Last night, it snowed again.
Except for the coldest period of winter, snowfall in the small mountain village usually wasn't too heavy. It often meant waking up to find some snow lying at the foot of walls, along the eaves, and in the bushes and woods. With temperatures rising, it would typically disappear by nine or ten in the morning.
Now was the coldest time of the winter season.
Zhou Li, carrying a bowl, stepped out the door and saw the entire world blanketed in white. However, on the little path in front of the courtyard, there was a set of tiny footprints.
To be precise, there were two sets, close together, pressed into the fluffy snow, leaving behind just a series of small holes. It was vaguely discernible that they had come from the right, passed through the yard, and continued onward.
It was very cold outside.
The porridge in the bowl cooled at just the right rate; every bite Zhou Li took was warm, neither scalding nor cold.
