The night was dark and the wind fierce, the sky exceptionally gloomy.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and a torrential downpour was on the verge of breaking.
On the winding mountain road, a convoy raced forward like a giant serpent, speeding frantically along the mountainside.
Headlights flashed, horns blared sky-high.
Leading the pack was Lin Xia in a Jeep, with five Toyota Land Cruisers tailing close behind, boxing her in from both sides, occasionally slamming together with loud bangs, letting their tires screech with piercing friction.
The Ten-Mile Pavilion wasn't actually built on Ten-Mile Slope; instead, it was a famous tourist spot in West Capital City.
A poem goes, "Ten-mile serene lake frosted over the sky, strand by strand black hair longing for the years gone by!"
High mountains birth the level lake; the ten-mile mirror of water sits atop the second peak, reflecting everything like glass.
