In the blink of an eye, it was early November.
Up north, autumn was giving way to winter. The cold came far too quickly, and frost already covered the ground early in the morning.
On the riverbank outside the city, Old Li held his bugle and blew away with all his might.
Lian Youming sat in a wheelchair, wrapped in a military overcoat, wearing a dogskin hat and a scarf, bundled up tight.
Since returning from his stint in the countryside, this was the first time he had worn such thick clothing.
There was no helping it. He could not mobilize his vital energy, and his body was severely injured. Even the slightest breeze could make him shiver.
Worse still, a set of pig offal the old man had bought along the way hung from him, along with some side dishes. The rank smell hit him square in the face; even closing his eyes could not keep it out.
Listening to the bugle beside his ear, Lian Youming's eye muscles kept twitching, but he steadied his mind and quietly felt the surging momentum within its notes.
He had no strength of his own to use, but the bugle calls were like the heavenly thunder borrowed by Heavenly Dipper Strength, drawing outside power into his body.
He was not ungrateful. At his age, the old man was still stirring his breath every day just to heal him.
But he was simply too close. The vibrations nearly blew the top of his skull off.
Xu Baishi had come along too. Perceptive as she was, she had already begun guiding her internal breath to resonate with the bugle calls. In this way, it was as though an invisible hammer continually tempered and honed her muscles and bones, refining her essence, energy, and spirit.