At the tail end of winter, the snow fell all night long.
Everything around seemed trapped in a cold stillness, except for the river beside it making some noise.
This tranquility lasted for a long time.
At some moment, a whistling sound suddenly rang out, and with a figure, the cold chill swiftly spread, forming a temporary airflow that stirred up the layers of snow on the ground.
The young man in blue stumbled to a stop, gasping for breath, his pale face and bloodless lips reflecting the starkness of winter. Strings of Blood Pearls dripped from his fingertips onto the snow, blooming into patches of red, like tattered petals of winter plum blossoms.
He was injured, severely.
His spirits were depleted, and his qi was stagnant, unable to flee any further.
Behind him, two men in black cloaks, their faces obscured by conical hats, were closing in. One wielding a sword, the other a knife; one tall and thin, the other short and stout. Their bodies dotted with bloodstains.
