*Drip… drip… drip…*
The sound of water droplets echoed through the cavern, each drop resonating with an almost haunting rhythm. The cold, damp air carried the scent of earth and moss, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
*Drip… drip… drip…*
Lian Chen's body lay motionless at the bottom of the chasm, hidden from the prying eyes of the world above. Darkness enveloped him, an all-consuming void. Yet, deep within his unconscious form, a spark of life remained—a stubborn ember refusing to be extinguished.
Slowly, the cold seeped into his bones, rousing him from the depths of oblivion. Pain surged through his body, a stark reminder of the grievous wound inflicted by Zhang Wei's sword.
