The night in Canglang City was as black as spilled ink.
The howling north wind whipped up ice particles, slashing like knives across the empty, silent streets and beating against closed doors and windows with the mournful wailing of ghosts.
The two dim, yellowish paper lanterns outside the Armory in the west of the city swayed desperately in the wind and snow, casting twisted, flickering shadows that added an even more eerie atmosphere.
Chapter 118