He is dead

For a moment, he lingered, his eyes tracing the smudges of dirt on her face, the stray strands of hair that framed her features.

Her lips were slightly parted, her expression completely unguarded in sleep.

The sight stirred something unfamiliar in him, something he couldn't quite name.

---

He shook his head, pulling himself away from the thoughts that threatened to distract him.

The fire was dying down, and they couldn't risk losing its warmth.

Zhao Yan stood and made his way to the cave entrance, his movements slow and deliberate.

---

The snow had stopped falling, but the ground was still blanketed in white.

He stepped out cautiously, his boots crunching against the frozen ground as he searched for sticks to feed the fire.

The air was bitterly cold, each breath visible as a puff of mist.

---

It didn't take long to gather enough wood.