The winter snow fluttered down, cloaking the world in a shimmering silver mantle.
Gusts of cold wind howled through the mountain pass.
Inside a small fenced courtyard,
Ren Qianqian practiced her swordsmanship in the snow. The blade sang through the air, whipping up the falling snow around her. She moved with the agility and grace of a butterfly, her sword strokes lithe.
"The technique is just a facade, you need to comprehend the trajectory, the rhythm, and the true essence of the sword,"
beside her, Li Hao squatted on the snowy ground, intently building a snowman.
He patted and shaped it with his hands, occasionally clipping and trimming, and every now and then he glanced up at the practicing girl to give her a few pointers.
Upon hearing this, Ren Qianqian paused, puzzled, "The trajectory of the sword?"
"Mhm,"
Li Hao nodded, noticing that his snowman lacked arms made of branches. He immediately stood up, bent down, and picked up a branch from outside the woodshed:
