Dawn had broken, and the snow had stopped.
At the foot of Dayin Mountain were two neighboring towns.
One was Qinghe Town, and the other was Wuqiao Town.
Qinghe Town bordered Dayin Mountain to the east and Wuqiao Town to the west. No one knew why, but the town was shrouded in white mist all year round, obscuring its true face. It was sparsely populated, too, and terribly eerie.
Wuqiao Town was different. Thanks to Black Mountain Stronghold, it was bustling and prosperous. Most of its residents were fishermen, farmers, herb gatherers, and hunters whose families had lived there for generations.
The sky had barely begun to lighten when the fishermen, seeing the snow had stopped, hurried off to catch fish in the Huai River, hoping for a good haul. The hunters and herb gatherers also took their tools and headed into the mountains, hoping to gather herbs and hunt game to prepare for winter and welcome the approaching New Year.
A lavish carriage rolled out of Wuqiao Town, swaying as its wheels crunched over the snow. It joined the main road and headed toward the county seat.
The boy driving from the carriage bench was about thirteen. His face was still youthful, but his expression held a hint of resolve. Wearing a blue padded jacket, he drove with practiced ease, all the while chattering away.
"Master, we're heading into town so early. The market won't even be open yet."
Before the boy could finish, a withered hand reached out from the carriage and rapped him on the head with the handle of a Dust Whisk.
As the curtain was lifted, an old Daoist in a yellow robe stepped out and sat beside him on the carriage bench. "We're not going into town to shop. We're going to see someone."