On the desolate Gobi Desert, endless yellow sand dunes and weathered, grotesque rock formations formed a bleak and tragic world.
Behind a slope partially covered by rocks, a middle-aged man and a child leaned against the stone wall side by side.
The man held a half-empty bottle of Rémy Martin XO, his unkempt face adorned with stubble, half-closed eyes glazed over by alcohol, appearing as if he could doze off at any moment.
"Uncle, what kind of kung fu are you teaching me? Why is it so miraculous?" the boy casually asked, simultaneously playing with two pebbles. In such a lifeless place, when not training, one could only find amusement with such small things.
The middle-aged man chuckled, his voice slightly hoarse. "What's so miraculous about it?"
"This morning after my training, I was slashed on the leg, but after practicing the kung fu you taught me, the wound is almost healed," the child said proudly.
