The wind in the north is like a knife, hurting people's faces.
Qin Shu stood on the city wall, holding the sword on her waist, looking across the continuous tents into the gray distance. In the past five years, she had been here, leading her 100,000 Xuanjia troops to beat the Northern Barbarians until they cried for their fathers and mothers, so that they no longer dared to come within a hundred miles of the Daxia border.
The wind and sand made her uniform rustle, and also ruffled her long hair tied back. She didn't care, she reached out and wiped her face casually, but her hands were covered with sand. Here, refinement and particularity cannot survive.
"General!"
