From afar, Archer was quietly watching Archer shoveling snow.

The teenager looked around thirteen or fourteen years old, with a slender scar in his eyes, though not particularly noticeable.

His eyes were exceptionally fierce, like a vicious wolf crouched in the bushes waiting for its prey to pass by.

He was one of the twenty-one outsiders who had arrived last time.

Although part of a team, there was hardly any emotional bond between them.

When the fight broke out, he had taken the opportunity to escape amidst the chaos.

No one on either side noticed his move.

Only the little girl.

She had watched him run away but did not make a sound.

Archer did not think the girl was soft-hearted.

She was just watching a group of insignificant people.

It was as if she was walking on the road, saw a group of ants moving house, squatted down to watch for a while with interest, and then turned and walked away when she lost interest.

After his successful escape, Archer began to pay attention to Hannah.

He did not show himself directly but hid in the shadows continuously listening to others’ conversations to gather information.

This was his way of survival.

A few days later.

He had learned all about Hannah in Bury.

He knew she had come to Bury alone a year ago.

He knew she was someone that the local refugees were very wary of.

He also learned that the young boy with her had been picked up by her.

Hannah was living the best life here.

The best house, the most abundant food, and the strongest power.

The fact that a seven-year-old child could survive in the cannibalistic Bury meant she had extraordinary abilities.

Archer never underestimated his opponents.

But after several days of observation, he suddenly began to feel jealous of the boy called Archer.

He heard that even his name was given to him by Hannah.

He lived under Hannah’s protection.

He didn’t have to starve or freeze.

Archer looked down at his own hands, which were frozen and cracked, with darkened blood congealed around the wounds, and he couldn’t even feel the pain anymore.

He also wanted to live in the stone house.

...

Archer had cleared a space in front of the stone house; Hannah had gotten herself covered in snowflakes.

Standing in the snow, if it weren’t for her shiny black eyes blinking, she could easily be mistaken for a snowman.

Archer put down the shovel, turned around, and picked up Hannah, who had sunk into the snow.

The boy’s arms were very strong.

He had always been exercising, hoping that after this winter, he could go hunting with Hannah too.

Hannah was placed on the cleared ground.

Archer was patting the snowflakes off her.

She shook her head herself, and the snowflakes from her hat fell down.

It was like snowing.

She found it amusing and shook her head several times in a row, unable to help laughing out loud.

Archer helplessly wiped the snowflakes off the little girl’s face and then led her back to the stone house.

The door closed.

From a distance, hidden behind a tree, Archer also stood up.

Through the window, he saw the flickering flames and the girl’s smiling face.

...

On the twenty-eighth day of winter.

The snow stopped at night.

Without waiting for dawn, someone came out of the house.

Outside, the wind was still blowing, and the frost had bent the branches, covering everything in a silvery white—no longer resembling the dilapidated refugee area.

The scenery was beautiful.

But the vast expanse of white hid who knows how many corpses and bones.

For seven days, Archer, with his battered body, returned to this place.

He was still under the same big tree.

He watched from afar towards the stone house.