The wind of Mobei swept up ice pellets, whipping them against their faces like fine needles pricking the skin. Ye Fan walked at the front of the group, his boot heels crushing the frosted withered grass. Clear in his ears were the breaths of the four people behind him: Su Qingxue's breathing was long and steady like the resonance of a zither, Lin Zhaoyue's sword Qi gathered in her throat like a murmuring stream, Chǔ Hóngzhāng's Gu Insects fluttered their wings in a rustling murmur within her sleeves, and Qín Wǎnshuāng's saber and armor plates rubbed together to produce a faint sound.
"We've arrived." Mo Liusu stopped abruptly.
The bloodstains on his green robes had already crusted into dark brown scabs. He raised a hand to brush aside a patch of withered brambles, revealing a half-person-high fissure in the rock. From within the gap drifted a chilly, damp breath, mixed with a rotting, rusted odor that drilled straight into the nasal cavities.
Chapter 339