Walking north, the weather grew colder.
Howling, cold winds swept fine sand across the plains, sending the light, nameless downy plants rolling all over the ground. A bleak atmosphere shrouded the entire plain, and the cold wind seemed to silently proclaim how savage a stage this world was in. On the boundless wasteland, tall vegetation was rarely seen. Because this place lay in a cold climate zone, and because the low temperatures still covering the globe had yet to fully recede, the wasteland held only listless, low shrubs and nameless weeds scattered here and there. This was truly no place fit for life.
Of course, it was no place fit for hunting, either.
There were hunting grounds and plants, naturally, but they lay dozens of kilometers from this wasteland. There was a fairly lush coniferous forest there, surrounded by moderately sized grasslands. Herds of herbivores and a few kinds of predators roamed the area, supporting two small primitive tribes—and, in turn, the primitive tribes supported the carnivorous beasts in the woods.
This was an age when humans and beasts stood on the same level, each other's prey.
Hao Ren climbed onto a rock jutting from the ground, draped in a worn leather robe whose edges had already frayed. His outfit looked weather-beaten, but to the natives of this place and time, it was still an incomprehensibly miraculous object. He raised a hand to shade his eyes and gazed into the distance, toward the depths of the wasteland. This place, covered in broken stones and tundra plants, looked the same in every direction. But after reaching this point, there was no longer any need to worry about getting lost, because a striking "landmark" stood in the distance: a white cone reflecting the sunlight. From afar, it looked like a White Tower,