The warhorse beneath him had long succumbed to the plague and fright.
He was covered in snow mud, his face as ashen as the dead, his breath thin as a whisper, with only the faintest rise and fall of his chest proving he was still alive.
Having exhausted all his spirit and blood, and endured the erosion of the Plague God along with the impact of that final terrifying force, he fell into the deepest coma.
The Hook Paper lay silently on his chest, the gap that once connected to the void of the Dharma Realm had vanished, the surface seemingly darker and deeper than before.
The wind and snow quickly covered most of his body.
The border line, the frozen Yalu River, lay silently less than a mile ahead.
......
Cold snowflakes scratched his face, bringing a subtle stinging sensation.
Li Yan suddenly opened his eyes, his vision first blurred, then focused on the lead-gray sky.
Snowflakes swirled down, silently accumulating on him.
