The biting north wind is like a rusty saw, pulling back and forth on the bones of people.
This is the only way to Liangzhou, the outpost of Guimen Pass. The sky was as gloomy as a moldy rag, weighing heavily on the top of the head. Fine snow particles were mixed with the wind, and soon a thin layer of frost formed on the rags of the exiles.
Xu Xinglan licked her chapped and flaky lips.
A rusty smell of blood spreads in the throat, which is the blood oozing from the extremely dry throat. She narrowed her eyes and scanned the winding queue in front of her. Dozens of people were like dying snakes, squirming along the desolate official road.
The straw sandals under my feet have long been worn out, and my toes are turning purple from the cold. Every step I take, I have to endure the sting of gravel rubbing against my skin.
This is her beginning after time travel.
