The sun shines warmly on the village road paved with bluestone slabs.
Smoke from cooking pots curls up, mixed with the fragrance of earth, floating in the air.
Chickens and dogs smell each other, and children chase and play, creating a peaceful picture.
This is [Heluo Village], a novice village on the edge of the map, where the years have been quiet.
The villagers work at sunrise and rest at sunset. Their life is simple and repetitive, but also satisfying.
Butcher Zhang had just sharpened his knife and was preparing to handle today's prey.
Aunt Li was sitting at the door, holding the soles of her shoes in her hands, watching her grandson play.
Everything is as usual.
Until the sky splits.
That's not dark clouds, not lightning, it's real [tearing].
A dark gap, like a hideous wound, stretched across the blue sky.
The indescribable terrifying pressure was like a physical mountain, suddenly pressing down.
The air froze.
The wind stopped blowing.
