It was already late spring in the Central Plains. In the north, it was no longer chilly and even became sweltering hot. The weather had become unpredictable these years, the same as Haotian's mood.
Together with the heat came the drought. On the borders of the Wilderness there had always been little rain. Now it became even more dusty. The grass grew perversely on the grassland but it didn't look good in the dust.
It was even more dusty in the City of Wei. The northwest winds had left obvious traces on the clay walls. Dusts were carried everywhere. If it was in the past, the dust-covered old soldiers would have been cursing on top of their shabby barracks. General Ma would have been sighing over his dusty liquor in the bowl he was holding.