The town is at the Northern Border.
Frozen all year round.
No one knows when the last time the town saw spring blossom.
Here, everything is covered by ice and snow, with the permafrost being incredibly tough.
Yet people have always believed in being laid to rest in the earth.
If not buried in the ground, it always feels like disappointing the ancestors.
In the town, a few hundred years ago, ice coffins were prevalent.
After someone died, they would be placed in a coffin made of ice, covered with a layer of thick snow.
Then water was poured on it.
Thus, even a gale could hardly flip the coffin.
But ice would gradually sublime.
Every New Year, each household would come to the cemetery to pour ice and bury snow again.
Some ownerless ice coffins would gradually reveal the corpse inside under the scorching sun and with the passage of time.
And these became the food for the ice field wolves.
Until…
Three hundred years ago.