Clouds stretch across the vast Qinling; my home is beyond sight. Snow blankets Languan, and my steed refuses to advance.[1]0

The Qin Mountains were a defining boundary between the north and the south. Zhao Changhe rode northward at full speed, fortunate enough to witness firsthand how a single mountain range could divide the land—south of it, there was no snow in sight, yet north, a vast expanse of white blanketed the world.0

The moment he crossed the ridge, the chill hit him like a blade. Even Snow-Treading Crow shivered involuntarily, hesitating for a brief moment before continuing onward.1

Staring at the snow-covered world ahead, Zhao Changhe felt a surge of emotion.0

It had been the first snow when he returned from the seas. Now, winter had yet to pass, yet somehow, it felt as though years had gone by. How much had happened in just two or three months?0

Situ Xiao once joked that if someone cultivated deeply enough, they might start growing white hair.0

It was just a jest—of course, there were no actual white hairs—but every joke held a grain of truth. In the past few months, Zhao Changhe had roamed across the divine land, his cloak heavy with snow, his saber tested in countless battles. He had shed blood time and again, and his mind had been constantly strained by countless schemes and calculations. A lesser man would have long since collapsed...0