The next day.
Yang Jing woke just as dawn began to break.
After a good night's sleep, all his exhaustion from yesterday had faded, and the internal energy flowed even more smoothly through his body.
He rose and pushed open his door. A patch of the courtyard had already been cleared, and Yang An was holding a broom, gathering the snow into piles, fine beads of sweat seeping from his forehead.
Wisps of white smoke curled from the kitchen chimney. Breakfast was clearly already underway.
"You're awake?"
Yang An looked up and smiled, wiping his sweat with his sleeve. "There's porridge keeping warm in the pot. Just a little longer before we can eat."
Yang Jing nodded, walked to the courtyard gate, and drew a deep breath.
The air after the snowfall carried a bone-piercing chill, yet it was exceptionally fresh. Drawing it into his lungs cleared his mind.
From the alley beyond the courtyard wall came the crunch of footsteps on snow. Occasionally, a passerby walked past, their footsteps particularly distinct in the quiet morning.
Breakfast consisted of stewed exotic beast meat, ordinary meat for Yang An, and coarse brown rice.
After breakfast, Yang Jing put on his outer robe and headed out.
The snow on the streets had been trampled into a hard shell of ice. A moment's inattention could send someone slipping.
Long icicles hung beneath the eaves on either side, crystal clear and glimmering faintly in the morning light.
Along the way, government wagons passed from time to time. Straw mats covered their beds, with stiff bodies faintly visible beneath them.
They were refugees who had frozen to death last night, now being transported to the mass graveyard outside the city.
The runners driving the wagons wore numb expressions as they flicked their whips to urge