Heaven and earth were all white, the howling winds boundless.
One man stood alone before the wind and snow, one hand holding the world apart.
Wuyan Lanzhu would never forget this scene.
She watched that cloaked figure in coarse hemp robes from behind, feeling that strength and immovability before a natural catastrophe.
She actually thought of the sacred mountain, and her gaze went blank for a moment.
Throughout the Chaha Tribe, the herdsmen who had been about to flee or await death gradually came over. All of them gathered behind the cloaked, hemp-clad figure, chanting words such as "Cangtu God protect us" as they devoutly prostrated themselves upon the ground.
Before this miracle, where the vast blizzard had been halted by great power, the herdsmen began to sing an ancient ballad—
"O majestic Qionglu Mountain, holding up the sky of the grasslands. O great Cangtu God, shining upon Your good people. From the eastern plains to the western wilds, from eyes like the sea to old age..."
These herdsmen possessed no extraordinary power, nor was there anything miraculous in the ballad. Yet sung with devotion, it carried the power to soothe hearts.
Jiang Wang faced the wind and snow directly. Before his right hand, the frost-white Buzhou Wind spun silently.
Amid the blizzard that blotted out the sky and covered the earth, this wisp of wind looked so frail. Yet like a candle flame illuminating the Long Night, it kept the wind and snow from advancing any farther.
The Buzhou Wind, hailed as first in killing power among the Eight Winds, could even tear apart Huang Sheli's violent Jing Wind. Resisting a sudden blizzard was no difficult task for it.
But this "white-fur wind" covered far too wide an area. At least for now, Jiang Wang could not sense its