The north wind is like a dull knife, cutting people's faces painfully.
On the school grounds of Dayan's new military camp in the north, snowdrops were flying everywhere.
Hundreds of men wearing patchwork cotton-padded jackets of various colors curled their necks and formed a ball of quails, shivering in the cold wind.
Ling Cangyue stood at the end of the team, holding a cracked ash stick.
Every time I take a breath, it feels like a handful of crushed ice has been stuffed into my lungs.
Her throat felt sweet, so she took out a gray linen handkerchief and covered her mouth, her body hunched over violently.
When he raised his head again, a dazzling bright red color spread out from the center of the veil.
Several men around her moved to the side in disgust, as if she was some kind of plague that would kill her if she touched her.
"Next! Name, place of origin!"
The officer in charge was a man who looked like a black tower. The armor plates on the centurion's armor were white with frost and snow.
Ling Cangyue dragged her seemingly unconscious left leg and moved to the desk.
