The early autumn gale enveloped the remnants of Kunlun snow with its chilling cold, sweeping like countless ice needles across the dark attire of the three thousand disciples of the Heroic Sakura Association.
On the mountain path, the red maple trees were just touched by color, seemingly ignited by the rolling Fire Cloud on the horizon, turning the mountains into a blood-stained canvas.
Dead leaves swirled and swept past the iron staff on Liao Pei's shoulder, only to be shattered by the forceful draw of Divine Archer Miao Menlong's bowstring, falling and condensing into minute ice crystals in the air.
Inside the ornate carriage, the soft curtain of Jiao silk hung down. Guo Xiangyu was almost curled up in Shi Feiyang's embrace, her fingertips brushing over the frost pattern on the Celestial Frost Blade, as if touching a thrilling past: "See how quiet it is, but on that day in Kunlun, it drank deeply of the blood of the wicked."
