Round and round, dragging on, another month has slipped by.
A gust of wind blew by, bringing with it a hint of coolness, as Jiang Liu raised his hand while seated on the White Dragon Horse. A snowflake gently floated down from the sky, landing on Jiang Liu's palm and quickly melting away, leaving behind only a trace of cold seeping into his heart.
"Is it already winter?" he asked, lifting his gaze to the sky, where he could see the snow fluttering down, increasing in number.
Unknowingly, it had already become winter, and when Jiang Liu thought about it carefully, he had been in the Journey to the West World for more than half a year already.
Thinking back to his days in Jinshan Temple, life was plain and simple, even if he just chopped wood and cooked meals daily, it was very peaceful. Not like now, where it felt like there was a sword hanging over his head, with the timing of its fall drawing ever closer, forcing him to increase his strength as much as possible.