Dasheng Dynasty, the third year of the Apocalypse, winter.
The goose-feather heavy snow rolled in the new wind, like countless cold knives, scraping on Xiao Xiao's chapped cheeks. He was huddled in a corner of a dilapidated temple on the outskirts of Beijing. His thin coarse clothes could not withstand the biting cold. His frozen fingers were tightly holding a jade pendant with frayed edges. The word "Xiao" engraved on the jade pendant was faintly visible in the dim light.
This is his tenth year of abandonment.
That snowy night ten years ago was exactly the same as tonight. As an infant, he was wrapped in a piece of half-worn brocade and left on the threshold of this deserted temple. There was some dark red blood stains on the brocade, and there was a piece of paper that was mostly wet by the wind and snow, with the words "Xiao's son, sacrifice to heaven" crookedly written on it. If the beggar leader who was passing by had not been kind enough to dig him out of the snowdrift, he would have become the food of the wild wolves outside the deserted temple.
"Gulu——" There was a hollow sound in his stomach, Xiao Xiao subconsciously shrank his neck and buried his face in his knees. I haven't eaten for three days, and the cramps in my stomach are getting stronger and stronger, as if there are countless ants gnawing at my internal organs. He could clearly feel the vitality draining away from his body bit by bit, just like the melting snow outside the temple, seeping into the cold soil silently.
