On the vast plains, a world blanketed in white.
While Jiangnan was still in late autumn and the north of the river had just begun to enter winter, here on the northern steppes, Heaven and Earth were already covered in heavy snow.
But what was more heartbreaking was that even in such snowy weather, the nomads of the grassland could not rest.
They had to endure the bitter cold and hunger, struggling to migrate through the endless snow.
"Hurry, it has only been snowing for half a month, and the weather isn’t at its coldest yet."
A middle-aged man dressed as a tribal leader rode back and forth on a fine horse, encouraging his people in the migrating tribe: "If we keep moving for two more pastures, we’ll find the camp left by the Anyan tribe, where we can spend the winter."
The herdsn trudged through snow that reached their calves, each step an utmost struggle, but hearing the words of their leader Anshan, they felt rejuvenated, summoning a burst of energy, and quickened their pace.
Watching his people press on valiantly, Anshan sighed with relief.
With their current pace, they should arrive at the Anyan tribe’s pastures before sunset.
There, with the camp left by the Anyan tribe, they could rest temporarily and make it through the winter.
The children of the grassland, accustod to the bitter cold all year round, could thus travel in snowy weather.
But now the snow was getting heavier, so much so that even these children of the grassland were starting to find it unbearable. Continuing on through the falling snow was possible.
But more people would quickly begin to freeze or starve to death along the way.
And as deep winter slowly ca upon them, there would co a day when even they couldn’t endure the cold.
By then, even the children of the grassland would be unable to move about outside.
If they didn’t have a place to rest by then, the entire tribe might be buried in the wind and snow.
Finding a place to shelter from the wind and snow and rest temporarily beca urgent.
Fortunately, ahead on their southward migration route lay an abandoned settlent from the Anyan tribe, with wooden huts and earth pits to shield them from the snow.
"The tribe has enough grain and firewood for now, we should be able to get through the winter," whispered Anshan, his gaze turning northward, filled with worry.
The days on the grassland were getting tougher.
Every year brought storms and snow, the kind of severe weather that used to occur once in over a decade, now arrived annually.
And with each passing year, the scale grew larger, the duration longer, and the frequency higher.
Under the impact of the harsh weather, the herdsn of the northern grassland were struggling to survive, forced to migrate southward.
They sought a warm and moist place untouched by the severe weather, where the tribe could graze and settle anew.
However, the journey south was far from smooth sailing.
In fact, the migration activity of these northern grassland herdsn began five to six years ago.
Over the years, more than half of the tribes on the northern grasslands had migrated away.
But the news brought back by those who had moved south was far from uplifting.
In this world, every piece of land capable of sustaining life has been claid over ten thousand years of developnt.
In the past, the various tribes of the northern grasslands often fought over the pastures, countless battles erupted for this reason.
The grasslands of the south, with a better climate and richer water and grass, naturally supported more tribes, thus intensifying the people-land conflict.
How could the southern tribes welco these northern herdsn coming to seize the pastures essential for their survival?
As expected, a great war broke out between two vast nomadic groups, one from the south and one from the north.
Countless tribes, in the struggle for survival, began a desperate battle on the grassland.
Now, once winter on the grassland passes, the first thing each tribe does is not to graze cattle and sheep but to summon the warriors within their tribe and join forces with their allies in search of enemy tribes to fight.
After such battles, hundreds, even thousands, of tribes on the north and south grasslands were eliminated.
As for the number of herdsn who died, it was already unknown whether it was in the millions or tens of millions.
Anyway, according to what Anshan knew, of the several tribes that used to be friendly with him, only one survived after moving south.
Even the surviving tribe was living in dire straits. Each year, during the warm season, they had to summon the n of the tribe to fight, entrusting the task of grazing cattle and sheep to the won and children, who had no rest throughout the year.
Considering these circumstances, in one or two years, that tribe might also co to an end.
"But now, has the ti co for my tribe to face the sa fate?"
Anshan shifted his gaze from the north back toward the south.
The landscape was a blinding expanse of white, seemingly the purest substance in the world.
Yet within this purity, he saw a splash of red, the color of blood.
And he was leading his tribe on a blood-soaked path, a path whose end was uncertain.
But even with that knowledge, Anshan had no room for retreat.
Because the winds and snow of the north, more terrifying than blood, were pushing him step by step to migrate southward, to find a way of life amidst blood and fire.
"The great snowstorm! The great snowstorm is coming!"
Just as Anshan’s thoughts drifted into lancholy, suddenly a cry of panic pierced his ears.
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