It was the middle of winter, with dense clouds.
On the border of Cangzhou, the mountain temple ten miles outside Laocheng Camp was being wrapped tightly by the wind and snow. The temple door was ajar, and the cold wind that leaked in blew the snow foam, hitting the mottled clay statue of the mountain god on the altar table, and fine dust fell down.
Lin Chong was leaning against the broken wall, holding a flower gun, and listening to the howling wind and snow outside the temple, he felt as if the blood in his body was frozen.
