Flakes of snow, magnified countless times, as if the most patient Woodcarving Master had meticulously crafted them with an engraving knife.
The ice crystals spun like flowers, fluttering down from the sky.
Cold air rose from the ground, condensing the moisture between heaven and earth, gathering into snow and falling gently.
The snow piled up on the bamboo hat, thickening layer by layer, unnoticed.
Li Che stretched out his hand, holding a crystal-clear snowflake suspended above his palm, which he controlled with a powerful Gang Qi, tumbling violently within, yet not melted or evaporated by the scalding and boiling Qi-blood.
In his eyes, it was as if he could feel the excitement from the year when he returned with frozen fish through heavy snow, the rush of blood quickening in his veins when he heard the news of his wife giving birth.
Yet now, in the blink of an eye, five years have passed.
These five years, so much has happened.
