"Hoo," a gentle breeze blew across the withered yellow grassland, curling up a few dry blades.
At this moment, the sky was overcast, with clouds heavy as lead hanging low, mirroring Li Huowang's mood.
After days of desperate travel, he had finally reached Qingqiu, but could the scene before him truly be called Qingqiu?
The green, velvet-like expanse that once stretched as far as the eye could see had vanished, replaced by the haphazard, dry yellow of withered grass.
The situation was worse than when he had last visited; if the grass had merely turned yellow before, now the prairie seemed on the brink of death, which couldn't help but worry him about Sun Baolu.
However, compared to the state of Qingqiu, Li Huowang's own dire troubles remained unresolved, leaving him no time to ponder the cause of these changes.
With a gentle squeeze of his legs against the horse's belly, Li Huowang rode his steed, emblazoned with talismans, towards the distant city.
