Autumn harvest and winter storage; it felt like only yesterday the grains were loaded into the granaries. In the blink of an eye, the earth was blanketed in pristine snow, the world wrapped in silver. The river had frozen over, and the fishermen retreated to their homes to hole up for the winter, rarely venturing out unless necessary. The biting, merciless wind and snow rushed against their bodies. Anyone returning from outside would have their hands and feet frozen stiff and glowing red, their gait stiff and awkward like a penguin's, leaving shallow footprints step by step in the snow. Those footprints were soon swallowed by fresh gales and flurries, leaving behind a boundless expanse of white as if no one had ever passed through.
While it was still dark, Zhao Yan shivered as he crawled out of bed. The moment he left the blankets, a layer of frost seemed to form over his body, and he could not stop shaking. Only a faint remnant of warmth lingered in the charcoal brazier. Donning his ice-cold official robes with all possible speed, Zhao Yan could hardly feel his fingers anymore.
This year was a bitter winter.
Chapter 550