WHOOSH. A gentle breeze swept over the withered yellow grassland, curling a few dry blades of grass.
At this moment, the sky was dark and heavy, with leaden clouds pressing low, mirroring the state of Li Huowang's mind.
After days of desperate travel, he had finally arrived in Qingqiu. But could what lay before him truly be called Qingqiu?
The vast, emerald-green, silk-like carpet of grass from the past was gone, replaced by toppled, dry, yellowed stalks.
This situation was even worse than his last visit. If the grass had merely been yellowing back then, now the entire steppe seemed to be dying. He couldn't help but worry about Sun Baolu.
But compared to Qingqiu's fate, his own dire troubles remained unsolved; he didn't have the luxury of figuring out what was happening here.
With a gentle squeeze of his legs against the horse's belly, his talisman-adorned stallion galloped toward the distant city.
