In the ninety-eight thousand years of the Taichu calendar, it was autumn.
Taixuan Dao Domain, on the edge of the Northern Wilderness, Qinglan Sect.
It was almost dusk, and the setting sun was like blood, splashing on the rolling barren mountains and ridges, adding a bit of desolation to this already barren land. The thin spiritual energy is almost imperceptible. Occasionally, yellow fallen leaves are blown up by the dusty autumn wind, swirling and falling into the mountain stream, making no sound.
