The setting sun is like blood, splashing on the broken walls and cliffs of Huashan Mountain in Xiyue.
The mountain wind whimpered, carrying fragments of gravel and dead grass, passing over the cracked mountain, making a neighing sound like a ghost's cry. The fairy mountain, which should have been majestic and steep, shrouded in clouds and mist, was now shrouded in a thick layer of deathly silence. Only the occasional vibration as dull as a drum came from deep inside the mountain, reminding the world that this place had just experienced a catastrophe.
