Stepping out of the log cabin, a blast of crisp, cold air rushed to meet him. The chill seemed to pierce his clothes and seep straight into his bones, sobering Feng Mountain up in an instant.
He subconsciously pulled his jacket tighter and tucked his chin.
The camp was still a little chilly in the morning.
He looked up at the sky, which was a vast expanse of darkness, like a giant sheet of dark satin spread out overhead.
After stretching in place for a bit, Feng Mountain began his unwavering daily morning run along the banks of the Ice River.
Before long, others began to trickle in, joining the group of morning runners.
The group included camp staff and a few early-rising tourists. As they ran, they would occasionally greet one another, adding a bit of liveliness to the otherwise chilly morning.
However, much to Feng Mountain's surprise, he spotted Su Ziweng and Young Master Xu among the runners.
