The snowy night was moonless. The cold wind howled like mountain spirits sobbing in the pitch-black mountain range.
The roof of the dilapidated house in the mountain village had a big hole through which snowflakes gently fell. A bright pattern lamp on the wall illuminated the rundown room, accompanied by a crackling bonfire.
Xu Yuan was sitting on a blanket, draped in a dark brown mink fur, fiddling with a half-foot tall black porcelain jar in his hands.
Inside the jar was the supper he and Ran Qingmo would share tonight.
A White Fierce Bird, already chopped into pieces.
This bird was hunted by Ran Qingmo yesterday. Though small in size, its strength was formidable.
With Xu Yuan's current strength, probably ten of him would not be a match for this less-than-half-a-foot-tall bird.
However, this did not affect its suitability as excellent ingredient.
