In the far north of Luzhou in Beiju, there is a city named "Fengling".
On the eighteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, the road was blocked by wind and snow.
The old blacksmith Xu Yaba's shop is the most inconspicuous one in Fenglingdu. The fire was about to go out, and he was using a piece of oil-stained deerskin to repeatedly wipe an iron sword that was almost rusted through the ridge. The blade of the sword is dim, and only two ancient seal characters - "Lixue" - can be vaguely discerned near the sword grid.
Outside the window, there is the "mysterious cold wind" that can freeze the soul; inside the window, young Chen Ni squats in the corner, carefully filling a chipped clay pot with water. There are a few pieces of withered and yellow weeds named "Immortal" floating on the water.
"Grandpa Mute, can this sword... Still be sharpened?" Chen Ni's voice was as thin as a gossamer in the howling of the wind and snow.
Xu Yaba didn't look back, he just flicked the sword lightly with his fingers as rough as tree bark.
"Zheng——"
