In the 23rd year of the Republic of China, the snow in the north was crazy. The goose-feather snow seemed to be free of charge. It drifted for three days and three nights, covering the entire Heifeng Mountain so tightly that even the mountain roads were buried. The cold wind was like a knife, hurting my face. As soon as my breath floated into the air, it froze into white frost flowers, falling on my eyebrows and stubble, and a thin layer of ice accumulated in the blink of an eye.
