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At dusk, the trail on the cliff twists and turns; snow swirls with a bit of sharp chill. On the platform by the windward side of the snowy peak stands a figure.
Yun Chuxiu.
"Senior Sister Yun, are you waiting for someone?"
The true disciple of Chaoyang Peak who carries a red gourd magic weapon, Ying Zhen, asked.
"Who? Who is worthy enough for me to wait?" Yun Chuxiu smirked, indifferent, while Ying Zhen just raised an eyebrow and turned to enter the log cabin.
Yun Chuxiu then tilted her head downwards, "Aren't you coming up? Is the poor scenery here really that interesting?"
Coming around the winding cliffside trail, Qin Yu and his three companions approached.
The detestable Qingqiu from Gudao looked up, her dignified and graceful demeanor framing her clear eyes and bright teeth, she elegantly asked Yun Chuxiu, "Senior Sister Yun, are you here tasting the northwest wind?"
