The Great Cold Year Plain.
Cold rain fell over the frozen plain, with iron-dark clouds overhead.
This plateau was where the tribes of the Northern Di lived, north of Mount Taihang and far from the Western Frontier. On foot alone, it would probably take three or four years to reach.
Yet Wuge had traveled for only half a day before arriving here with Master Xu.
The farther he walked, the lighter his steps became. By the end, it felt as though heaven and earth were pushing him onward. The scenery flashed past him, as if he were a Divine Man of legend measuring the earth with his strides.
"The tribes of the Northern Di..."
This wilderness lay in the northwest, a place of bitter cold. Its conditions were far worse than the settlements of the Hu people in Xianbei, or even the Qiang lands of Hehuang. Since Sky Wolf's fall, the Northern Di had never recovered.
These Northern Di tribes had been unlucky: the object of their worship had been annihilated by thunderbolts. By comparison, the Nether Sheep worshipped by the Qiang had been far cleverer and more fortunate, feigning death to escape calamity. Now he was awakening.
"We're here."
The Daoist gazed over the grassland. Reflected in his eyes was the most sacred site of the Northern Di tribes, their Ancestral Court.
Along the way, they saw many dilapidated stone houses and tents scattered across the wilderness, barely holding out against the bitter wind and miserable rain. The Di here often intermarried with the Hua Clans of the Mount Taihang Mountains, and their customs had changed greatly.
The Di who remained here had lost their ferocity. Occasionally, they opened doors or tent flaps to peer at the distant visitors, but made no attempt to drive them away. Even the