On the day of the execution, as Yang Wenwan and the three hundred eighty-four men of his clan knelt on the execution grounds in thin prison robes, a heavy snow began to fall unexpectedly.
In the Han Kingdom, such a sight was a once-in-a-century wonder.
The Han Kingdom had a hot climate, especially around the Capital City, where snowless winters were the norm.
Even when it did snow, it was just a light, sand-like powder.
But now, in just a few moments, a thick blanket of snow covered the prisoners, the headsmen, and the Executioners. No one present had ever witnessed such a thing.
The watching crowd buzzed with discussion.
"They say Yang the Thief's crimes are monstrous. I was skeptical at first, since his reputation has been pretty good these last few years. But now I'm sure he's getting what he deserves. Even Heaven can't bear to watch, sending this snow to make his final moments miserable!"
