At the end of midwinter.
The horse tails by the Hengyang River were coated with a heavy frost, and as horses traveled the main road, they couldn't kick up the red dust; rather, their hooves were caked with a layer of frosty, muddy snow.
On a cold Tianshan night, the flying snow struck the two flags outside the mountain pass lodge.
The dead pines clung to the sheer cliffs amidst the rime, desolate and piercing, yet with a graceful poise.
In the blizzard and fog, one couldn't see the distant sails drifting midstream.
"Creak..."
"Creak!"
The stars were sparse, and the sounds of stepping on snow up the mountain grew more frequent.
Several torches formed a line like a fiery serpent, climbing directly to the pinnacle of the heavenly column.
Inside the cave on Tianshan, Zhao Rong, who had been practicing martial arts for a day, stole a moment of leisure.
