It was snowing heavily.
The flying snowflakes were playing an elegy.
Dong! Dong! Dong!
War drums kept sounding. The last drumbeat came and it sounded like the drum was broken. Flying snowflakes shattered.
Dongyi's army had retreated. As the large man was heavily injured, they all fled back home in their boats.
On the city tower, Yang Mu's eyes turned red at such a sight. He threw the drumstick away. The blood on his armor had frozen solid. He walked towards the parapet to lean against it.
He gazed at the man sitting in the snow with a complicated feeling and admiration in his chest.
Mo Tianyu pierced his sword into the snow. He ran towards the Master and approached him.
The Master, sitting on the battlefield full of dead bodies, looked a little tired and a little nostalgic.
"Master…"
Mo Tianyu knelt down on the ground. He felt as though a hand had grasped his heart and squeezed it hard.
