After Chinese class,
Jiang Ding returned to his dormitory.
The cliffs of the past were now fertile fields, where stalks of golden Spirit Wheat swayed in the wind, surfing the waves with only the last hint of green remaining.
It was a scene straight out of golden autumn.
"Another autumn has come, time flows like this, yet of those once young, only I remain."
Jiang Ding sighed lightly.
Clang!
The Taiqing Flying Sword was unsheathed, splitting into thousands of Sword-lights, each passing through the wheat fields within a kilometer range, piercing the sky and the earth, leaving no stone unturned, yet not harming a single stalk of the Spirit Wheat.
After a few moments, the Sword Qi returned, each bringing back a small insect.
All sorts of varieties, gathered into a clump, fell into a pre-dug hole.
"Nearing maturity, the pests have increased a bit."
Jiang Ding muttered to himself.
