"The window harbors the snow of West Ridge's thousand autumns, while the door docked a guest ship from Eastern Wu."
Du Fu's famous quatrain has been passed down through the ages, making the West Ridge snowy mountains renowned worldwide, but the line between romance and reality is as thin as a piece of paper.
The wind, frost, rain, and snow are constant, neither rejoicing over things nor lamenting the self. Whether it's the cruelty of reality or poetic expression depends entirely on one's state of mind.
At least, Li Yan and the others are not in the mood right now.
The cold wind howls, carrying ice particles.
It blows in their faces, causing a sharp pain like needles.
Li Yan stopped, shook off the snow accumulated on his sheepskin hat, and looked around.
The surrounding snow appeared as silver, the breath turned to ice, and towering cliffs rose on three sides, leaving only a narrow path meandering to the mountain's peak.
