In the harsh winter, the narrow valley of Heng Mountain resembled a ghostly realm sealed by bitter cold. Like a mad giant beast, the howling wind rampaged through the valley, emitting a mournful roar as if it wanted to tear everything on earth into pieces.
Thick fog filled the valley, a fog that felt almost palpable, pressing heavily on everyone's hearts, suffocating them. The surrounding mountains had long been covered in heavy snow, a silver coating revealing endless desolation beneath.
The rocks lay bare outside, eroded by the cold wind into a state of great disrepair, resembling faces battered and filled with pain.
Wu Zhong gritted his teeth against the intense pain, as though a thousand steel needles were cruelly piercing his body.
His brows furrowed tightly, as if they could crush a fly, his gaze full of anxiety as he looked at Shi Feiyang.
