The wind in the cold night was like a knife, blowing through the most remote Xiyuan of the Hou Mansion, carrying fine snow foam, getting in through the cracks of the dilapidated window lattice, and going straight into the cracks of human bones. Xiao Zi curled up on a hard bed covered with a thin layer of straw, covered with an old quilt that had been patched countless times and had long since lost its warmth. His forehead was frighteningly hot, but his consciousness was extremely clear. He had been burning like this for three days.
