke that rule. The swordsman was eager to visit Swordwater Manor to usurp the title of top swordsman in the heartland. Then, a sword saint showed his true strength and forced Su Lang out. Afterward, Chen Ping’an sought to retrieve the yellow sword sheath, fighting Ma Quxian, the woman warrior, and the Great End Dynasty. Two times, the old man missed this.

The old one trusted his judgment. Years ago, upon first meeting the youth with the sword, he had known his martial path would be swift and sure.

But Song Yushao had not foreseen that this day would arrive so quickly, so early, and with such…boldness.

Upon the street, Chen Ping’an scanned the empty city, sparsely peopled.

In the Sword Qi Great Wall, the sparring was lively.

Han Guanghu warned, “I say again, hold nothing back. Else this sparring becomes but an insult disguised as a lesson.”

Chen Ping’an smiled faintly. “If this is done quickly, I shall treat the Qianbei to wine.”

Han Guanghu laughed without warmth. The youth knew how to speak the words of courtesy.

Qin Buyi and the others took to the air, ascending to the city walls. Jian Ming drew from beneath his arm the Great End Dynasty’s state treasure, the blade “Famous Spring”, and scraped the snow from the ramparts. He grinned ruefully. “No grievance, no ill fortune, no narrow escape from death… and yet they brawl?”

Were all pure martial artists, once beyond a certain stage, madmen who craved only a fight?

Jian Ming felt a prick of worry. Would Han-lao recover? Rumor had it that martial arts feared the young, but Han-lao had lost his way. If it wasn’t for Master Zeng’s reminder not to act, Jian Ming would have stolen a pill. Was the veteran capable?

Song Zhi said, “Don’t fret. It will be to a point only. A master’s duel is hard. A martial artist spar is different. As long as it doesn’t end in death, it’s a boon.”

How many Boundary masters are on one continent? On the sparse continent of Ai, there is only one, the thunder temple’s Pei. He may want to cross the continent to duel, but North is out, for it hosts a hateful old man. The martial arts master of Willow is a woman. Pei keeps to himself. So he rarely duels, meaning he is not in his true state.

Zeng-xiansheng laughed. “It is because they lack the intent to kill. The Qi around them is killing Qi to the layman.”

It goes without saying the two have no intent to kill. The youth and the older man have stood together. Maybe, they admire each other. But Han has too little to say it. If it wasn’t for the monsters, the Great Wall would not be here, which is a blessing for the state.

However, the two Boundary masters are not playing. If one wishes to win, anything can happen.

What’s more, Han has some tricks.

Qin Buyi patiently explained, “Jian Ming, in practicing the fist, the martial artist tempers the body. The purpose of constant sparring is to hone the fist through interaction, each exchange being a lesson. The human body is a microcosm, where bones are mountains and rivers, and blood is an ocean of Qi. A worthy bout is like moving mountains and draining seas, a destruction followed by creation, a path cleared to ease the flow of pure Qi. The annals of Hao Ran speak of masters so profound that, beyond their own art, their tutelage was itself a wonder, reshaping bodies, healing wounds… though such tales might be merely whispers.”

Zeng-xiansheng added, “Such masters as Qin Daoyou describes, I have been fortunate enough to encounter two.”

Jian Ming inquired, “Who are they?”

Zeng-xiansheng answered, “Zhang of China. Cui of Treasure.”

Jian Ming responded, “I know Zhang, but who is Cui, that has no name on this continent?”

Zeng said, “Those below are not as immortal as those above, so the lives are short. That is why masters are not as well known. He also said that the only path is learning, which may be why he is not as known. There was also his disgrace, which is why his name is not well known.”

Qin Buyi suddenly said, “It is said a scholar met Zhang and went on a journey. During, the man lost himself to madness. While the scholar did not know his name, he helped him out, as the man gave great words: Speak and act true; Act sincere; Stand upright; Study hard; Fight honorably.”

Zeng said, “What Cui wants is the straight path.”

Qin Byui turned to Zeng. Does Zeng sell swords to Cui?

The Sword Washers are spread across the land, but seem not to have touched Treasure. In fact, some disciples were sent out once but then removed after.

Zeng-xiansheng answered in his mind, “I am afraid to sell Cui’s sword. If I do, I can’t live.”

Qin’s group was above. Cui’s was on a building.

Chen raised his head to the heavens.

Han does not know Chen’s aim, he will not attack.

Cui sighed, as Chen looked at the sky. He saw a woman.

She was hidden so well that he didn’t notice her.

She looked at his master so dearly.

How did she escape heaven?

Song asked, “Who is she?”

Cui asked, “Sword servant?”

Song said, “Good as long as it’s not a relationship.”

Cui was silent.

Qin, feeling impending doom, looked at the sky. She did not have the aura of a cultivator, but Qin felt like she was heaven itself.

Song tried to save everyone but was stuck in mud.

At that moment, the Tao solidified, and Qi froze. Her spells were taken by God.

Zeng continued looking at the streets.

The woman landed, and passed Han, as Han was to strike.

It wasn’t about probing or about being ignorant. Han felt that he would suffer should he not strike. He must strike!

Chen shook his head and said, “Why are you here?”

She said, “I was bored.”

As she asked, heaven began to operate.

She paused and looked at Han.

She was quiet, but Han heard a voice:

“You are good, but will never reach the top.”

“Who are you?”

“I will tell you if you complete a sentence.”

Han could not speak.

Chen spoke, “Han, this is my elder.”

She turned back and said, “No, I am his servant.”

She said, “Lu Chen may be hard to kill, but is not impossible.”

Throughout time, there are times of division. To her, it’s a harbor.

There are some Taoists there, but few. There are few that can stop it.

She did not want to bully, as that is evil. She cannot move on her own either, as doing so may create two rivers. Qi once went up the river to look at the war, and talk to Lao.

Chen shook his head.

She agreed.

60 years is nothing to her.

As a swordsman, she cut off 300 years of light.

She destroyed the heavens in this way.

She said, “Kid, respect my master.”

Han did not say anything.

He had some dignity.

She stretched and said, “I’m back. Master, go refine your sword. Delay no more.”

The town began to reverse time, save the masters. The audience lost their memory.

She left, no trace to be found.

Chen was awkward. “Shall we resume?”

Han asked, “Resume?”

Chen had no response. He could not rebuke her, who called him master. What was there to say? He never felt so insulted!

Chen saw that Han was stuck. Han gave a thumbs up and said, “I misunderstood. When we get back to normal, let’s spar. Tonight, eat and drink!”

Cui stood up. He was sad that he couldn’t say what he was planning.

Song asked, “What happened?”

Cui lied, “They fought in mind, and Han bowed.”

Song did not believe it.

Cui said, “Outside, we are gentlemen. We drink!”

Han was silent, as Qin was troubled. Zeng had a smile.

Cui said, “We are all gentlemen under the snow. We are friends!”

Han drank.

Chen drank.

Jian asked, “Chen, are there lots of swordsmen on the wall?”

Zeng said, “Do not say his name!”

Zeng said, “What are his titles?”

Chen said, “I have no title. I will be ok.”

He felt it hard to have a name.

He had grown used to being called a name.

Cui said, “There are lots of swordsmen, but if we account for levels, then yeah. If we had to hold all their swords, our hall would be huge!”

Chen nodded.

Cui did not lie.

Jian said, “I want to go to the sky.”

Chen said, “Train hard.”

Jian said, “You talk like my elders.”

Chen joked, “I will change.”

Jian asked, “Are you close to the Queen?”

The queen’s stealing was a missed opportunity for Zeng.

Chen said, “Those are rumors.”

Cui echoed him.

Qin asked, “Do you know Sword Washers?”

Chen said, “It’s the first I’ve heard.”

Qin was troubled. Chen was the one who ruined Cao.

His name was not in Treasure, but far.

Treasure and Chen were like looking at a flower in the mist.

Qin said, “I want to find a spot for a sword.”

“The three washers have hermits, generals, and swords. They can be found in the world. They are the loyal.”

Zeng said, “The wrongs are erased.”

Cui asked, “That is poetic.”

Chen asked, “Who beheaded Yu?”

Qin answered, “My sister did.”

Cui wanted to slam the table, but held back. He wiped it and said, “Don’t, master. Those are unnecessary.”

Qin said, “You can consider it.”

Cui changed the subject. “Song, do you know Zhang the true?”

Song answered, “I have seen him.”

“How related?”

“He calls me senior.”

Cui realized, “So the poor has seniority.”

Song said, “It is.”

“Are you moving out?”

Song spoke of the hermits, that must have three seats: one in China.

Cui asked, “Did Zhang change him? Is it for money?”

Song answered, “Zhang did not dare. It was Fan’s advice.”

Cui was not surprised.

The master had a bright future.

Right now, others do not realize, that without restrictions the masters can succeed.

Cui asked, “How about our ford?”

Song answered, “It is not good.”

Cui raised his arms to change the subject.

Song added, “I will not come. By rule, the seats cannot be by the experts.”

Cui tried to deceive, “How about a temple by the mountains? You can be king!”

Song frowned. “Where?”

Chen spoke, “Do not go. Not enough space. It cannot support a boat.”

Song agreed. The spot should hold three boats.

Cui said, “How about Rin?”

Song said, “Maybe, but it’s not as good as the south and Chen.”

Cui laughed, “Don’t worry.”

Chen shook his wine and knew.

Chen was now on a golden bridge with wine.

The woman smiled, “Boring.”

Chen looked around. “Is it true?”

She answered, “The past, is what I think. What has happened. Do you want to see Zheng and Fan’s past?”

Chen shook his head and asked, “How far are the landings?”

She answered, “It’s not about far. It’s about will and sword.”

Chen drank.

She pinched his head, “May the master always be young.”

She set her hands down, “It’s not the same.”

Chen laughed. “That’s hard.”

Chen asked, “Why the rain of magic?”

Without it, there could be no man.

She looked away.

Chen stared, blinking.

Qin:

She turned to Song and said, “Ask yourself.”