Yaoheng

The flame phoenix carries the thought, the evil destiny begins, the thief's heart burns; Northern Wind The wind from the north blows through the soul. That's not wind, it's debt. It was Xiang Xiong who owed him this life. The white torrent, wrapped in eternal frost and lingering resentful souls, poured down from the abyss of the far north, carrying broken pieces of frozen snow, pursuing him, and swallowing up the last inch of warmth remaining in the Canglan Continent. The cliffs of the Black Wind Rift Valley were condensed into blue and black, and the rock cracks were filled with ice edges, like the fangs of the remains of giant beasts, glowing coldly under the pale light of the eternal night. Seven days of bloody battle, thousands of miles of defeat.