The heavy snow has just cleared, and Qingcheng Mountain is wrapped in a silver blanket.
Snow presses down on pine branches, the evergreen and pure white complement each other, smoke and clouds rise, with sunlight shining through, resembling an ink painting.
An ancient path winds between the mountain ranges, covered with snow, rarely visited by travelers, occasionally showing footprints of small animals.
Li Yan and Wang Daoxuan tread on the snow, crunching along the mountainside, observing the vast surroundings, feeling utterly relaxed.
"What a place..."
Wang Daoxuan exhaled white breath, smiling with admiration: "Qingcheng is truly renowned for its tranquility, indeed not without reason, even winter has its own charm."
"We'll talk about charm later."
Li Yan looked around and shook his head: "Where is the Shuiyue Temple, in this desolate wilderness, there's not a soul to ask."
Upon reaching the foot of Qingcheng Mountain, he realized his miscalculation.
