In Jiang Beichen's mind, a world filled with snow and ice appeared. That world was filled with devastation and snow.
There was only coldness!
It was bone-chilling cold.
It was just like the period when he could not find a supreme foundation and disguised himself as a profligate son.
However, in that vast world of white snow, the vitality of all living things was harvested. Dozens of plum blossoms stood proudly in the snow and bloomed…
There were even wisps of fragrance seeping into his heart and spleen.
No matter how cold the wind blew, the plum blossoms did not move at all.
In fact, it was even more vibrant, even more charming, and even more fragrant…
Jiang Beichen's mind was filled with those dark days. It was extremely difficult and he could not see any hope…
"The sword edge is forged from grinding, and the fragrance of plum blossoms comes from bitter cold."
