The moonlight of the waning night, wrapped in the smoke of gunpowder, turns the battlefield into a long scroll of blood-colored ink.
The dazzling white snow has long been soaked with blood, congealed into dark red ice crystals, reflecting a chilling ghostly light under the moon.
Broken blades, shattered armor, and scattered limbs, like chess pieces casually thrown by fate, narrating the heart-stopping horror of the bloody battle that just occurred.
Guo Xiangyu's bamboo saber is still dripping with blood beads, the crimson trails winding down the blade, blooming like tragic flowers on the snowy ground.
Her fingers tremble slightly, as if still carrying the remnants of the battle's tremors, slowly sheathing the bamboo saber.
Her gaze frantically searching through the crowd, finally resting on that familiar figure.
Shi Feiyang's dark outfit has long been soaked in blood, the dark red stains layered like the imprint of time or the pattern of life.
