The next day, the snow stopped and the wind died.
The camp was noisy, still boiling with activity in the morning wind and snow.
Li Yan pushed aside the heavy felt curtain of the tent; a surge of biting cold rushed into his lungs, dispersing the faint drowsiness inside.
The brief rest last night had allowed his taut nerves a moment to breathe.
Sha Lifei was polishing the flintlock mechanism of his treasured firearms, Kuai Dayou was fiddling with a few delicate mechanism components in the corner, producing faint clicking sounds, while Wu Ba silently worked his joints, the Meteor Iron Fist Gloves gleaming with a cold hardness in the morning light.
Long Yan'er, wrapped in a snow-white fox fur, walked over from another tent and said thoughtfully, "That Onmyoji… I had already taken control, but he suddenly destroyed his own Divine Soul. So resolute—he was most likely afraid of something being exposed."
