Dawn was just breaking.
The sky was a sheet of gray-white, like a dirty rag. The sun had not yet risen, or perhaps it had, only to be blocked by the wind and snow. In this damned place, the days were long and the nights were short, but the dividing line between day and night was not all that clear.
Lu Mingfei opened his eyes.
He had slept by the door, covered with that thick down jacket, with his hat and scarf on, his whole body wrapped up like a silkworm cocoon. The fire had already burned down to ash. Some warmth still remained, but it was very faint.
He first glanced at Caesar.
Caesar was sleeping on the camp bed, the bearskin pulled up to his chest, his breathing steady and long. His complexion had recovered eighty to ninety percent, no longer as paper-white as yesterday, and there was a bit of color in his face. Lu Mingfei's Spirit Word had saved his life, but the aftereffects remained. He needed plenty of rest, letting his body finish the remaining repairs.
Finn was curled up in the corner, leaning against a few stacked tin cabinets, still hugging that M14 as if it were a pillow. His sleeping posture was terrible. His mouth was slightly open, letting out faint snores, and one leg had poked out from under the blanket, his toes frozen bright red.
Chen Motong sat by the window, her back against the wall, arms folded before her chest, her head tilted slightly. Her sleeping posture was much more presentable than Finn's, but her brows were faintly knitted, as if she were still thinking about something in her dreams.
All three of them were sleeping deeply.
Lu Mingfei sat up quietly and glanced out the window.
The snow had