On Mount Taibai, amid peaks and seas of cloud.
Several streaks of light cut across the sky like falling meteors, trailing long tails as they landed among these ancient snowy ridges.
The light faded, revealing more than a dozen figures in assorted clothing, some draped in furs, others in fitted martial attire, with sabers and swords on their backs and exotic weapons in their hands.
They landed on a ridge, where the force of the wind whipped the snow beneath their feet into a small whirl around them before it dispersed.
"Boss Feng, are you sure that brat is around here?"
A man with a large saber on his back and a hideous scar across his face asked in a low voice.
As he spoke, the scar bulged with the movement of his mouth, like a centipede writhing across his face, a terrifying sight.
He was Zhao Tu of the Mountain-Splitting Sect. No one knew how many lives stained his hands, and his savage reputation rang throughout the region around the eastern capital, Bianliang.
"No mistake. I've already sensed his presence."
The leader they called Boss Feng wore a battered bamboo hat, its brim pulled so low that it concealed most of his face, leaving only the slightly upturned ends of his mustache visible.
He stood motionless, seemingly one with the swirling wind and snow. Only occasionally did his eyes beneath the hat shift to sweep the distant peaks, his gaze as sharp as a hawk's.
Everyone in the martial world called him Boss Feng; his real name had long since been forgotten. It was said that in his youth, he had been a direct disciple of a great sect in Chang'an. After being expelled for breaking its rules, he had wandered the martial world, taking people's money to rid