By the time the Liu Family’s caravan reached the gates of Yuhe County Town, the snow was falling even harder.

Flakes as large as goose feathers whispered down, quickly blanketing the ground in a thick layer.

The sky was nearing dusk, so the lanterns lining the streets had already been lit. Their orange-yellow halos pierced the curtain of snow, casting mottled patterns of light and shadow on the ground.

Li Tieyun and his three men stopped at the town gate. He clasped his fist to Hall Master Liu and said, "Hall Master Liu, we’ll return to our gang for now. We can discuss the remaining matters another day."

Hall Master Liu quickly returned the salute. "Take care, Gang Leader Li. As for the silver taels we agreed upon, I will have them delivered to the River Gang tomorrow without delay."

Li Tieyun smiled and waved a dismissive hand. He then gave a nod of respect to Yang Jing and said his farewells before turning to leave with the burly man, the wiry man, and Ma Chaoyun. The four of them soon vanished into the depths of the snow-swept alleyways.

Yang Jing, meanwhile, followed Hall Master Liu to the Liu Family Medical Hall.

Word had already reached the medical hall, and several experienced, veteran physicians were waiting inside. As soon as they saw Liu Maolin being carried in, they immediately surrounded him.

Checking his pulse, examining his wounds, inspecting his eyelids... the physicians worked with deft efficiency.

After a moment, the lead physician straightened up. He shook his head at Hall Master Liu and Yang Jing, his voice grave. "Hall Master, the Young Hall Master’s injuries are dire. The bones and tendons in his limbs are all shattered, his internal organs have suffered from the shock, and his vital energy and blood are severely depleted."

He paused, his tone tinged with pity. "It’s a miracle his life was saved. However... his recovery will likely take several years, at least. Furthermore, with his vital energy and blood so depleted, his very foundation as a martial artist has been damaged. In the future, he’ll be lucky to even recover to the level of Dark Energy. As for advancing further, for reaching a higher realm in the Martial Dao, for attaining the Peak of Dark Energy... I’m afraid that’s... hopeless."

Hall Master Liu swayed on his feet, a flicker of anguish in his eyes, but he forced himself to nod. "Thank you for your efforts, doctor. Please, do everything you can. As long as he recovers."

Standing to the side, Yang Jing listened to the physician’s words, a wave of sorrow and regret washing over him.

He knew what was on Liu Maolin’s mind. Although gentle by nature, this Senior Brother of his possessed the unyielding pride of a Martial Artist. He had always yearned to walk further down the path of the Martial Dao. Even when the hope of breaking through to the next realm was slim, he had never given up.

But now, even that slim hope had been utterly shattered.

His Eldest Senior Brother, Xu Hong, also had an infinitesimal chance of breaking through, but at least he could still make the attempt—he could still take that gamble.

But now, Senior Brother Liu’s journey on the Martial Dao had come to a dead end. He could no longer even reach the Peak of Dark Energy, meaning he had lost the very right to even attempt a breakthrough to the next realm.

But then, another thought brought a secret sense of relief.

’At least Senior Brother is still alive.’

’Compared to those who died at the hands of the Flying Horse Thieves, being able to survive and even regain some of his strength is a blessing amidst this tragedy.’

’I was most worried that Liu Maolin would be permanently crippled. From the looks of it, he’ll at least regain his ability to move. That’s some small comfort, I suppose.’

The physician wrote out a prescription, and someone was sent to fetch and decoct the herbs. Liu Maolin, meanwhile, was left to rest quietly in his bedchamber.

Perhaps because the torment of the past few days had completely drained his spirit, he soon fell into a deep sleep. Yet, his brow remained slightly furrowed, as if he were still suffering even in his dreams.

Yang Jing stood by the bedside for a moment. Seeing that Liu Maolin’s breathing was steady, he turned to Hall Master Liu to take his leave. "Hall Master Liu, I’ll trouble you to look after Senior Brother Liu. I should be going now."

Hall Master Liu quickly stopped him, pleading earnestly, "Young Hero Yang, please wait a moment. In a few days, once Maolin’s condition has stabilized, I insist on hosting a banquet here to thank you properly. I do hope Young Hero Yang will grant us the honor of your presence."

"Hall Master, you’re too kind. It was the right thing to do," Yang Jing demurred. "If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave now."

Hall Master Liu personally saw him to the main entrance of the medical hall. Only after watching Yang Jing’s figure disappear into the swirling snow did he let out a long sigh and turn back toward the inner courtyard.

...

The snow continued to fall.

The sky had grown completely dark. Pedestrians were scarce, and the only sound was the soft hush of snowflakes settling on the ground.

Yang Jing pulled his green robes tighter around himself and started walking toward Tongyi Square.

After a full day of fierce, back-to-back battles, his mind had been stretched taut. Now that he could finally relax, he felt an exhaustion that seemed to seep into his very bones.

At this hour, the Martial Arts Hall would be empty. Yang Jing decided to head straight home, planning to soak in a hot bath and properly unwind.

Snowflakes swirled down, blanketing the street outside Tongyi Square in a cold, white layer.

As Yang Jing rounded a street corner, his steps faltered.

Huddled under the eaves and in the corners of walls were masses of refugees in tattered rags.

Most were sallow-faced and emaciated, wrapped in shredded sackcloth. Some were curled into tight balls against the cold. Others lay motionless in the freezing snow, their bodies already stiff, their faces frozen in a final mask of agony and despair.

Icy wind whipped particles of snow into their thin clothing, yet there were few groans to be heard. It was as if the very strength to cry out had been frozen out of them.

An indescribable aura of misery permeated the air, mingling with the biting blizzard to create a suffocating weight in his chest.

Yang Jing stared at the scene, his brow slowly knitting as a heavy sigh rose from deep within him.

’The world is falling deeper and deeper into chaos.’

’There were refugees this time last year, too, but it was nowhere near this bad.’

’War and famine... they’re like two giant, invisible hands, tearing countless families apart, crushing them, and leaving behind these pockets of utter despair on every street corner.’

He couldn’t help but wonder. ’If I didn’t have my panel, if I’d never set foot on the path of the Martial Dao... if I were still that boy with poor aptitude, struggling just to get by at the Martial Arts Hall... would I, too, end up like them one day? Frozen to death on a street corner on some cold winter’s day?’

’And what about my family? Would they have been spared?’

Yang Jing subconsciously touched his chest. Tucked inside his robes were one hundred thousand taels in silver notes, a heavy weight that could allow an ordinary family to live without a care in the world for many lifetimes.