Chapter 28: Twenty-eighth Day of Being a Salted Fish The wind was biting. In this kind of weather, no one was willing to leave their home. As expected, the streets were deserted. As Goudan and his group walked along the road, the only sound in their ears was the howling of the gale, and the only thing before their eyes was the pale, lonely snow. When Goudan watched television dramas, he had seen characters use terms like goose feathers or willow catkins1 to describe snow. He had seen scenes…