The Old Tree

Snow fell over Suzhou and Hangzhou.

West Lake lay calm as a mirror, reflecting the snow-white willow trees along its banks. Snowflakes drifted down in profusion, vanishing into the lake. There had originally been scholars by the shore wishing to admire the snow, drink wine, and compose poetry, but the damp cold was too bitter to endure, forcing them to leave early.

Black clouds pressed down overhead, dark and gloomy. Heavy snow clouds filled the sky, and for some reason, they gathered thicker and thicker, seeming almost close enough to touch.

The city had lost its usual bustle and prosperity. People stayed inside their homes, burning fires to keep warm and ward off the cold.

Whenever winter came and snow fell, refugees would head for great cities to beg for food. The strategy for keeping the realm stable was to ensure they neither starved to death nor ate their fill, but no one could truly grasp that balance. Countless people took the opportunity to amass wealth and scrape the land clean. After the snow came, many would have no clothes and no food, entering the city with their families to beg for a way to live.

Such times were often when so-called heroes of the wild sprang up in droves, proclaiming themselves champions of the common people.

There were too many refugees within and beyond Suzhou and Hangzhou. Something was not right...

Bai Yujun gave all the paintings from her shop to Old Hui Xian. She had painted around a dozen over the past few days. Selling them all would probably be enough to rebuild Bamboo Spring Temple; after all, Small Temple was not very large.

Looking at the empty little shop, she felt a faint reluctance to part with it.

Bai Yujun had already noticed certain abnormalities outside the