After the New Year's Eve celebration, disciples gradually began returning to Changli Mountain.
That day, heavy snow fell like goose feathers, and the roads on Changli Mountain were covered, wrapped in a silver blanket.
Sangmo huddled beside the stove, roasting cured meat on Shen Yanqing's tea-making furnace.
Shen Yanqing looked on with some disdain, "Lift it higher, the grease is dripping onto my roasting tray."
Sangmo, smiling, lifted the sausage in her hand a bit higher, but the grease still dripped onto the tray and sizzled as it ignited.
Shen Yanqing's face darkened immediately, and he took another furnace and roasting tray out of his storage bag, placing his teapot on the new furnace.
"Come on, Master, you've taken the tea away, my sausage won't taste good without it."
"Move away, you're making a greasy smell," Shen Yanqing said with repulsion.
"Don't be like that, I'll share half of my sausage with you later..."
