Han Xiao gazed up at the boundless, profound sky. The wild blizzard tore through the endless night, and he felt as if he were in hell, surrounded by a hollow, desolate emptiness. The devil's face shifted into countless forms amid the gale and snowstorm.
If Father were still alive, what would he do? Perish alongside the enemy, or become a turncoat whose actions could be forgiven? Give his life to leave behind a name of loyalty that would be praised for generations, or survive and restore the realm someday...
