The mountain forest on a snowy night was an endless expanse of pitch darkness, where only the ice-cold touch of snowflakes like willow catkins could be felt incessantly brushing against one's cheeks.
As he circulated his cultivation technique to fend off the cold, streaks of blood-red light quietly appeared in Xu Yuan's eyes, making the surrounding mountains hidden in the dark clearly visible.
Hurrying along, the howling cold wind passed by his ears, and within his field of vision was the graceful figure of Ran Qingmo moving through the darkness of the woods as if out for a stroll.
She was intentionally maintaining a speed that he could keep up with.
Compared to Ran Qingmo's ethereal grace, Xu Yuan's manner of traveling was very unrefined, like the ninjas he had seen in his previous life who swung their arms while running through the woods.
