That Piece of Yanyun

"Have you heard of the 'Sixteen Prefectures of Yanyun'?" A black robe stepped out from the yellow sand in the sky. The hem of the clothes swept away the frost particles condensed on the ground, raising the fine sand and being swept away by the wind. "Master, where is that place?" The young man behind him staggered to follow. The linen cloth was short and brown and covered with dust. There were a few cracked blood marks on his face and there were still gravel, but there was curiosity in his eyes. The black robe stopped and raised his hand to straighten his collar that was blown by the wind. A jade pendant hung out from his waist. The three words "Xie Wujiu" on it glowed with a cold luster under the dim skylight. He didn't look back, and his voice was as deep as the wind outside the Great Wall: "Hell for the Han people." The young man was suddenly stunned and clenched half a piece of dry cake in his hand. But the black robe had lifted up its steps again, and its black clothes blended into the thicker wind and sand in front of them, leaving only one sentence: "It's also our destination."