The First Year of Zhenghe, December.
A fierce north wind wails through the night, and upon opening the doors, snowflakes still fall.
Snowflakes like cotton dance through the skies, painting the earth a pure white.
The vendors of Tianchuan City opened their doors and stepped onto the streets, stunned by the snowy scenery before them.
Snowflakes like poetry, dance across the sky, blanketing the earth in silver and white, the biting cold wind traces elegant marks across the snow.
Looking around, all that can be seen is pristine whiteness, Tianchuan City, after just one night, is completely covered in snow.
In Yue Ruyan's bedroom, it was warm, the candle on the table outside the drapes flickering wildly, burning to the end and extinguishing with a puff of black smoke.
Not long after, the wax dripped onto the table had solidified.
