The black snow is like ink, and the night never stops.
There is no sun or moon between heaven and earth, only gray mist weighing heavily on the earth, like an overturned iron pot, boiling the world into deathly silence.
The wind whipped cinder-like snow particles against the broken wall, making a rustling sound like the whispers of the dead.
The once prosperous Liyuan town "Yunshangfang" is now only a piece of scorched earth and ruins.
The flags and flags were burned out, the stage collapsed, and the charred wooden cores were exposed at the broken beams, like bones gnawed by giant beasts.
Su Muzhe opened his eyes from the ruins.
She was lying under the half-collapsed stage, with broken carved beams beneath her body, which was cold and hard against her back.
There were no gongs or drums, no cheers, just dead silence.
She moved her fingers, and her fingertips touched the broken mask and blood-stained sleeves—the items her fellow disciples still held in their hands before they died.
