The winter of the fourth year of Jian'an was very cold. The northwest wind blew across the face like a knife. The dead branches squeaked weakly. The last struggle was made of gloomy sky. The snowflakes scattered in a mess. The whole world was left with only a pale southern gate of Xia Pi City. This section of the city wall, about a thousand steps long, was made of black stones. Only the building in the middle of the wide city wall was white. The common people used to call this city gate tower the Baimen Tower. There was a person kneeling on the wall. A big man, a typical northern seven-foot man, he knelt there, lowered his head, and his long hair hanged from his ears, covering the bloody face. The man closed his eyes tightly, his body seemed to be trembling slightly, and the disturbing snowflakes slowly covered his body.