Upon entering the herbal garden, Zheng Qing beheld a world that seemed to be splintered into shattered pieces before his eyes.
Not far ahead of him, a black cloud, a square meter in size, piled up more than ten meters off the ground. White lightning danced in and out of the clouds, the rumbling thunder constantly filling his ears and frequent bouts of large raindrops creating small pits in the soil when they fell. Beneath this cloud, deep red grasses peacefully stretched out their tender leaves, seeming to cherish the brutality of nature.
A mere finger length away from this storm stood a marsh spanning dozens of square meters. Thin tendrils of mist quietly flowed over the mirror-like puddles, the slender deep green reeds swaying with the passage of the mist.
