Great Ridge Snow Mountain stood like a silent giant of ice and snow, dozens of miles north of Snow Moon Castle.
Its slopes were steep and jagged, its main peak soaring into the clouds. Snow lay there all year round, and beneath the ice lay permafrost and rock unchanged since ancient times.
Few people ever ventured here. Only the boldest, most careful and experienced herb gatherers dared enter the mountains during milder weather, searching for the rare snow lotuses that grew in icy crevices along sheer cliffs, hoping to sell them for a handsome reward.
Yet now, in this frozen wasteland where even birds were absent, two figures climbed against the howling wind and swirling blizzard, one steady, determined step at a time.
The man in front was middle-aged and dressed in black robes, his slender frame draped in a loose cloak of the same color. His hood hung low, concealing most of his face and leaving only a pair of slightly narrowed slit pupils visible. They gleamed with an eerie golden light, like a venomous snake lurking in the snow.
His steps seemed casual, yet he left no deep footprints in the knee-high snow, as though he were gliding over it.
Half a step behind him walked a young man in white robes. Beneath his spotless white outer robe, he wore a fitted outfit of deep purple, his silhouette almost blending into the white landscape around him.
The young man's face was cold and sharply defined. His black eyes were as deep as frozen pools, and his thin lips were tightly pressed together, conveying an aloof pride and an edge that warned strangers away.
His steps were just as steady, and he paid no heed to the ice and snow buffeting his face.
The two climbed onto a vast