Unlike the piercing cold wind atop Cangbai Mountain, the troops taking the eastern route remained trapped in the incessant rain. Even though the night was as dark as ink, the thick, swirling clouds overhead raged like tumultuous tides. The campfire couldn't be lit in the open and had to be moved inside the tents, casting flickering shadows of those huddled around for warmth against the tent walls, like a series of desolate and absurd shadow puppet shows—no one watched, yet they played on relentlessly.
The only one who would spare them a glance was Yu Wenqian, standing at the entrance of his tent, watching the chaotic silhouettes across the hundreds of nearby tents.
Despite the dim light surrounding him, his eyes remained as clear and bright as ever, seemingly untouched by the fatigue and mud accumulated from the past few days of travel. However, deep within those bright eyes, when he gazed northward, there seemed to be something surging, akin to the unpredictable clouds above.
