The biting north wind howled, whipping snowflakes against Zhao Lin's face and body.
He sat unmoving upon a large boulder on the mountaintop. He didn't feel the cold; now that his cultivation had reached the Blood Realm, circulating his Qi and Blood was enough to fend off the bitter chill.
Absorbing a Wind Fox's Essence Soul could raise his cultivation level, but he couldn't pin all his hopes on that.
Otherwise, if he failed to catch the Wind Fox and let his martial training fall by the wayside, all his efforts would be for naught.
After cultivating for half the day, he returned to his quarters at dusk.
A meal box sat on the stove, and a kettle of water had been boiled. He touched the side of the kettle; it was still warm.
Since winter had set in, the sky grew dark early. Li Shi, the villager responsible for delivering his meals, had prepared the food and brought it over ahead of time.
