As Wang Anfeng encountered Shan Xinglan.
Further north of the Northern Frontier, a silent slaughter in the biting cold wind came to an end.
On the glacier, Gongsun Jing pulled out the spear embedded in the ice, shaking his wrist, leaving a crescent-shaped bloodstain on the ice, while the Qing Taoqi either tended to their wounds or wiped the blood from their weapons.
What moved Dongfang Ningxin was that even at this moment, they still maintained a stern solemnity, their movements silent and unnoticeable.
The pristine glacier had already been stained red with blood.
Of the three thousand Ying Yang knights, apart from those decimated at the beginning, quite a number survived, yet everyone was injured. After being encircled and squeezed from front and back, their main general perished, and the morale of the Ying Yang knights plummeted, becoming listless. After combat losses exceeded fifty percent, they lost their will to fight and became captives of the Qing Taoqi.
