Snowfall Over Tianjing

On a snowy night, outside Tianjing’s death row. Chen Xiao crawled out from beneath a pile of corpses, covered in blood, a broken sword clutched in his hand. He wore a prison uniform, and iron chains had left wounds around his wrists. He couldn’t remember how he had survived that night. He only remembered Qingyun Manor, three hundred and seventy-one lives reduced to ashes. And he would make every last one of those still alive pay for it in blood.