The strong wind sounded like a drum.
Under the blazing sun, an ancestral sword embedded itself in the wall, swaying with the wind, trembling repeatedly like cicadas' chirping, sending chills down one's spine.
Gu Qingyun stood motionless, watching intently.
Closest to Chen Yang, Hua Yunfei's guts were torn apart, his whole body shaking, struggling to remain standing.
The wind was growing stronger.
Even here at the foot of the mountain, the sound of maple leaves being swept by the wind on the Northern Mountain could be clearly heard.
Yang Hu handed over a cigarette.
Chen Yang lit the cigarette, drew out a handkerchief, wiped his five fingers in the palm, and slightly raised his head to gaze at the vast sky.
Silence, grim.
Many present were trembling, their limbs chilled with terror.
Although none were ordinary folks, all had significant backgrounds, like Ye Jinzhou, among the younger generation of Qingyue Valley, ranked in the top three.
