By noon, the warm sunlight, like golden tides, spilled over the entire camp. The sunlight gently caressed every corner, awakening the camp from its slumber. Thousands of disciples and warriors gradually awoke under the sunlight.
They stretched, yawned, and walked out of their tents, bleary-eyed.
Sunlight draped over them, illuminating their vibrant faces. They slowly shook off sleep, revitalized, ready to face the new day and new challenges.
In late autumn, the land of Bozhou was shrouded in an aura of desolation and chill.
The sky was overcast, with lead-grey clouds piled heavily, as if they might crush down at any moment.
The cold wind roared like a beast, crashing through the mountains and forests, rustling the branches and leaves, and sending withered leaves swirling down, like a swarm of helpless butterflies.
The mountain paths were rugged and winding, covered thickly with fallen leaves, each step producing a "creak creak" sound beneath their feet.
