"Has the snow sealed the mountain again?"
While writing a memorial to the emperor, the Minister Xing asked Xiao Hen, who was sorting through letters by his side.
Xiao Hen put away the letters, his tone as usual: "Mm, there's been a delay in Cang Continent."
The minister furrowed his brows and said, "Cang Continent is at least a seven-eight day journey from here, I'm afraid the army won't make it back before the end of the year."
The day after tomorrow is New Year's Eve, and even if the army marches day and night, they still won't be able to reach the Capital City in time.
Xiao Hen looked out the window at the swirling snowflakes, his expression one of contemplation.
The border pass is bitterly cold, filled with the haze of gunpowder smoke, yet the Capital City remains untouched by war. The avenues are bustling with commoners and shop vendors, a scene of flourishing prosperity.