Unconsciously, several months had passed.
Deep within Diandao Mountain.
The towering qiulimu trees, each over a thousand zhang high, were like colossal gods that blotted out the sky and greedily plundered all resources, including light, spiritual machines, and even flesh and blood.
The forest was incomparably dim, filled with a silence that seemed ready to devour anyone who dared enter.
From time to time, terrifying roars came from distant places, adding to the oppressive atmosphere.
Tap tap—
A series of subtle footsteps rustled softly.
Then, three figures struggled out from the darkness. Although their expressions were not clear, their cautious movements were enough to suggest their nervousness.
"Brother Li, shall we rest for a moment?"
A deliberately hushed voice floated over, and Zhang Jing, who was at the forefront, stopped in his tracks. He habitually scanned his surroundings. Although the light was faint, to his eyes, it was as bright as day.
