The days passed quickly. In the blink of an eye, more than three months had gone by. The Laba Festival was over, and it was now the middle of the twelfth lunar month.
Gu'er sat in the gatehouse, looking outside.
A bitter wind howled outside. Its whistling gusts felt sharp enough to crack the skin on your face.
Gu'er pulled her cotton-padded jacket tighter. Although she was indoors, a gatehouse like this had no central heating in this day and age. Because it was just a gatehouse, it had no heated kang bed or stove, leaving the room feeling damp and cold.
Gu'er had started a fire in a brazier, but she couldn't keep it burning constantly. The coals had now died out, and she felt as if her legs were frozen stiff.
