The sky in November was as dark as a dry well with the lights turned off.
The wind swept the rough gravel from Guanzhong and smashed it on the frozen river beach of Chanshui, making a crackling sound like countless blind crows digging into the hard ice with their nails.
Li Xingyuan's hands were so cold that he couldn't feel anything. He bit the tiger's mouth of his right thumb hard with his teeth, and a little dark red oozed from the broken flesh. The almost freezing pain finally brought his wandering soul back staggeringly. In front of him, the Chanshui Ferry had long been crowded into a long embankment made of human flesh. There are no boats, just living ghosts trying to cross the river on thin ice.
"Hold me." He didn't look back, just pulled me back.
Purpose: To grow in struggle and chaos