The God of Slaughter Bai Qi

The north wind blew up the snow foam, blowing on people's faces like knives. The winter in Guanzhong is so dry and cold that it can freeze the bones of a person. In the Qin Army camp at the foot of Yique Mountain, the continuous gray tents are like a large forgotten barren hill, facing the same leaden sky. Bai Qi huddled in the cold and damp trench, holding a shiny old short hoe, and numbly chipped away at the equally hard loess beneath his feet. The thin burlap uniform on his body could not block the cold air at all, his skin was bruised by the cold, and his face and hands were covered with bloody cuts from the cold. Mixed among a group of farmers and prisoners who were recruited like him, he was inconspicuous. Only his black and white eyes, with a calmness that was inconsistent with his age when he occasionally raised his head, swept across the entire military camp coldly like stones in a winter pond.