The wild geese return from the north, and the wind and snow come from the south.
Yanmen Pass, this iron and steel pass that stands at the northernmost border of the Dayan Dynasty, is currently being shrouded in a blizzard that has never happened in a century.
On top of the city wall, the thick snow was almost up to my knees, and the strong wind blew on my face like a knife, taking away the last trace of warmth from my body.
"Ha... It's so cold..."
A figure huddled in the corner of the dilapidated sentry tower. The thin prison clothes on his body had already been soaked in snow and were as cold as iron armor. His name is Li Chen. He was once the high-ranking seventh prince of the Dayan Dynasty. But now, he is just a prisoner who was exiled to this desperate situation and left to fend for himself.
It's been three days.
For three days, he didn't eat a grain of rice or drink a sip of hot water.
Hunger was like an invisible hand, gripping his stomach tightly, churning and tearing crazily. The initial cramping pain has long since turned into numb emptiness, and even the strength to secrete stomach acid is gone, leaving only a feeling of weakness that goes deep into the bone marrow.
His lips were chapped and bleeding, his eye sockets were sunken, and his face was sallow after a long illness. Only those eyes still burned with a weak and unwilling fire.
