When he met Xue Canghai, the scene was even more like that of the Worldly Society.
Snowflakes fell heavily, accumulated on the ramparts, and the setting sun was like blood, casting oblique light on the top of the city. Xue Canghai sat cross-legged on a high part of the city wall, repeatedly sharpening his saber.
The blade was also like blood, reflecting the setting sun.
The north wind howled, and the rhythm of the sharpening could be heard throughout, with half the city's army listening intently.
Zhao Changhe stood behind, watching, without disturbing. Xue Canghai ignored the "Saint Heir" and continued sharpening his saber as if no one else was present.
Zhao Changhe found himself rather perversely enjoying the scene, thinking it would be even better if the person wasn't Xue Canghai, whose words always somewhat broke the immersion...
