In the early morning of the snow-capped town, the snow-capped mountains glowed with a faint golden color in the morning light.
Bing Feng vacated the square in the center of the town, spread a thick carpet of animal skins, and lit a brazier around it.
The flames in the brazier beat, illuminating the square and dispelling the chill in the depths of the snow-capped mountains.
One hundred and thirty-seven rescued monks stood in the square.
They were still wearing the tattered clothes in the mine, some of them didn’t even have shoes, and they stepped barefoot on the cold ground.
Their bodies were skinny, their faces were as pale as paper, their eye sockets were sunken, and their cheekbones were towering.
But their eyes were no longer numb, and from the moment they were rescued from the mine, the numbness in their eyes began to dissipate little by little, replaced by something inexplicable.
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