I thought the wind at the bottom of the cliff was like a knife tempered by ice, mixed with the smell of rotten dead leaves and fishy smell that lingered all year round, drilling into the cracks of human bones.
Shen Qishuang frowned, raised her hands to cover her mouth and nose with her gold-embroidered cuffs.
The dust-free Yunjin walking shoes on her feet had to step in the slippery and sticky black mud. Every step she took, the "clucking" sound of the soles absorbing the mud made the unknown fire in her heart rise an inch higher.
"Palace Master, this area is full of nameless people who have been smashed to pieces, and few of them are fully human." Qingluan followed behind holding a bright red oil-paper umbrella. The edge of the umbrella was very low, blocking the cold corpse water dripping from the top of the cliff for Shen Qishuang. "If these batches of 'medicine' are not collected together, next month's Baicao Festival will probably be..."
