Wind and snow lashed Chen Wuya's face. He raised a hand and wiped at it. Standing at the entrance of the snow hut, he had left a shallow ring of footprints in the snow beneath his feet. That gust just now had come strangely, stopping as abruptly as it had begun—even the snowflakes had hung suspended in midair. Now it had started up again, whipping icy grains against his shoulders.
He did not go deeper into the hut. Instead, he crouched against the wall by the doorway. His pack pressed against his back, and his short sword lay across his knees. His fingers were stiff with cold. He flexed his joints, producing faint cracks from his knuckles. The bead beneath his tongue was still somewhat warm, but its heat was far weaker than it had been during the day.
He closed his eyes as Misaligned Force slowly circulated through his meridians. Not to recover, but to probe. This snow hut had appeared too strangely. That person had merely flicked a sleeve and gathered snow into walls—no small skill. But precisely because of that, he could not let down his guard.
The Misaligned Force within him spread across the ground like a thin thread. It did not take the usual route, winding crookedly around his dantian before boring out from beside his spine, seeping through the soles of his boots and into the snow. This was a route the system had completed for him. Others would not understand it, and he himself could not explain its principles. He only knew that it worked.
Time trickled by. Outside, the wind rose and fell, while snow grains pattered against the walls with a soft rustling. Chen Wuya never opened his eyes. His breathing remained even, as though he had fallen asleep.
Just past