In the twelfth lunar month of winter, the sky is as gloomy as iron. In front of the bluestone steps in the main courtyard of Anguo Hou Mansion, there was three inches of snow. A thin girl was kneeling on the porch. Her clothes were thin and her knees had already been soaked by the cold air and turned purple from the cold. The wind whipped up the snow particles and slapped her cheeks, like a knife scraping across her face. She lowered her head, her eyelashes were covered with frost, and her breathing was so weak that she could barely see the rise and fall of her chest.
