The days of winter are always long and repetitive.
After returning to the tribe, Jiang Xuan went out several times with the Hunting Team, recruited some wanderers who were about to starve, reorganized the tribe's defenses, and a winter passed just like that.
One day, after Jiang Xuan got up, he heard the dripping sound from under the eaves and knew that the ice and snow on the roof had begun to melt.
He did a simple wash, then pushed open the door, and a burst of cold air hit him in the face.
The melting snow feels even colder than the falling snow.
The sky, which had been overcast for a long time, finally dispersed its dark clouds, and the long-lost sunlight shone on the earth, accelerating the melting of the ice and snow.
"The seventh year."
Jiang Xuan walked into the courtyard, bathed in the sunlight, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
"Clatter..."
