The days on the grasslands are longer than in other places, with the scorching sun baking the land, threatening to draw out every bit of moisture. In the vast wilderness, withered grass stubbornly stands, and scattered trees firmly root themselves, standing defiant and leaving long shadows in the sun. Some birds, unable to bear the drought, rest in the shade, their movements bringing a touch of vitality to this expansive grassland.
It was dusk, and a group of riders thundered forward, each with a stern face, fully armed, galloping at full speed. Leading the charge was a man with thick war paint on his face, his sharp gaze fixed on the barely visible dunes ahead. His frosty face bore a touch of worry, yet he let the beads of sweat roll down unchecked. This was Luo Zheng.
