Time slipped by; the years flew like a shuttle.
In the small courtyard of the cave abode.
Yang Zhengshan half-reclined on a lounge chair beneath the veranda, lifted his tea, and took a light sip.
Beyond the veranda, flakes of snow drifted down, piling into a thick layer on the bluestone ground.
Heavy snow whirled through the air, and heaven and earth had both turned the color of ice and snow.
"The snow seems especially heavy this year!"
Looking at the fluttering snowflakes, Yang Zhengshan murmured softly.
As his cultivation rose, he seemed to have grown sluggish toward many things—time, weather, seasons, and so on.
Perhaps these things no longer had much effect on him, so he paid less and less attention to their changes, and became increasingly dulled to them.
Snow fell in a flurry. Yang Zhengshan's thoughts had drifted to who knew where, and only when the sound of footsteps treading on the accumulated snow came did he raise his head.
The newcomer was a woman, her black hair hanging loosely, a plain silver hairpin catching the snowy light. Her brows were like distant mountains covered in thin frost, and her dark pupils were steeped in the color of snow, making her seem all the more peaceful.
Her dark gray cloth skirt swept over the snow, her embroidered shoes treading through it without a sound; only the plain orchids on the toes of her shoes were dusted with snowy foam. Though she wore coarse cloth, every step seemed to fall in a spring courtyard, without the slightest trace of unease.
When she drew close, she breathed out a wisp of white vapor, the corners of her lips curving faintly. Fine lines appeared at the corners of her eyes, and somehow made the wind and snow filling the courtyard