The Mid-Autumn Festival was approaching. Chen Tang did not have much time. He only guided Hong Qinhu for a day before setting off.
Although Hong Qinhu wanted to follow, Chen Tang flew into the sky, sitting on the golden roc, and could only watch Chen Tang disappear at the horizon.
Chen Tang flew towards the direction of the Qingzhou Marsh.
Xue Tuan'Er and the Little White Ape were running through the mountains, while the Little Golden Roc flew at a leisurely pace.
Soon, Chen Tang heard faint sobs in the wind.
"Fly a bit lower."
Chen Tang patted the Little Golden Roc, looking down as he did so.
As far as the eye could see, the land was barren for miles, white bones scattered everywhere, a shocking sight.
The earth was cracked, with fissures crisscrossing like wounds on the ground.
The once lush fields were now nothing but scorched earth, where even weeds struggled to grow.
Occasionally, a few withered trees could be seen, their branches twisted, leaves long gone.
