Summer was long over, the late autumn wind came in from the sea, brushing over the east with the promise of a white winter to come. It was cold, and with the thin fabric of their robes, MingYu was freezing down to his bones. The sun was already at its peak, but it gave no comfort for the weather-beaten men.
ZhiYi had bought him a thick cape to wear over his clothes back in Wupei. But even then, sitting over the wooden kart pulled by LongHai, he was whipped by the wind mercilessly. His cheeks were red and chafing, the wind brushing by his delicate skin like blades.
They had been travelling for days now, camping under the stars when the moon stole the sky. The nights were more bearable, although the temperature was well close to zero after the sunset, the fire PingZe built was comforting. Each night, ZhiYi held MingYu to sleep, keeping him warm and secure.
