The three of them ate some rock-hard dried meat, hastily settling breakfast.
According to what Chen Zhiyuan had said yesterday, if they were lucky and encountered no further major obstacles, they might catch sight of the county seat today.
In the courtyard, shouts and the clatter of carts and horses gradually grew more frequent. Weary yet tense, the people began another day's trek.
Fang Yuan's family still followed at the very end of the convoy, slowly shuffling out of the village where they had lodged for the night with the flow of people.
Just as he was about to step beyond the village entrance, Fang Yuan could not help stopping and turning back to look at this village, which seemed especially silent beneath the gradually brightening sky.
The morning mist had yet to fully disperse, lingering around those low, dilapidated mud-brick houses.
There was no usual crowing of roosters or barking of dogs in the village, nor were there any villagers rising early to work. It was deathly still.
He casually asked a Chen Family servant nearby who was arranging the horse tack.
"What is this village called?"
The servant looked up and answered.
"Warrior Fang, this place is called Xueluo Village. The terrain is low here, and they say the snow falls especially heavily every winter—enough to bury half a door panel.
"Our master owns several dozen mu of mountain land here, so he established a small estate to watch over it. Usually, only one or two old servants stay behind."
Xueluo Village...
Fang Yuan silently remembered the name and gave it one more deep look.
For some reason, beneath the light of dawn, this ordinary mountain village gave him an eerie feeling he could neither name nor explain.
It was as though countless pairs of icy eyes lay