Yang Jing raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. His gaze fell upon a frozen stream not far away. The moonlight spilled across the ice, casting a faint, cold sheen.
He turned his head and scanned his surroundings. Pine and cypress trees shrouded the area in deep night. Aside from the sound of the wind and his own breathing, there was no other movement. He had been practicing his forms for more than two hours, and not a single other person had passed by. It was clear this place was truly remote.
At this thought, he immediately strode toward the edge of the stream.
Reaching the side of the frozen stream, Yang Jing thought to himself, 'Should I take a bath here?'
Days of hard travel, eating in the wind and sleeping in the open, had left him covered in dust and fatigue. He had just spent hours practicing his forms and was drenched in sweat. The sticky perspiration, mixed with grime, clung to his skin, feeling exceptionally uncomfortable.
