The freezing winter wind howled along the banks of the northern imperial moat.
Ancestor Murong Lie lay half-submerged in the slush, his claws digging into the muddy snow. Every breath burned his ruined chest like swallowed acid. His long white hair was matted with black pond silt, and his gray burial robes were shredded into wet rags.
Beside him, Ancestors Xiao, Han, and Du were shivering so violently that their teeth clicked like wooden dice.
A heavy metallic thud rattled the snow.
Tie Niu strode across the road carrying Ancestor Huangfu and Ancestor Ye by their tunic collars, one in each hand, like two bags of wet laundry. He dropped the two crippled elders onto the snowy bank beside Murong Lie with a dull thud.
All six secluded ancestors were gathered in one muddy heap.
“Six out of six,” Tie Niu said, wiping a speck of frost from his nose. “None of them escaped. And none of them landed on the clean pavement.”
Beside Tie Niu, spear-master Tie Qiang leaned against his dark iron lance. Behind him, fifty righteous loose cultivators watched the six fallen elders with wide, disbelieving eyes.
