Under the leaden sky, heavy snow fell like mats.
The courtyard of Leng Palace has long been covered with a thick white, leaving only the dead branches trembling in the cold wind, making a whimpering sound.
In the middle of the courtyard, a half-person tall pottery urn stands alone.
The mouth of the urn is not big, and can only accommodate a person's head.
Snowflakes fell on Shen Ci's hair, melted by her weak breath, and condensed into tiny ice beads.
She couldn't feel the cold anymore.
The wounds where the limbs were cut off from the roots have already been numbed by the severe cold.
The body was forced into this small space, every inch of the bone was severely misaligned, and every breath involved a tearing pain.
The rough interior of the urn wall rubbed against the unhealed flesh of her remains, and the sticky blood and dust were mixed together.
The dead silence was broken by the sound of slight footsteps.
The sound made a soft creaking sound when stepping on the snow, neither fast nor slow, with a sense of enjoyment as if it were a piece of music.
A flash of bright yellow broke into Shen Ci's distracted vision.
The visitor stopped in front of the urn.
The phoenix embroidered with gold thread on the skirt shone gorgeously under the dim skylight, and its tail feathers trailed to the ground, almost brushing against Shen Ci's cheeks.
Looks good and interesting