When An Jing traveled from Kanming City to the Northern Border, he felt as if he had stepped directly from spring to deep winter, bypassing summer and autumn.
The familiar cold wind, the fierce frost and snow.
Breathing out would condense one's breath into ice crystals. He gazed upon a boundless expanse of silvery-white land merging with the sky.
And the air that had no taste, was extremely dry, and had nothing but the cold—no signs of life or moisture.
This was the Frost Calamity.
It hadn't ended yet—it just hadn't continued to spread.
The cold wind from the center of the Extreme Northern Frost Plains had turned half of Dust Li and half of the Northern Border into a snowfield. It was said that even parts of the Northern Sea had frozen into dense ice layers hundreds of feet thick.
"The Northern Border... Hanbei path."
Returning to his homeland once more, An Jing deeply inhaled the air of this endlessly white world.
