A night's chill breeze swept across the plateau and from the low and crude yurt emerged Yang Qing'er, small in stature, who looked at the entrance marked by the windblown sand with a somewhat headache-inducing gaze.
It was going to take quite a bit of time to clean this up.
But for Yang Qing'er, this annoyance was a form of happiness.
Not only had she survived what she thought was a certain death, but she also had the good fortune to move from the desolate depths of the desert to this plateau that bore a trace of greenery.
Even though her dwelling had changed from a tent to a yurt suitable for the plateau, to Yang Qing'er, she could not be more overjoyed.
Huh? Why don't I see anyone today?
At a glance, Yang Qing'er noticed that the entrances of the other yurts were unexpectedly devoid of people, which puzzled her slightly.
Generally, at this time, everyone should be busy cleaning the sand from the entrances of their yurts.