Meng Family Village. Beside the lotus pond, within the Azure Horn Pavilion, snowflakes drifted through the air, the brazier glowed hot, and boiling water surged like a tide.
Upon the redwood square table that had been temporarily moved into the pavilion sat a rather modern-looking bronze hotpot atop a brazier. A small channel had been opened beneath the brazier, allowing charcoal to be fed inside to provide a steady supply of heat.
Platters of prepared ingredients filled all four sides of the table: meat, vegetables, seafood, noodles, fruits—more than twenty varieties in all. Fortunately, the redwood table was large enough, or it would not have held so much food.
Meng Zhao wore a thick, snow-white fox-fur coat and reclined against the side railing of the Azure Horn Pavilion, his gaze tranquil.
The lotus pond below had been completely blanketed by winter snow. Though it no longer held its former splendor of lotus blossoms filling the pond, it possessed a different kind of secluded, icy beauty that soothed his spirits.
For the common people and impoverished households, the heavy snow of deep winter was an unavoidable natural disaster. Yet to Meng Zhao, it was instead a rare seasonal spectacle.
To eat a steaming, spicy, crisp hotpot amid such cold truly was a great delight.
Besides admiring the snowy scenery, Meng Zhao was more preoccupied with thoughts of the Zhou Family, the Pudu Cult, the major powers of Lingwu City, the situation in Ji, Liang, and Yan Prefectures, and even the Northern Lands.
As for the broader Northern Lands—or, more specifically, Ji, Liang, and Yan Prefectures—Meng Zhao currently had neither the time nor energy to interfere. But with the Southern An Meng Family there, he was no rootless duckweed in those three prefectures and had the possibility of extending his hand into