The wind was like a knife tempered by ice, and it was painful when scraped on his face. Meng Yuan's falling body was scratched with bloody cuts by the raised gravel on the cliff. His military uniform had long been torn, and it was mixed with mud and blood and stuck to his skin. Every movement involved the wound, and the pain made his eyes black. The howling wind sounded in his ears, like the roars of countless wronged souls, or Lin Xiao's heart-rending shouts - he wasn't sure if it was an illusion. The moment he jumped down, he only had time to catch a glimpse of the despair in Lin Xiao's eyes, which were like red-hot irons, scalding his heart.
