Bi Fang opened his backpack, took off his mud-stained windbreaker, shook off the sand, and put on his storm jacket again to ward off the cold wind.
The drone soared high, and the frequency of comments suddenly decreased.
Wang Yongbo, the person behind the scenes, was puzzled. It was 8 o'clock in the evening, which should be the peak time for user activity. Why did the activity drop so much while they were on the move?
But when he looked at the live broadcast screen, he was stunned.
Under the night sky.
Bi Fang walked on the cooling sands, with the Milky Way sprawling across the sky above him, and black shadows meandering across the land—clouds blocking the moonlight.
The wind sang in a low voice, like an ancient and mysterious song, reminiscent of the totemic characters on old stone pillars, inscribed there long before the world was born.
That was the language used by the god of nature when creating the world, singing alone.
