On the eve of their departure, atop the highest stone platform in Iron Bone Stockade.
White Snow stood alone in the wind, the dark red moonlight stretching her shadow long. From here, she could see the entire wasteland... the rolling, cracked earth, the faint lights flickering in distant mines, and farther still, the outline of a city suspended in the darkness.
Starfall City. The Star-Locking Hall was there.
The Storage Ring on her left claw still held a trace of warmth, as though Ye Han's palm rested against her claw. The Purple Cauldron Heart Method circulated slowly within her, and her Star Phoenix Flame was as docile as a tamed beast.
The clacking of an Iron Hand sounded behind her.
"Knew you'd be here." Old Ironhead's voice was rough and hoarse, carrying the bitter scent of cheap tobacco. Holding a clay jar, he ambled up onto the stone platform, his beast-hide coat snapping in the wind.
White Snow did not turn around. "Old man, aren't you going to sleep?" "Sleep, my ass." Old Ironhead sat beside her and set the clay jar on the ground. "We might be dead tomorrow. Why bother sleeping?"
He lifted the lid, and a sharp, spicy smell of liquor rushed out. White Snow wrinkled her nose...
This was Burning Saber, brewed by the wasteland's rogue cultivators. One mouthful could burn all the way from the throat to the stomach.
"Want a swig?"
White Snow took the clay jar, tipped her head back, and gulped down a generous mouthful. The liquor hit her throat like a mouthful of fire, scorching her so fiercely that tears almost sprang to her eyes. She smacked her lips. "Damn, this stuff burns worse than Red Loach's flames."
Old Ironhead laughed, his single eye narrowing to a slit in the moonlight.