The plains lay beneath drifting snow, the whole world a sheet of white. The cold wind cut like knives, as though this were a realm of frost.
Meng Zhao wore a snow-white padded robe and a fur cap as he walked alone along a broad path cleared by human hands.
His hands hung at his sides, his bearing leisurely and his steps unhurried. He looked not like a traveler hurrying through snowy weather, but like someone enjoying a spring outing, occasionally taking in the scenery around him.
Yet with every step, he seemed to shrink the earth to an inch, crossing dozens of zhang at a time. In this empty, desolate snowy expanse, he was like a ghost or god.
"The one hundred and forty-seventh corpse. Just how much sin has this damned weather wrought?"
Meng Zhao's speed had not changed, yet from the corner of his eye, he had already spotted a human corpse blanketed by falling snow. He could not help but sigh. Liang Prefecture truly was a land plagued by endless calamities.
Back in Lingwu City, the snow disaster had long since ended. Spring had returned to the earth, and the weather had become warm and pleasant, free of disaster.
Yet once he set foot in Liang Prefecture, he discovered that though the two places were not far apart, they were like two entirely different worlds.
Here, the land remained locked in ice and snow, as if it had transcended the bounds of the seasons and been cursed by some dreadful taboo. Heavy snow, frigid winds, and a force of grim slaughter filled every inch of Liang Prefecture.
Since stepping onto this white road, only half an hour had passed, yet he had already seen nearly a hundred and fifty corpses. Those were merely the ones visible