The cold wind bit through everything, slicing at Mo Xuan's face and hands like a sharpened blade.
Large snowflakes, light as feathers, drifted down from the sky, each one tumbling lazily before landing on his clothes and disappearing into the heat of his body. The snow had already piled high, reaching past his knees after a night of accumulation.
Mo Xuan trudged through the white expanse, his boots sinking into the half-frozen ground. Each step left a deep print in the snow, though he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere—calculating, observing, analyzing.
The Spirit Spring in his storage space bubbled faintly at his side, its glow dim but steady. He had poured a sip into his own mouth earlier, letting the warm water flow through his body. The impurities dissolved almost instantly, leaving a trace of tingling warmth. Even without trying, he could feel his soul force pulsing stronger than before: 7 → 9.
A soft crunch ahead caught his attention. A set of footprints snaked through the snow, delicate yet clear. Based on the spacing and depth, a young deer—or something of similar size—had passed this way.
"Finally…" Mo Xuan murmured. His voice was low, barely audible over the wind. "Maybe luck's on my side today."
He crouched instinctively, letting his body blend with the white landscape. His hands hovered over the bow on his back, flexing the string lightly, feeling the tension of the weapon through his fingertips.
A sudden, sharp call echoed across the snowfield—a deer alert.
Mo Xuan froze. His heart rate quickened slightly, but he remained composed, sliding an arrow from his quiver. The tip gleamed faintly, reflecting the pale sunlight, and he fitted it carefully onto the string.
Step by careful step, he advanced. The snow creaked underfoot, each sound amplified in the silence of the winter plain.
A young deer appeared ahead, grazing, oblivious. The sight of its delicate, quivering form sparked an odd pang of emotion in him—a mixture of hunger and detached curiosity.
The deer's ears flicked, sensing the faint air disturbances around him. Instantly, it bolted, a brown blur vanishing against the white backdrop.
Mo Xuan cursed silently, releasing the string too late. The arrow disappeared into the snow.
He scanned frantically, but only the unbroken white of the snowfield greeted him. The last arrow… gone.
The corners of his lips tightened. He clenched his fist, shivering in the icy wind, but the Spirit Spring's warmth lingered in his body. He took a slow breath, letting it calm him. He could feel it: he would not starve, not today.
At the foot of the mountain, nestled among pine trees dusted with snow, lay Hongshan Village. Thirty or so cottages dotted the slope, each with a thatched roof weighed down by ice and snow. Among them, one earthen house sagged in the storm, walls patched roughly with mud and straw, its roof barely holding against the snow's weight.
Mo Xuan pushed open the door. A warm, faintly sweet smell drifted from inside—a mixture of bran cakes and smoke from the small hearth.
"Mo Xuan, you're back?" A soft voice came from a corner.
He turned to see the village elder, the man who had taken him in after his transmigration. Unlike the villagers, he had shown no fear of him from the start, only quiet acceptance.
"The hunt was… difficult," Mo Xuan said, removing his tattered coat and hanging his bow and spare gear on a hook. "No meat today. Only bran cakes."
The elder nodded. "At least you're safe. That's all that matters. The cold is cruel this season."
Mo Xuan picked up the grayish, rough-surfaced cakes. His fingers brushed over the grit, and he noticed the coarseness of the flour—edible, but barely so. Still, he ate, chewing carefully, washing it down with water drawn from the Spirit Spring. Warmth spread through his chest, a feeling he had not known in years. Survival was harsh here, but at least he had means.
He looked around the small, dim room. The humble walls, the creaking table, the leaning bed—all signs of a life lived on the edge. But Mo Xuan's eyes glinted faintly. Even in this world, even in a body so fragile, he had power.
A string of characters flickered before him, invisible to anyone else, projected from the Spirit Spring into his mind:
[Spirit Spring (Tier 1) — Capacity: 0.5 liters; Usage: body purification, food & water enhancement, healing minor injuries]
[Storage Space — Contains basic tools; expandable with usage and soul growth]
[Soul Power: 9]
Mo Xuan's lips curled slightly. His body had survived its first month. His soul had strengthened. Soon, he would hunt for more than just survival.
The snowstorm outside continued, relentless, but inside this small hut, a quiet determination began to take root.
Today was survival. Tomorrow… power.